Disclaimer: CLAMP owns CCS.
entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem
The first thing Tomoyo heard when she roused by someone banging her bedroom door shut was the birds cheeping outside. It was early July and it was unbearably hot, the heat waves already wrestling with everyone's temper; air conditioner was ineffectual to a point that she slept with a light blanket the night before. Nevertheless, she slept poorly, but the heat was not the reason why she did. Ever since the unpleasant incident with the phantasm, she had not gone downstairs at midnight or went anywhere else, fearing that the thing that nearly scared her to death would reappear once again. She hoped that she would have gotten over it soon, but much to her dismay her fear had escalated worst and caused her most of her nightmares when she dreamt.
It demoralized her that her nightmares were repetitive, usually involving blood and skin and headless zombies. It was a sort of nightmare where she scampered as severed heads trailed after her, and where the people she knew betrayed her. For instance, she had a dream about blood-sucking leeches and chopped limbs and ripped epidermis with tattoos on it, and they were all after her. She was with Sakura and they went to a hut, Sakura saying that the two old people living in the hut would take care of them. Instead, the old people got their knives out once Tomoyo was inside, and Sakura blocked her way out, a sharp blade in front of her, telling Tomoyo, Hello, little girl, come closer. You're our dinner. Tomoyo would wake up then, before those knives slice pictures into her skin, but the images still tricking her mind, whispering to her that it was real.
As a result, she was exhausted during the day, taking naps in between as she could, and people—even Sakura—had noticed this. Today was not any different. She groaned softly, flipped over to her side and covered her face with her hair, attempting to block out any further sounds, but it didn't work as a new rustling noise came within her room. She flicked an eye open, her mouth still thick with sleep, and saw Naoko Yasanawa standing by her bedside, pouring her a glass of fruit juice.
"Good morning," said Naoko, handing her the glass before she went to Tomoyo's walk-in closet.
"Morning," returned Tomoyo blurrily, taking a sip of the juice before putting the glass on her bedside table. She glanced at the clock sideways, the alarm still set at 7:00 am—it hasn't rang yet. "It's 6:00 am," she stated, looking over Naoko, "Is today a special occasion?"
"Not really," said Naoko, taking something from the closet, a frilly lilac dress that did not fit her in first grade, and dumping it in a large laundry basket. "I thought that taking your clothes that you never wore and now are collecting dusts and donating them to, well, people would do me good."
"Right," Tomoyo said, drawing her blanket closer to her as Naoko went on her job. She recalled giving permission to do that for a charity forthcoming next week, but she did not remember telling Naoko to do it so early in the morning. Besides, she told Naoko that she would help her. "And what honor do I have to grace me with your presence this untimely?"
Naoko waved her off. "Oh, please," she said good-humoredly, "quit using that too polished talk when you're talking to me. That horrible decorum doesn't work on me, you know."
Tomoyo let out a smile. Naoko was irritated at the language that affluent people spoke, how they somehow fluffed the words like cotton candy; she believed that most people who were rich were snobby and mean, excluding, of course, Tomoyo and Sonomi. Naoko sauntered towards her. "Is it such a bad thing to visit my friend? I am your friend, right?"
Tomoyo put a hand over her mouth, yawning. "No. And yes, of course you are. However, I don't think a friend would fancy dropping by this early especially when the birds haven't chirped yet." She said the last part sardonically.
Naoko merely ruffled her hair and went, "For your information, your highness, the fat and cute birds chirped already. You just missed it," she threw a haughty look at Tomoyo, continued, "and anyway, you should be thankful that you have a type of friend—ahem, me—who does not blab to the Daidouji-sama that her daughter is going to elope with a hot boy with a hot body and all that. And don't forget," her tone reprimanding, "I'm loyal, I like chores, and—"
"You're going to spout of scandals concerning your love life," Tomoyo cut in knowingly.
