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bonnefoisc'est mon dix-neuvième anniversaire aujourd'hui, joyeux anniversaire à moi.
Title: to sleep, perchance to dream
Day/Theme: August 24th: / So keep your silence, and know: This man, unless slain, is fated to die.
Series: XXXholic
Character/Pairing: ...has a Clow/Yuuko-ish slant, yes.
Rating: at least in the PG-13 region
Summary: the last drink
(Note: title and quote in the cut is from by Shakespeare, of course, the line Clow quoted was by Robert Frost )
A Drinking Song
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you and sigh.
W.B. Yeats.
She will remember this moment, precise, locked in glass and framed. The twin glasses, (futility on the rocks, she thought sardonically) the candlelight, flickering, almost significant – how his shoulders seemed slumped, and how very old he looked.
Clow’s skin drawn over his face, she could almost see the whiteness of his skull
muscles, veins blood, all to be dust when the invocation was revoked, the elixirs taken, the glass dropped and pieced apart.
They don’t bother to talk, all the words have already been said. (She won’t say how insufferable he is, how she hates his very existence, especially for leaving, she just drinks more and more, drowning out this moment.)
Shifting the drink in his hand, he considers it, as if to philosophize one last time, to say something that will have her screaming at him, just to remember her voice before he goes – but he just drinks in deep the moment, the smell of her hair, her skin closer than usual, the fermentation of all their lives captured in shot glasses, sprinkled with salt and finished off with ice.
“You’ll have a good dream” she says, not looking at him, peeling the label off of a bottle, more alcohol, never enough to prolong this moment.
“cheers” he says, finally – much too late as it’s already been many drinks between them, but this is final, his way of saying goodbye, he never could say anything but he had a fancy way of saying it, she thinks, all bitter through and through.
They both drink up, too fast, it burns on the way down, but it’s choked down with pleasant words (she is almost amused, this is the most civil they’ve even been for the thousands of years they’ve known each other)
But when it strikes ten Clow takes his leave, pushing away the glass and saying too happy and too quick – “for I have miles to go before I sleep”
Yuuko doesn’t remember what she said, too much wine to forget something she desperately wanted to keep and never see again, to never have to witness.
When the clock struck twelve, his tracks long blown over from snow, she took one last drink as the candles flicker, then go out completely. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and filled another glass.
He’d left his cloak, so calculated in ways to make sure that he wasn’t forgotten, that she’d hate him long after he was gone, enough for two lifetimes, till he’d make it back in some different form parroting the same words, driving another nail through the conversation. She almost laughed, how very like him.
“And miles to go before I sleep” she murmured, taking the last drink of the night, this time for remembrance.
Title: to sleep, perchance to dream
Day/Theme: August 24th: / So keep your silence, and know: This man, unless slain, is fated to die.
Series: XXXholic
Character/Pairing: ...has a Clow/Yuuko-ish slant, yes.
Rating: at least in the PG-13 region
Summary: the last drink
(Note: title and quote in the cut is from by Shakespeare, of course, the line Clow quoted was by Robert Frost )
A Drinking Song
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you and sigh.
W.B. Yeats.
She will remember this moment, precise, locked in glass and framed. The twin glasses, (futility on the rocks, she thought sardonically) the candlelight, flickering, almost significant – how his shoulders seemed slumped, and how very old he looked.
Clow’s skin drawn over his face, she could almost see the whiteness of his skull
muscles, veins blood, all to be dust when the invocation was revoked, the elixirs taken, the glass dropped and pieced apart.
They don’t bother to talk, all the words have already been said. (She won’t say how insufferable he is, how she hates his very existence, especially for leaving, she just drinks more and more, drowning out this moment.)
Shifting the drink in his hand, he considers it, as if to philosophize one last time, to say something that will have her screaming at him, just to remember her voice before he goes – but he just drinks in deep the moment, the smell of her hair, her skin closer than usual, the fermentation of all their lives captured in shot glasses, sprinkled with salt and finished off with ice.
“You’ll have a good dream” she says, not looking at him, peeling the label off of a bottle, more alcohol, never enough to prolong this moment.
“cheers” he says, finally – much too late as it’s already been many drinks between them, but this is final, his way of saying goodbye, he never could say anything but he had a fancy way of saying it, she thinks, all bitter through and through.
They both drink up, too fast, it burns on the way down, but it’s choked down with pleasant words (she is almost amused, this is the most civil they’ve even been for the thousands of years they’ve known each other)
But when it strikes ten Clow takes his leave, pushing away the glass and saying too happy and too quick – “for I have miles to go before I sleep”
Yuuko doesn’t remember what she said, too much wine to forget something she desperately wanted to keep and never see again, to never have to witness.
When the clock struck twelve, his tracks long blown over from snow, she took one last drink as the candles flicker, then go out completely. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and filled another glass.
He’d left his cloak, so calculated in ways to make sure that he wasn’t forgotten, that she’d hate him long after he was gone, enough for two lifetimes, till he’d make it back in some different form parroting the same words, driving another nail through the conversation. She almost laughed, how very like him.
“And miles to go before I sleep” she murmured, taking the last drink of the night, this time for remembrance.
