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storypaint) wrote2009-08-23 09:46 pm
storypaint) wrote2009-08-23 09:46 pm
Dream No Small Dreams (Clow/Yuuko)
Title: Dream No Small Dreams
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 1150 words
Prompt: see lyric prompt below the cut
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: Way precanon. First in a series; table of contents.
Excerpt: She had long dark hair and crimson eyes, and he'd never met someone who could walk through dreams, so the tiny part of him still lucid was amazed that he could imagine such a vivid, beautiful woman.
He had the first dream a month after he'd moved back to Hong Kong for the fourth time.
Clow was a person born in-between two cultures, never fitting perfectly into just one. He compensated by traveling back and forth whenever he grew restless. His mother's family was somewhat overbearing, always asking him when he'd marry (but how could he marry when he'd doubtlessly outlive one wife, perhaps several? It wouldn't be fair to her or himself), but they were also more in awe of him than the Reeds were. The Reeds saw a little half-breed magician, the one that accidentally turned all their forks to chopsticks during Christmas dinner when he was ten. Clow hadn't come to meet his mother's family until he was well-established as a mage, with a reputation that preceded him.
So when he came to the Li manor and asked politely for a workspace at a healthy distance from the family home, they'd been happy to grant him one of their holdings. He'd brought with him enough books and scribbles to occupy their finer magicians for a year, after all. It was a fine payment.
He set up a cot in the back room of the small shop, and a makeshift kitchen. The family had expected him to stay with them, of course, but his brother was in town and he had no desire to have someone looking over his shoulder all the time. Though the older brother, Fei Wong certainly behaved like like the younger, and Clow was rather weary of having his spells (poorly) copied. In England, Clow had stayed in his father's equally-large Victorian home. It was drafty and musty. He was glad to have his own space, which could be well-lit and warm.
He worked ridiculous hours, falling into bed some days when the sun was rising, sometimes when it was setting. He worked like a man possessed, and he was-- with an idea. His dreams were normally full of feathers, of fur, of spirits.
But on the night of the full moon, he fell into bed near dawn (the brightness had allowed him to work without lamps, something with which he was quite pleased) and he had a dream.
He was sitting on a porch looking out onto the night, onto the same full moon that he'd so appreciated. Because it was a dream, this didn't seem unusual, to somehow be on someone else's porch in Japan, a country he'd never visited. He didn't know how he knew they were in Japan, and he didn't know how he knew the name of the woman who stepped out onto the porch behind him, sliding the door shut, but her name was Yuuko and she had never ever been a "quiet child" like her name would imply.
She had long dark hair and crimson eyes, and he'd never met someone who could walk through dreams, so the tiny part of him still lucid was amazed that he could imagine such a vivid, beautiful woman.
She sat down beside him and gave him just a quick glimpse of her smile before she looked away and adjusted the sleeves of her kimono.
"I'm Clow," he said, for lack of anything better. She leaned in close to him, suddenly, face inches from his, and she breathed out. Smoke curled out of her mouth and across his cheek. He hadn't noticed the pipe when he appeared (and why had he imagined her one? He'd never found the habit attractive in a woman), but she held it loosely in one hand.
"You shouldn't give your real name to a stranger," she said. She was Japanese, but there was no language barrier here. She gave him another very swift smile and then pulled back and dragged on her pipe again.
"You're not a stranger," he said. She studied him with a sideways look, through the curtain of her hair.
"Of course not," she responded, and this time her grin lingered. Her skin was cast utterly white by the moonlight. His eyes drifted over the sweet curve of her wrists and her pale feet, which were bare.
After a while, he began to talk to her. It felt natural, explaining to her the intricacies of his families, the depth of his current project, his tentative hopes for the future. That made sense; if she was a projection of his mind, then he was basically talking to himself. She was an engaging conversationalist, asking the right questions, listening, smoking her pipe.
He wasn't sure when he drifted out of that dream and back to reality, but he woke reaching for her. That would have been impossibly rude, to touch a woman he'd barely met, but dreams tended to lower boundaries.
And after that, he dreamed of her quite often. She joked and teased and occasionally taught him something (he must not have entirely picked up while waking, he supposed). He always woke before he could find the courage to run his hand through that ebony cascade of her hair.
It was somewhat ridiculous, he thought once, that his best friend would be... imaginary. But he tossed the thought away, fiercely, and continued to work. He was nearly done, but something was missing, something to balance.
Japan. There was something in Japan that he needed.
His Japanese was shaky, but enough to get him passage on a merchant ship. He calmed a storm so that they could get out of the harbor, and after that, the crew was careful to avoid him. There was something about magic that seemed to bother those who couldn't use it... another reason that he found it difficult to maintain friendships.
He arrived in the midst of a festival. The people in the streets ignored him carefully, the tall foreigner in Chinese dress. As for Clow, he was just content to wander through and look at the wares of the stalls. The thing he needed was here. He'd know it when he saw it.
There was a little stall, somewhat off the main path, that caught his eye. He found himself drifting over without even realizing. The stall owner lifted her eyes to meet his. Hers were crimson and vibrant. Her smirk was familiar.
He managed not to show any outward surprise, probably because the surprise was soon covered by inner relief (she was real) and then a small amount of embarrassment (and he'd told her-- he'd told her so much about his life).
"Have your palm read?" she asked, taking his hand in hers before he answered.
He smiled. "Of course."
Later, she told him about hitsuzen and dropped the ingredient he needed into his hand, curling his palm around it and disappearing in the crowd.