Naoko was a heartbreaker; she was stunning, with a mass of wild orange curls, and haphazard freckles on her nose—though Tomoyo assumed that when she was a toddler, those freckles sprawled all over her face, but thankfully, it had reduced and were just around her nose now. She also had small pouting lips, but she was loud when she spoke her mind, and tiny ears and tiny feet. She looked foreign, exotic, half-Japanese and half-Irish; she migrated to Japan when she was seventeen, to attend a university and live permanently in Tokyo. Sonomi Daidouji accepted her as an intern, and gave her a part-time job at the mansion so she could learn some 'new and interesting things,' though later on, Naoko told Tomoyo that Sonomi was simply out to get her. Over the summer, when college was out, Naoko divided her time for her summer internship, her job and boys. She had flings with boys who always, always had a hair so dark and shiny Tomoyo could see her reflection on it. Naoko had acquainted her to her past and present boyfriends, and it gave an impression to Tomoyo that she was not necessarily good at committing herself to relationships.
"Whatever, Tomoyo-chan," said Naoko, going back to work but not before giving her a sly smile. "So, anyway, I had a date the other night..."
"What was he like?" Tomoyo sat up more keenly. She was constantly fascinated with Naoko and her dates, as she had something to say, stories ranging from the unimaginable to the very possible.
"He was fun, had spunk," said Naoko, "He was—no," she sighed dreamily, "is such a cutie—so cute, I tell you, that he made my heart melt, butterflies buzzing in my stomach and all that. And he's a gentleman, not like every other jerk I dated."
"That's a first," said Tomoyo, wondering if she would have a second date with that boy again. As far as she had known Naoko, she had dated men who frequently cheated on her, hurt her, and all the while loved her. In the end, Naoko would dump all of them, her line always I don't think this is going to work. You hurt me. Go away. Leave me alone. Tomoyo thought many times whether she loved doing it, or if she was just a mixture of a masochist and a sadist, and so she was rather astounded that a boy had turned Naoko into a gooey blob; he was the first one. "How old is he?"
"Young," said Naoko simply. She studied another dress that Tomoyo had sewed sometime ago. It was the color of the petals of a cherry blossom; it seemed holy, covering all the wearer in the right places, not too tight, not too loose. The dress was a teardrop-like shape, narrow and then suddenly dipping widely. A strip of lace enveloped the edges, the color of baby's breath. "Do you want to keep this?" asked Naoko, motioning to it.
That dress was originally made for Sakura, but now, even if Tomoyo did give it to her, Sakura had grown several inches in the past few years, and it would be of no use. "No thanks," Tomoyo said, "just…give it to somebody who does want it, please."
"Okay," said Naoko, placing it into the basket, which was now full with Tomoyo's fresh old clothes, most of which Tomoyo had designed and made on her own. "So, don't you want to know how old he is?"
Tomoyo took a sip of juice again. "If you want to, then yes." Her face was neutral.
Naoko gazed at her intently and said, "You so want to know." Tomoyo smiled. "Well, I think he's about a year or two younger than me, but I can't really tell 'cause he has such a cute, boyish face."
"Oh. That's nice," said Tomoyo in silence; she paused, her eyes big as if something was caught in them. Naoko turned nineteen the day after Christmas and if Naoko was right, the boy was either seventeen or sixteen. Tomoyo went on, "I didn't know that you were into that type." She hoped that she didn't sound too impolite.
Naoko burst out laughing. "Geez, I'm kidding! He's very legal…Kami-sama, I'm not a pedophile, you know," she added, chortling now, "Honestly. Sometimes you're too serious for your own good; you should like, I don't know, have a good time or something."
Tomoyo got up from her bed, twitching; she straightened her nightgown. "Maturity comes with a high price," she said wryly.
"Whatever," said Naoko, her voice a bit distant, as she was inside the closet, digging for unwanted clothes, "Anyway, moving away from my uninteresting love life…do you have a date with Shinomori-kun today?"
Tomoyo took her time, walking up to her table, and picking up a brush, started running it through her hair, before finally replying. "No. I'm going to assist Sakura-chan shop for Li-kun's birthday present, and we'll have lunch afterwards…among other things—a girls' day out, to put it simply."
"Oh, that's right," came Naoko's sympathetic clucking of her tongue, "Shinomori-kun went to England already, didn't he?"
"Yes, he did," said Tomoyo softly, releasing her hold of the brush. She missed him already. "He has no inclination to go and sort his family business whatsoever, but he and I are cool with that."
