storypaint | Threads of Reason and Regret (Eriol/Tomoyo)

Author: rhap_chan
Written for: tomoyohime8
Title: Threads of Reason and Regret
Prompt: 1. eriolXtomoyo
2. canon, not AU.. set in the future.. so they're in their late teens, or twenties.. or even older if you feel like it...
3. angst-fluff (somewhere in between.. tears at your heartstrings...)
4. won't say no to ratings of NC-17.. but no rape or abuse.
5. i don't want them (eriol and tomoyo) to be perfect. in short, i want them to have issues.. which they have to face while they fall in love..
Disclaimer: Cardcaptor Sakura belongs to CLAMP. This fanfic is a derivative of canon material that is not my property. I do not profit from these writings. The opinions and actions expressed in these stories are not necessarily the views and beliefs of the original author or me. Title from Yellowcard's "One Year, Six Months."
Rating: G

Excerpt: In all of her new free time, Tomoyo wrote letters-- letters to Eriol, to her father (in China right now organizing a merger), and to Sakura sometimes. (She didn't send the ones to Sakura, though. It was silly of her to be lonely.)

The important thing to remember was that there were no coincidences. That was only thing Sakura could tell Tomoyo when she came back from her visits with Yuuko. Certainly that first encounter hadn't been a coincidence, just a meeting on the street when a tall dark-haired woman paused to help a high-school girl pick up the papers she had scattered all over the street. Tomoyo had been there, of course, at Sakura's side. It was the only time she had ever seen Yuuko, actually.

Sakura's apologies for the collision stopped abruptly when she met the other woman's ruby eyes. Something in her went dreamy-- Tomoyo recognized the look. It was the look Sakura wore when she found other magicians. The woman's eyes narrowed sharply, in a suspicious way, and she stopped picking up the papers and instead read the name inked at the top.

"Kinomoto Sakura. I see. This meeting... it is hitsuzen," she said, her voice low and thick with some unidentifiable emotion. Tomoyo only watched.

"I'm sorry, ma'am?" Sakura said, adorably confused, and the woman dipped her head. It was a gesture of respect, an acknowledgement of power. This woman knew who Sakura was, Tomoyo realized. The thought made her blood run cold.

It wasn't the first time that she had wondered what it would be like to have magic, to do these things, and it wouldn't be the last time she wondered if it was a good idea.

"I knew Clow Reed," the woman said matter-of-factly. "Or know him. Or will know him. That man could never keep to his own dimensions. It was a fault in him." She waved a hand and Sakura watched her gesture with fascination, as if she expected something magical to happen.

And it had. She'd met her new teacher, the only person at this point who could help her get stronger and more focused in her magic.

"The important thing to remember is that there are no coincidences," Yuuko said, and introduced herself.

Tomoyo felt invisible.

The house was silent. Eriol couldn't work with music in his ears, even classical. His essays were composed carefully and thoughtfully in the most desolate silence imaginable. It was the only way he could think properly.

The pen made small scratching noises on the paper. He looked up at the clock. Five o'clock: Kaho should have been home an hour ago. He would call, but she probably wouldn't answer. She rarely did these days. She was very busy, she said.

Of course, he was busy as well. A regrettable side-effect of losing his magic was losing the ability to achieve his real age by any other than normal means. He would have to age like the rest of them. He had considered it during the flurry of changing cards and achieving his goal, but decided it worth the trouble. Who would mind a second childhood, after all?

Well, the schoolwork wasn't that great, anyway. He was working his way to a degree in law at Oxford, and the coursework was, to put it mildly, tough. Kaho herself was still pursuing studies-- always learning, she said unabashedly when she enrolled in two classes for the semester alongside her normal teacher work.

Sometimes he missed her.

In all of her new free time, Tomoyo wrote letters-- letters to Eriol, to her father (in China right now organizing a merger), and to Sakura sometimes. (She didn't send the ones to Sakura, though. It was silly of her to be lonely.)

Dear Hiiragizawa-kun,

Sakura asked me last week why I still write to you on paper. She loves being able to email and call. It's easier than finding the postage, and in any case, she is often too busy to write letters anyway. She and Yuuko are thick as thieves these days. It is good to see that she is still learning.

I like to write because I enjoy the smell of paper from a foreign land. England is not exotic when one considers places like America or Brazil, but it is enough for me to get a glimpse into a totally different world.

Did magic have a smell? Tomoyo wondered. She continued her letter, inquiring about Eriol's health and his classes at university. She was majoring in business herself and when she wasn't writing letters she usually sat in the courtyard and studied.

Please give Spinelsun, Nakuru, and Mizuki-sensei my best. I hope to hear from you soon.

