storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-08-23 10:09 pm
storypaint) wrote2009-08-23 10:09 pm
Love a Quarrel (Clow/Yuuko)
Title: Love a Quarrel
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 488 words
Prompt: see lyric prompt below the cut
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: Seventh in a series; table of contents.
Excerpt: They had a hard time living together. It tended to happen by accident, any cohabitation longer than a couple of days, brought upon by their habit to work through the afternoons, drink through the evenings, and sleep through the mornings.
It had started, she thought, with the hair ribbons, but there'd been a detour at some point through the intricate dance of sharing a house (at least part of the time), the rather uneven spread of chores, and several imagined or half-forgotten offenses. However it had started, it had ended with Yuuko taking the swiftest portal home and sleeping restlessly in her own bed for the first time in a week.
They had a hard time living together. It tended to happen by accident, any cohabitation longer than a couple of days, brought upon by their habit to work through the afternoons, drink through the evenings, and sleep through the mornings. Part of the problem lay in the fact that they had led separate lives for so long. They weren't used to considering another person, having to socialize with that person, having to share. They weren't selfish people, but simply people who were very much individuals.
Yuuko stole the covers and Clow cuddled too close. She rarely escaped a morning hangover or headache; he was always cheerful when he woke. She liked to smoke indoors and he hated the way the smell lingered for three days after she left.
She woke, groaned, and threw her arm over her eyes. Her mouth tasted as though something had died in it and her head was pounding with the arguments they'd shared. It was morning. She turned over and threw the covers over her eyes.
"Good morning, dear," Clow said smoothly.
She screwed her eyes shut and didn't emerge from her blankets. She felt a gentle tug at the covers pooled around her feet.
"Don't," she said firmly.
"Yuuko--"
"Go away."
"I brought something for your headache."
"Go away."
"Are you still mad at me?"
He sat down on the end of the bed. She curled her body up into the fetal position, away from him.
"Always," she grumbled.
"I'll go make breakfast," he said, ignoring her irritation.
"Thought you were mad at me," she continued. For once, food didn't sound good. Her stomach pitched at the idea.
"I've decided to forgive you," he said magnanimously. "Getting out of bed will make you feel better."
"Imagining you going away is making me feel better," she retorted.
"I'll be in the kitchen," he said, leaning over the bed and tracing her foot through the cover. She kicked a little, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Unless you want me to join you?"
His tone was entirely too hopeful. She growled, "Kitchen," since it seemed to be the less offensive of the two options, though from the way he whistled as he left the room, it wasn't as irritating as she'd hoped.
She sighed. It was very hard to stay mad at him when there was food in the kitchen and contrition in those bright eyes of his.
But she was very practiced at it, so she turned over onto her stomach and went back to sleep.
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 488 words
Prompt: see lyric prompt below the cut
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: Seventh in a series; table of contents.
Excerpt: They had a hard time living together. It tended to happen by accident, any cohabitation longer than a couple of days, brought upon by their habit to work through the afternoons, drink through the evenings, and sleep through the mornings.
I think I'm right I think you're wrong
I'll probably give in before long
Please don't make me smile
I just want to be mad for awhile
For now you might as well forget it
Don't run your fingers through my hair
Yeah that's right I'm being stubborn
No I don't want to go back upstairs
-Terri Clark, I Just Want to Be Mad
It had started, she thought, with the hair ribbons, but there'd been a detour at some point through the intricate dance of sharing a house (at least part of the time), the rather uneven spread of chores, and several imagined or half-forgotten offenses. However it had started, it had ended with Yuuko taking the swiftest portal home and sleeping restlessly in her own bed for the first time in a week.
They had a hard time living together. It tended to happen by accident, any cohabitation longer than a couple of days, brought upon by their habit to work through the afternoons, drink through the evenings, and sleep through the mornings. Part of the problem lay in the fact that they had led separate lives for so long. They weren't used to considering another person, having to socialize with that person, having to share. They weren't selfish people, but simply people who were very much individuals.
Yuuko stole the covers and Clow cuddled too close. She rarely escaped a morning hangover or headache; he was always cheerful when he woke. She liked to smoke indoors and he hated the way the smell lingered for three days after she left.
She woke, groaned, and threw her arm over her eyes. Her mouth tasted as though something had died in it and her head was pounding with the arguments they'd shared. It was morning. She turned over and threw the covers over her eyes.
"Good morning, dear," Clow said smoothly.
She screwed her eyes shut and didn't emerge from her blankets. She felt a gentle tug at the covers pooled around her feet.
"Don't," she said firmly.
"Yuuko--"
"Go away."
"I brought something for your headache."
"Go away."
"Are you still mad at me?"
He sat down on the end of the bed. She curled her body up into the fetal position, away from him.
"Always," she grumbled.
"I'll go make breakfast," he said, ignoring her irritation.
"Thought you were mad at me," she continued. For once, food didn't sound good. Her stomach pitched at the idea.
"I've decided to forgive you," he said magnanimously. "Getting out of bed will make you feel better."
"Imagining you going away is making me feel better," she retorted.
"I'll be in the kitchen," he said, leaning over the bed and tracing her foot through the cover. She kicked a little, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Unless you want me to join you?"
His tone was entirely too hopeful. She growled, "Kitchen," since it seemed to be the less offensive of the two options, though from the way he whistled as he left the room, it wasn't as irritating as she'd hoped.
She sighed. It was very hard to stay mad at him when there was food in the kitchen and contrition in those bright eyes of his.
But she was very practiced at it, so she turned over onto her stomach and went back to sleep.