"Has he called you yet?" asked Naoko as she came out of the closet with a pile of garments of the finest fabrics—from silks to cottons—glimmering in an array of colors in her arms.
"Not yet." Tomoyo could barely see Naoko except for her forehead and her wild hair. She was surprised that in the sixteen years she had lived, she had never worn those things, if ever.
"Well," Naoko said, recalling that Tomoyo had a knit brow when she came home that particular day, "he will soon and he will explain himself why he was all weird to you the day. I mean, how weirdcould men get? Seriously…anyway, he'll miss you very much," She was very sure of that, and dramatic, flopping on the carpet after putting the clothes away, she cried, "Oh, Tomoyo-chan, I can't live without you, breathe without you, die without you! Please, my love, take me with you, take me away!"
It was, needless to say, a perfect depiction of Kyo.
"That's a nice lovely performance, Naoko," said Tomoyo, embarrassed and sarcastic, "Really."
Naoko took a quick from-the-waist bow, showering kisses to the imaginary rapt audience. "Thank you, thank you!" she said, ignoring Tomoyo. She took the laundry basket on the either side of the handles, "However, I'm afraid that my lovely performance shall be cut short because these nonliving things need me oh so very much."
Tomoyo's shoulders shook as she laughed. "Right."
Naoko rolled her eyes. "You're just jealous," she said good-naturedly. "And by the way, Daidouji-san said that a relative would come and see you two days from now, or something."
"Relative?" said Tomoyo, confused. Whoever it was certainly was not her Father, and if it were, then her Mother would have told her in person, not through others. "Do you have any idea who it might be?"
"Nah," said Naoko inaudibly on her way out, "My guess is that he or she is probably an old person," she quipped and closed the door, leaving Tomoyo and her thoughts alone.
Tomoyo waved her tresses out of the way; the relative was obviously not Sakura-chan then, as she was the only one she knew outside her family. Her aunts and uncles and the few cousins she had went to America. Only her grandparents inhabited in Japan still, but they were—from both her Mother and Father's side—deceased, except for one: her grandfather from her Father's side. "It couldn't be him, though," she murmured to herself. But if she was right, she couldn't complain; she heard that her grandfather was dying from her grandmother's buried pain.
Five years ago, when everything was good but not quite great yet, her grandmother had passed away. It happened in the summer when Tomoyo frequently visited her; they were at the porch and it was early and bright in the morning. She was sitting on a swing, her grandmother behind her, pushing her back, as she prattled on and on about her Mother and her Father and Sakura-chan, her grandmother listening attentively like everything she said was important, as though she was taking notes to finish writing a term paper. It was hot and sunlight was spilling onto the porch. Tomoyo twirled to see her grandmother, to smile and tell her that they should go back inside so they could take some respite. Suddenly her smile fell. Her grandmother was on the ground, her hair hanging down her face, her arms and legs like gnarly vines; it did not look like she fainted, it looked like she died instead. Tomoyo kneeled down, touched her grandmother, time frozen forever.
Yet time began again and the ambulance claimed her grandmother and Tomoyo realized that they were at the hospital. She saw a nurse take a needle out of her grandmother's thin sheet of skin through a screen on the door as a doctor in a white coat came out of the room labeled Emergencies Only. The doctor strutted towards her and said in a voice that got her thinking, Grandmother would make fun of him and his genes that traced back to his ancestors because he spoke like a curse. She looked at the doctor's moving mouth and only then he said something about Grave News and I am Very Sorry To Tell You This and Brain Aneurysm and Little Girl, Where's Your Family?
She just threw her head back and laughed. Her grandfather was out of town, her father was out of country, and her mother was at a stupid meeting. It was hysterical. "Dead?" she finally said, "Who's dead?" That got the doctor concerned and he clamped a hand on her shoulder as though that would make everything better. Really hysterical. She shifted under his grip and ran out the waiting room, passed the impatient patients and she was out of that sick building, tearing down the streets as the sky gradually went dark; her home was still ten miles away. Inevitably, she loitered at the Penguin Park, kicking the dirt in the sandbox as summer air hit her lungs. She felt like she could do anything.