Your friend, Tomoyo

When Eriol finished his essays, his tests, and his studying, he still wanted to write. It was a fever in him that had cropped up as soon as the house began to be so silent. Spinelsun of course had never been particularly noisy, and Nakuru had moved into the dorms for spring semester to try something different. She still came home for some weekends and the holidays, filling the house with life again, smiling, joking, playing. But weekends were weekends and there were still five other days to the week.

So he wrote for school and sometimes he did a little work on the book he never really planned on publishing, a biography of Clow's life. Sometimes he felt like he should finish it and publish it, a cautionary tale against getting in too far over your head (what would happen when Sakura died? Would the whole mess begin again-- new Captor, new Eriol, another circle?). Other times he thought he was writing it for himself and it was too personal to share.

And when he didn't feel like working on the book, he wrote letters: letters to Sakura, to Tomoyo, and to Kaho. (He never sent them to Kaho; it was silly to be lonely: she lived right here. They were just busy.)

Dear Daidouji-san,

We are old-fashioned, you and I, to spend the money on stamps and stationery and ink. Still, I think I appreciate it like you do. There is a certain allure to the pen and something very sweet and fleeting in knowing that the same words that left your hands just days ago are resting in mine.

Still, presence of a friend is sweeter still than even letters. I will see you in April for Sakura's birthday. It has been a long time since I have been overseas. I look forward to seeing all of you.

Eriol paused and reached into the desk to find the letter she had last sent him. He lifted it to his face and smelled it for a moment. The scent of foreign lands, she had said. The letter smelled familiar. It smelled like Tomoyo, freesia and rose. She hadn't changed her perfume in years. Eriol smiled.

Please give my best to Sakura, and to Li-kun and the rest. I hope you are well.

Your friend, Eriol

She met Eriol's plane, skipping Statistics class and Data Analysis to wait in the dim airport, sipping coffee and thinking. She had his letters in her purse, like he wouldn't recognize her after all of this time. How silly. She was just taller. She wondered if he looked the same. Perhaps the letters would help her identify him. She could take them to the gate and see if he recognized his stationery, she thought sardonically.

She recognized him when he disembarked, however. He was taller, but little else had changed. Eight years and nothing was different. Or rather, everything was different except appearances.

Tomoyo and Eriol had always been very good with appearances. It was... a talent. A need. A desire.

Eriol disembarked alone, and Tomoyo met him alone. She brushed her fingertips to his by accident as they walked to the car. He recoiled like he'd been bitten. It had been a while since someone had touched him.

"Hello, Daidouji-san," he said, feeling the warmth of her hand flow downward and puddle at his feet.

"How are you, Hiiragizawa-san?" she asked, always polite.

"Kaho moved out last week," he said, instead of something polite, like he should have. He'd meant to put it on paper, to get it out and away from him, but he couldn't write about it. The pain was still new and raw. He had no words for it.

"I'm sorry," Tomoyo said sincerely. She'd wondered why he'd disembarked alone but wouldn't have asked. She felt his pain come to rest as an unfamiliar lump against her own hurts. She put her hand to her heart and stopped walking.

"Do not worry for me, Daidouji-san," he said. She shook her head-- she couldn't help but worry. They had seemed so happy when they left eight years ago-- full of life and laughter. She recognized Eriol, all right-- but he was so much quieter even than he had been before.

"It will be a treat to see all of you again. I will not think on it," he said firmly.

He told no one else. Tomoyo wouldn't have even known if he hadn't told her previously. He smiled and joked, laughed and grinned all of the time. He promised next time to bring Ruby Moon, to bring Spinelsun, to bring Kaho even. She thought, he does not plan to come back.

The thought made her oddly sad.

She saw him off at the airport, skipping Art History, English, and Japanese class. She pressed a coffee into his hands, and before she could stop herself, a kiss onto his lips.

He spilled the coffee on his coat in surprise and spent most of the rest of his pre-boarding time trying to dry himself off in the airport bathroom. When he emerged to catch his flight, she was gone.

So now he knew something else about Tomoyo: she smelled of freesia and roses, and her lips were as soft and cool as water.

He found himself smiling as he boarded the plane. He found his seat, near the window, and fished a pad of paper out of his bag, and a pen. After a moment, he began to write.

Dear Tomoyo-san,

I do not love you yet, but perhaps I can try.

He crossed it out but kept writing. The dryness he felt after Kaho left had been utterly destroyed when she kissed him. It was as though she had unlocked the gates of a flood that threatened to tear through him and maybe even destroy him. He sort of liked it.

He listened to classical music and wrote her a poem. They had time to try.

Threads of Reason and Regret (Eriol/Tomoyo)

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