storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-09-22 08:07 am
storypaint) wrote2009-09-22 08:07 am
Fade Away (Clow/Yuuko)
Title: Fade Away
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 166 words
Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
writing_game Week 64: PC+2, Fade
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: Spoilers for ch181 and equivalent chapters of TRC. Slight sexual implications.
Excerpt: Yuuko wasn't just full of life; she was life itself. She took every opportunity and shook it by the hand, twirled it around, and led it on a dance.
Clow couldn't imagine her fading.
Yuuko wasn't just full of life; she was life itself. She took every opportunity and shook it by the hand, twirled it around, and led it on a dance. They'd whiled away many an afternoon (and sometimes days, nights, weeks) on her ridiculous whims.
And, to be honest, on his as well, but he was never so excitable as when she was on his arm, poking and teasing and pressing him into becoming someone better and more than he was.
He couldn't imagine her dying. She had enough life for three people, and she'd lived at least that long. He'd seen her asleep before, and hungover, and passed out on her couch, and with her eyes shut in the heat of passion, her lips slightly parted.
But he'd never seen her so still. He couldn't help it, the pain that stabbed at him, the gut reaction of loss.
But he always regretted it. She was never quite the same again.
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 166 words
Prompt:
writing_game Week 64: PC+2, FadePairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: Spoilers for ch181 and equivalent chapters of TRC. Slight sexual implications.
Excerpt: Yuuko wasn't just full of life; she was life itself. She took every opportunity and shook it by the hand, twirled it around, and led it on a dance.
Clow couldn't imagine her fading.
Yuuko wasn't just full of life; she was life itself. She took every opportunity and shook it by the hand, twirled it around, and led it on a dance. They'd whiled away many an afternoon (and sometimes days, nights, weeks) on her ridiculous whims.
And, to be honest, on his as well, but he was never so excitable as when she was on his arm, poking and teasing and pressing him into becoming someone better and more than he was.
He couldn't imagine her dying. She had enough life for three people, and she'd lived at least that long. He'd seen her asleep before, and hungover, and passed out on her couch, and with her eyes shut in the heat of passion, her lips slightly parted.
But he'd never seen her so still. He couldn't help it, the pain that stabbed at him, the gut reaction of loss.
But he always regretted it. She was never quite the same again.