But she could only think of her grandmother when she would comb her hair with her fingers one hundred times while she rambled on and on about her Mother and her Father. She could only think of the good times and her guilt that she had not told her grandmother that she was very pretty, the sort of person one would like to meet, so understanding. She could only think of her grandmother and her frosty, peppery hair, and she was wise and funny, telling jokes all the time, and her flowery scent—the kind that Tomoyo liked: lavenders, chrysanthemums, and other things she could not name—and it did not smell musty and yellow, like old people did nowadays; it was nice.
Her grandmother was dead dead dead. Coreopsis was gone as well.
She resented her grandfather and her father and her mother for not being there. She resented herself. She had her grandmother's eyes and hair and skin. She had her grandmother and Coreopsis, but they were lost now, just two dead people in one stinky, dead body. Why did her grandmother and Coreopsis have to go? She had questions about her grandmother, when she was still Coreopsis, not just grandfather's stupid trophy wife.
Only later did she discover, the same night her grandmother died, when she took off again and went to her grandmother's house and darted to her grandmother's room and read her diaries that she kept in a loose floorboard, that her grandmother disguised herself with many names like 'Mother,' or 'Grandmother,' or 'Daidouji-sama' when she married grandfather. She had a surge of loathing reserved for her him, then. It was his fault. Grandfather did not like the name Coreopsis, did not understand it, and so that was why he made her grandmother change it. He called her grandmother Tickseed, which was another name for the flower coreopsis, but when it rolled off his tongue, it was vulgar, harsh. But grandmother loved him nevertheless, and he was heartless and cruel that he treated her grandmother that way.
But to her, grandmother and Coreopsis were still one person, and her grandmother was not just a woman her grandfather flaunted at social gatherings. Now all she hated was him, not her father, or her mother, or herself, just him alone. Then, as if her grandmother was still listening, she felt her grandmother's memory as if it was her own.
Tomoyo was seven, and it was New Year's Eve.
The two of them were waiting for that boom, that particular sound, the fireworks that would let them know that the New Year had arrived. They faced the windows, and her grandmother stooped right in her ear, said, "Tomoyo, look at those stars."
She looked, there was a boom, and there were fireworks. They exploded and ran free like the unicorns she read in fairytale books and they were just like the pieces of a comet, or a falling star, but there were none. "They're lovely, grandmother," she said, knew how to lie very well, magical.
The green, blue, and red were visible now, and they sputtered almost instantaneously. Only the square and dots of blues hit her grandmother's face, and she saw, right then, that her grandmother was very old, very wrinkly, but very alive, beautiful.
"Those stars up there are dancing with those clouds," said her grandmother. Her grandmother adored the constellations and the space, the unknown. But Tomoyo knew what she had been asking, pleading. Say you love me say you love me, her grandmother was asking her silently.She did not think her grandmother had ever asked them to offer their words, those three simple words but she, her father, her mother and her grandfather didn't. Say you love me say you love me. Tomoyo couldn't say it.
So she said nothing, breathed in midnight, her grandfather reminding her of her Mother then, who had left her there; the company needed her more, her mother explained. Caring was not enough, and loving slightly was not enough, Tomoyo craved for more and more than that. "But I know," said her grandmother, "I know."
Then she saw her grandfather was against the wall, was silent, like a midnight predator. And she wanted to say to him Isn't grandmother happy? She could be happy without you. We don't need you. And she wished that she could have told him that and it was funny how she wished to say so many things to him, to her Mother, and to her Father. It was funny how she wanted to say to her grandmother that there were no stars, just fireworks.
But she kept quiet, tucked it in her pockets; she kept Coreopsis and her past, how she was half-European, and was an outsider, when interracial relationships were not allowed. Love, love, love was the enigma of summer and was the thing Tomoyo liked best—it was all she could ever think about—spending time with Coreopsis that New Year and that summer and her grandmother's history, while they hid from him, the monsters, and the rest of the world. There was something about summer and midnights, about its beginnings, that people would change as seasons changed. Summer was when people were nicer, wiser.
She could not despise her grandfather, not anymore, even if she could, even if she wanted to. Say you love me say you love me. It was all her grandmother ever asked for. Then she felt her grandmother smile, and she was back being eleven and she was in her grandmother's room again. The bed was still unmade because Coreopsis always liked it that way when she was there while grandfather was out for days and she gave the house cleaners a three-day off. She was some kind of girl, that Coreopsis. Her grandmother's old pictures were incoherent as they lay there on desks, carpet and chairs, creating a film from the time her grandmother was Coreopsis and to the time her grandmother put Coreopsis out of sight.