He let her go. They'd meet again.
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 1150 words
Prompt: see lyric prompt below the cut
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: Way precanon. First in a series; table of contents.
Excerpt: She had long dark hair and crimson eyes, and he'd never met someone who could walk through dreams, so the tiny part of him still lucid was amazed that he could imagine such a vivid, beautiful woman.
You dream a
dream I'm dreaming too
It fires from your eyes
This dream I have of kissing you
Should come as no surprise
-Kissing Like It's Love, The Voyces
He had the first dream a month after he'd moved back to Hong Kong for the fourth time.
Clow was a person born in-between two cultures, never fitting perfectly into just one. He compensated by traveling back and forth whenever he grew restless. His mother's family was somewhat overbearing, always asking him when he'd marry (but how could he marry when he'd doubtlessly outlive one wife, perhaps several? It wouldn't be fair to her or himself), but they were also more in awe of him than the Reeds were. The Reeds saw a little half-breed magician, the one that accidentally turned all their forks to chopsticks during Christmas dinner when he was ten. Clow hadn't come to meet his mother's family until he was well-established as a mage, with a reputation that preceded him.
So when he came to the Li manor and asked politely for a workspace at a healthy distance from the family home, they'd been happy to grant him one of their holdings. He'd brought with him enough books and scribbles to occupy their finer magicians for a year, after all. It was a fine payment.
He set up a cot in the back room of the small shop, and a makeshift kitchen. The family had expected him to stay with them, of course, but his brother was in town and he had no desire to have someone looking over his shoulder all the time. Though the older brother, Fei Wong certainly behaved like like the younger, and Clow was rather weary of having his spells (poorly) copied. In England, Clow had stayed in his father's equally-large Victorian home. It was drafty and musty. He was glad to have his own space, which could be well-lit and warm.
He worked ridiculous hours, falling into bed some days when the sun was rising, sometimes when it was setting. He worked like a man possessed, and he was-- with an idea. His dreams were normally full of feathers, of fur, of spirits.
But on the night of the full moon, he fell into bed near dawn (the brightness had allowed him to work without lamps, something with which he was quite pleased) and he had a dream.
He was sitting on a porch looking out onto the night, onto the same full moon that he'd so appreciated. Because it was a dream, this didn't seem unusual, to somehow be on someone else's porch in Japan, a country he'd never visited. He didn't know how he knew they were in Japan, and he didn't know how he knew the name of the woman who stepped out onto the porch behind him, sliding the door shut, but her name was Yuuko and she had never ever been a "quiet child" like her name would imply.
She had long dark hair and crimson eyes, and he'd never met someone who could walk through dreams, so the tiny part of him still lucid was amazed that he could imagine such a vivid, beautiful woman.
She sat down beside him and gave him just a quick glimpse of her smile before she looked away and adjusted the sleeves of her kimono.
"I'm Clow," he said, for lack of anything better. She leaned in close to him, suddenly, face inches from his, and she breathed out. Smoke curled out of her mouth and across his cheek. He hadn't noticed the pipe when he appeared (and why had he imagined her one? He'd never found the habit attractive in a woman), but she held it loosely in one hand.
"You shouldn't give your real name to a stranger," she said. She was Japanese, but there was no language barrier here. She gave him another very swift smile and then pulled back and dragged on her pipe again.
"You're not a stranger," he said. She studied him with a sideways look, through the curtain of her hair.
"Of course not," she responded, and this time her grin lingered. Her skin was cast utterly white by the moonlight. His eyes drifted over the sweet curve of her wrists and her pale feet, which were bare.
After a while, he began to talk to her. It felt natural, explaining to her the intricacies of his families, the depth of his current project, his tentative hopes for the future. That made sense; if she was a projection of his mind, then he was basically talking to himself. She was an engaging conversationalist, asking the right questions, listening, smoking her pipe.
He wasn't sure when he drifted out of that dream and back to reality, but he woke reaching for her. That would have been impossibly rude, to touch a woman he'd barely met, but dreams tended to lower boundaries.
And after that, he dreamed of her quite often. She joked and teased and occasionally taught him something (he must not have entirely picked up while waking, he supposed). He always woke before he could find the courage to run his hand through that ebony cascade of her hair.
It was somewhat ridiculous, he thought once, that his best friend would be... imaginary. But he tossed the thought away, fiercely, and continued to work. He was nearly done, but something was missing, something to balance.
Japan. There was something in Japan that he needed.
His Japanese was shaky, but enough to get him passage on a merchant ship. He calmed a storm so that they could get out of the harbor, and after that, the crew was careful to avoid him. There was something about magic that seemed to bother those who couldn't use it... another reason that he found it difficult to maintain friendships.
He arrived in the midst of a festival. The people in the streets ignored him carefully, the tall foreigner in Chinese dress. As for Clow, he was just content to wander through and look at the wares of the stalls. The thing he needed was here. He'd know it when he saw it.
There was a little stall, somewhat off the main path, that caught his eye. He found himself drifting over without even realizing. The stall owner lifted her eyes to meet his. Hers were crimson and vibrant. Her smirk was familiar.
He managed not to show any outward surprise, probably because the surprise was soon covered by inner relief (she was real) and then a small amount of embarrassment (and he'd told her-- he'd told her so much about his life).
"Have your palm read?" she asked, taking his hand in hers before he answered.
He smiled. "Of course."
Later, she told him about hitsuzen and dropped the ingredient he needed into his hand, curling his palm around it and disappearing in the crowd.
He let her go. They'd meet again.