Now Tomoyo was sixteen, yet she was none of those things, not like those people lounging around at the beach on a nice summer day, adored by the sun. She was neither nicer nor wiser; instead, she had grown a liar and a cheat, and then grew out of it.
"Okay, this one looks nice…"
"Umm. No."
"What about this one?"
"Ah. No."
"All right, this?"
"Ahh—um, no," said Sakura, "This is pointless!" She threw her hands above her head, upset. She and Tomoyo had been looking for a present for Syaoran for the past three hours now; they had been dashing store after store at the mall, and she was getting a bit discouraged that no stuff, clothing, and just…things seemed right for Syaoran. They were not his taste.
Tomoyo, patient as ever, was rather enjoying it. She had her camcorder on, the little red light flashing. It was looking at Sakura's frustrated yet adorable expression. "Come now," said Tomoyo soothingly as she put the little charm—the one Sakura had recently rejected—back on the shelf. "Where's the Sakura-chan I know? Be optimistic. I know you'll find a perfect gift for him."
Sakura crossed her arms over her chest. "That's easy to say," she moaned, "but so difficult to do." She made a face at the camcorder. "And please stop filming me, Tomoyo-chan; I'm such a mess right now."
Tomoyo smiled. "I haven't filmed you for too long, though. Plus, you're going to Hong Kong in just a few days." She turned the camcorder off and stuffed it in her bag. "And you're not a mess—adorably messy, yes, but you don't look horrible despite the circumstances…" Suddenly she spotted a lone, small sculpture on one of the shelves; it stood out. "Well," she said to Sakura whimsically, "how about that one?" she asked, pointing at it with a slender finger.
Sakura took it, inspecting it thoroughly. It was a handmade Chocolate King statue, carved entirely into shapes of chocolate and candies: one, big Hershey's kisses for its body, bits of chocolate bars for its legs and arms, a coin-sized peppermint for its crown, and miniature chocolate chips and jelly beans for its eyes, ears, nose and mouth. It was painted in all shades of brown, orange, red and white. About six inches tall it looked deliciously sinful and— "This is perfect!" said Sakura, staring at it with starry eyes. She glanced to Tomoyo. "But do you think that Syaoran-kun would like it?"
"He would like anything that you would give to him," replied Tomoyo dryly. It was, in fact, the truth. Even if Sakura had handed him Kyo for a day, Syaoran would like it, simply because it came from Sakura. Tomoyo was positive that he would likely scowl when Sakura was out of eyeshot and curse when she was out of earshot, but still…
Sakura looked at her pointedly.
"It's great," finished Tomoyo quickly, "He'll love it."
However, it was lunchtime when Sakura had finally bought the Chocolate King after what many, many creative discussions she had with Tomoyo. Against Tomoyo's protests, she had looked for a better, greater birthday gift at other stores, which drained Tomoyo's energy a bit (she pulled out her camcorder once more as she strode beside Sakura), but both did have fun. Aside from their friendly disputes and Tomoyo's remarks about how Sakura was simply kawaii fretting over Syaoran's gift (before settling on the sculpture that she recommended to Sakura, Tomoyo thought smugly), they had a talk about everything and anything. Like life, how it was meant to be, beautiful like Tomoyo's grandmother and those invisible stars, beautiful like love. Then they had opinions about their own good elementary friends, and Meiling, who, Sakura gathered from Tomoyo, went straight to Paris after she had spent two days riding the rides at Disneyworld in Florida. It was like the old times again, when they talked about everything and anything, when they did not have boyfriends, when they were still attached hip-to-hip. It was moreover like writing a fairy-tale, just like how Coreopsis predicted: they wrote and captured the skies not to save each other, but to forget the bad memories and to remember the good ones, always. It was almost imperceptible when they both learned how they really missed one another, just them eating at the food court, without the electric kisses of their respective significant others.
"We should do this more often," said Sakura decisively, spearing a tomato with her fork. "I mean, have a girls' day out once every two weeks, or so...you know, just the two of us or like, with Naoko-chan, Rika-chan…"
Tomoyo chewed her food thoughtfully. "That would be nice, and that's a great way to keep in touch with Naoko-chan as well," she said. Naoko Yanagisawa unfortunately transferred out of Tomodea High, and went to the other newly built school three blocks away from Tomoyo's house. The new school asked her to transfer as well, but she politely said no, saying that she was happy with her current school and would like to finish studying there.
"Yeah," said Sakura sadly, "I can't believe her parents are making her go there, you know. I mean, just because the school is new it suddenly became popular….but I admit, the school does look, um, neat."
"It is all right," said Tomoyo, taking another bite of her food, "I've seen the interior of the school before and thought it is rather dreary, despite the leafy greens sprouting beside the doorways and fancy fountains and palm trees outside….Looks can be deceiving that way, I suppose."
"Yes," Sakura agreed, "I know what you mean."
They had fallen quiet then, forks clanking and plastic cups on the edge of their mouths; it was not awkward, though. Tomoyo thought it was very calming like perusing a book, the heat of the fire crackling, and the rain pitter-pattering outside.
"Oh yeah, before I forget," said Sakura suddenly as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin, apparently had finished eating, "Eriol-kun invited you over for dinner tomorrow night at his manor, too. Nakuru-chan is going to prepare food for us, he said."
Tomoyo looked up from her plate. "Okay," she said slowly, "I'll come, but isn't it a bad idea that Li-kun and Hiiragizawa-kun to be together so soon?"
"Why?" Sakura asked, genuinely surprised.
Tomoyo stalled by folding her unused napkin into a square, not sure what to say next. Then, "I just wondered that, well…since Li-kun had expressed his feelings for Hiiragizawa-kun…" she tailed away, hoping Sakura got her hint.
Sakura did. "Syaoran-kun would be good," she said.
When Sakura had caught up with Syaoran after his outburst at the airport, she had nearly sobbed, bothered that he did not treat Eriol with a welcoming attitude and told him that he let her down. It took Syaoran's will to not kneel down to her and kiss her feet—he despised seeing Sakura cry, especially on his account—and took every ounce of his energy to not say anything spiteful about the dark-haired idiot. Syaoran then swore over his not quite dead body that he would be nice to Hiiragizawa, even if it would mean that he would have to sacrifice his manliness.
"And I told Eriol-kun to not tease Syaoran-kun, either," Sakura went on happily, "so I don't think there would be any problems from now on."
Tomoyo looked at her, itching to ask her about Hiiragizawa that day, but she and Li-kun mysteriously disappeared afterwards. Now was the time. "Why didn't you tell me that Hiiragizawa-kun and Aki—I mean, Nakuru-chan were coming to Japan?"
Sakura scratched her head, contrite. "Anou…I honestly thought I told you about it, but what with the forthcoming trip to Hong Kong, I just thought, or in this case I didn't—" She paused, dawning on her that she was making an excuse. She hung her head low. "I'm really and absolutely sorry, Tomoyo-chan!"
"It's okay," said Tomoyo gently, "I just wanted to know why, and now I do." She placed her empty plate, fork and plastic cup on her tray. "Anyhow," she said, changing the subject to make Sakura feel comfortable, "Would Kero-chan and Yue attend Hiiragizawa-kun's dinner tomorrow as well?"
Sakura nodded, her earrings were shiny as she moved, her hair bouncing up and down. Tomoyo wondered how Sakura changed somewhat, most particularly this summer, what with her recent pierced ears. "Kero-chan is definitely going," said Sakura, "but I'm not too sure about Yue. I think Yukito-kun and Toya are going somewhere else tomorrow…though, I'll see to it if Yue can come or not, so I could notify Eriol-kun ASAP."
Tomoyo got up from her chair, tray in hand, and walked past her as she went to the trashcan that was just behind Sakura; she threw her Styrofoam plate, plastic fork, and cup away. Sakura imitated her, doing likewise. "Yue hasn't seen Hiiragizawa-kun for a while, ne," she said over her shoulder as she and Sakura went out of the food court, and skirted around the edges of the mall. Streamers dangled from the ceiling as though they were crystal chandeliers, and melodious music streamed out of large speakers. It was still the same old mall just like the year before that, shopper-addicts around; the mall management was already putting things up for the Autumn Festival in August. Sunlight streamed through the skylight as black clouds gobbled up the blue horizon, foreboding an upcoming storm.
"Yes," said Sakura, anxious, her fingers around Syaoran's carefully wrapped Chocolate King. "Do you honestly think that this gift is great? Would Syaoran-kun really like it?"
"Even better, Sakura-chan: he would love it," said Tomoyo patiently. They were nearing the exit now, and then pushing past the door and leaving it open for Sakura, she dialed her bodyguard's number as they stood outside amidst the Saturday shoppers entering and exiting the mall. Tomoyo continued, "Just make a birthday card to add a personal touch, and you're set."
"Thanks!" said Sakura, beaming, right as a black limousine parked by the curb. The black and grey sky, which was stormy that afternoon, thundered and roared as fat drops of water splashed down. Tomoyo looked upwards, now lost in her thoughts. Rain poured down. They pelted down Tomoyo's back as Sakura hurried towards the car, shielding the Chocolate King from the water by tucking it under her arms, the driver unlocking the door for her. Tomoyo, who stopped and was still staring upwards, let Sakura slid into the backseat first, and thought of that summer, Coreopsis, her dear old grandmother, and the unreal stars up there soaking wet with those clouds.
Then she felt Sakura's hand clasped hers.
"Come on, Tomoyo-chan, you'll get sick like that," said Sakura, her hand warm as she tugged at Tomoyo's fingers.
Tomoyo in her thoroughly wet sundress looked at her, cold and dazed. It was as if she was meeting Sakura for the first time. The driver was mumbling something, then he was beside Tomoyo, and there was an umbrella over her head. From her stance, Sakura appeared to be different.
"Come on," said Sakura again, yanking her to get in inside when she didn't budge, "Get inside. You're dripping wet. We have to dry you off as soon as we get to my house."
The wind whooshed as if it had been waiting for Tomoyo this whole time, right there, her hair sticking to her forehead, her face beading with the calmness of raindrops. Then she smiled, letting Sakura take her. "Okay," Tomoyo said. "Let's go."
That night, Tomoyo had not left her room when she came home, crossing the threshold hastily and passing the butlers and the others who were still up, getting ready to bed. She went around the back of the mansion and took dizzy turns before climbing up to the spiraling stairs—which was, she counted, about two-hundred and ninety-nine steps in total—and then veered to her right and then to her left. She wheezed all the while as though she was not going to make it; she heard the last of the butlers set the security on (it was a miracle she could even get past them) and guards shutting doors and windows close as they positioned themselves outside the mansion. It was then she figured out that her Mother was obviously out of town; Sonomi always put exemplary security when she was out for days, or weeks. When Tomoyo finally stepped on the last of the steps of the stairs and almost stumbled across the life-sized statue, she strode towards her bedroom. The lights dimmed and moonlight shrouded the furniture, carpet-covered floor, the corridors and the hallways as she broke into her bedroom, out of breath.
Now, Tomoyo paced across her bedroom, agitated as she read her digital clock flashed midnight. She could not do this forever, huddling in her room as though she was safe there. If the phantasm had decided to terrorize her right here, what would she do, then? She gulped at that thought, her hands sweating as she wrung them. Kami-sama, she hated this. She depended on her room for protection, but deep down she knew that she had to act fast, to meet the phantasm head-on, and inform it to leave her in peace—that was to say, if it understood her at all.
But she couldn't let it rule over her life; she won't allow it…And she took in a mouthful of air, now strong-minded, slipped out of her room, and immediately groped for something in the dark when she heard her door clicked. She was unafraid.
Or perhaps a little afraid, she amended, as she felt her lungs contract and her mouth dry as a bone. She had not shaken like this in her entire life, not this easily. Her guard was up, her eyes vigilant and awake. As she walked quickly, she noticed that the echoes were almost cacophonous when everybody was resting, and she felt as if anyone or anything could touch her, or hurt her. I still can't believe I'm doing this, she thought incredulously, I can't believe I'm scared of my own home. She was nearing the life-sized statue once again when she saw the staircase; she went down, promptly dreaming up a dream.
Tomoyo reached the bottom of the stairs before she could even have a second thought to retreat. There was more of that horrible stillness, and this time around, however, she did not appreciate the splitting silence that was once music to her ears. Her feet put on pressure as she perspired, breathing tensely as she made out the shadow of kitchen door. She nearly screamed just at the sight of it. She knew she had to do this, though, if she wanted to get out of her room again without worrying over phantasms; and so, she tried not to run away as she counted One and twisted the knob to see what was lying behind the door. Two She forced her eyes to stay alert as she flung the door open. Three Her heart leapt out of her throat as she stepped inside the kitchen, choking on her spit when she saw a shadow drifted across her. She stiffened and bit her tongue until she tasted blood just to prevent herself from screaming, urged herself to move forward to its huddled form.
The shadow was still.
She approached it quietly, apprehensively waiting for its attack. Suddenly she came into a halt out of her volition. She stared. She blinked several times as though to shake away an illusion, and looked at the shadow again. There was no change. The shadow still had shimmering wild orange curls and tiny feet. Tomoyo recognized something: orange hair…tiny feet…It was no phantasm, phantom, or ghost. It was Naoko. Tomoyo breathed easier She was infinitely relieved.
"Oh, hey you," said Naoko without spinning around when she felt eyes on her. She glanced to the grandfather's clock, and saw Tomoyo standing out of the corner of her eyes, her face shocked. Naoko added, "You're twenty minutes late."
Tomoyo gaped; Naoko was holding a bowl of chips and two bottles of chocolate syrup. Finally, Tomoyo pulled out a chair and sat on it, her head in her hands. "I know," she murmured, tired, "But I did something else before going here…besides, you said I shouldn't be too serious so I granted myself by taking a bit of your insanity."
Naoko frowned. "Something's wrong," she observed, walking towards Tomoyo and depositing her ammo of junk food on the counter. The dark-haired girl was naturally pale, but she was positive that her friend was unusually paler, almost as if she was sick. This was not ringing good news to Naoko. "Tell me what's wrong."
Tomoyo said something, but it was impossible to hear; she was very, very exhausted all of the sudden, and she just wanted to rest right there. She had the abrupt urge to laugh. There was no phantasm, phantom, or ghost; she overworked herself for nothing. Nothing at all, she sighed. She was simply imagining it. Right then, she thought fuzzily, Relax. Let down my guard, don't waste my time, there are no such things... It was as if those words were not her own, but they were comforting, passing through her like honey as it went on, Relax. Go to sleep. Her eyelids were suddenly heavy. Relax…It was the final word that pierced through her mind before she blacked out, tumbling into a dreamless state of sleep.
"Your highness," Naoko poked her worriedly. She placed a hand over her friend's forehead, checking to see if she had a fever, but she wasn't warm. What could be possibly wrong with her? She sat next to Tomoyo, her hand still on her forehead. "You still awake?"
Tomoyo didn't respond; she inspired evenly, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. Then she emitted a soft sound.
Naoko's worry was shortly forgotten as she looked at Tomoyo disbelievingly. It was a snore. Naoko almost fell out of her chair, thinking that Tomoyo just snored, trying hard not to laugh as she had a paroxysm of ticcing. She gazed at her friend's sleeping form and shook her head in disappointment. "Man," Naoko said pitifully, "I wish I had a camcorder to capture this moment, or something."
Note: entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem means no more things should be presumed to exist than are absolutely necessary. Er, there is not much of Eriol in this chapter, but he's there (stalking Tomoyo, possibly). Also, Naoko Yanagisawa and Naoko Yasanawa are two completely different people. I couldn't think of any name for the latter so…er, yeah (sorry, i'm rambling...quite sleepy, erm). I hope this chapter isn't too confusing (or lacking details, and stuff); if it is, please tell me so I could fix it. English is my second language, so if you have any comments or suggestions, I would appreciate it greatly!
Many, many (and many) thanks to these wonderful people: Lysia Croft, cristal-shian, MoMo-ChAn1 Kyo has the present still, Cherry Blossom, sweet-sunflower thanks again for your suggestions!, asga, blue-sapphire and cukie. Thanks so much for reviewing this story!