To Sherri, From Amy ♥
Title: Dream a Little Dream of Me
Author: LunarGeography
Recipient: Doumeki
Series: XXXHolic
Characters/Pairing: Haruka, Shizuka, Kimihiro
Rating: PG-15
Author's Notes/Warnings [if any]: It's Watanuki's dream. They're just in it. Some specualtions about Doumeki Haruka.
It was fitting that the first time he'd seen those startlingly blue eyes had been in a dream. A true dream, those eyes, but intermingling with a more ordinary dream of the sort very common to boys on the cusp of manhood. The details were now blurred, but he distinctly remembered falling into those blue eyes as he crested.
The sun was low in the western sky, and the breeze brushed a knife-edge of chill over his skin. He brought the cigarette up, inhaled scented warmth, and exhaled slowly, making his own answer to the breeze. There was movement in the periphery of his vision; a black-bodied wasp with a blotch of red upon the wings. He sat forward and turned to watch it fly out of sight, then resettled himself on the veranda. There never had been any hurrying that boy; even as a child,Shizuka had never rushed, stubbornly setting his own pace.
Time was a flexible material in dreams. And in any case, he'd certainly had enough years to practice patience.
Some time later, slightly more skilled in navigating the undertows and tides of the sea of dreams, he saw those blue eyes again. They were set in a face so open and expressive that merely looking upon it was an act of intimacy. He watched the tiny licks of tongue and darting looks that spoke of unease shift into fear; it was only when fear had become outright terror that he was able to tear his attention away from the face to look for the cause. But then it was too late; he was being pulled away by the dream-tides, and had only a moment to wonder what could possibly be in his family's temple that would elicit that reaction from the blue-eyed boy.
By the time his cigarette was finished, a second and third wasp had buzzed by, apparently intent on the same destination. As he stubbed it out, a pair of them approached, their path bringing them close enough to swat them out of the air. They ignored him, and he let them pass unmolested. It would do no good to kill them.
After all those years, he really ought to have mastered patience.
Ah, well.
In dream after dream, he saw the young man with the blue eyes. Watched him use a stage magician's tricks of sweeping gestures and dramatically shouted words to distract attention away from that too-expressive face. Watched pale and delicate hands move with immaculate precision to chop ingredients, polish woodwork and silver, and fold silk kimonos and woolen uniforms, infusing each action of domestic care with the same honesty and purity of intent that shone on his face. Always,Haruka watched disembodied, lacking the strength to interact with his remarkably intense dreams of the blue-eyed boy.
He noticed that his dream self had slightly longer hair; in the real world, Haruka let his grow to match and waited with little patience.
To him, the realm of dreams was very like to sea. With a sigh at his own impatience, he pushed his power until it formed a glowing sphere in his hand, tossed it like a stone high into the air, and watched it plummet down. The scene around him was ripped apart by the splash; it was uncomfortable and disorienting. But the ripples would carry the scent and flavors of the nearby waters outward.Shizuka had proven remarkably sensitive to the scent of Watanuki's distress; stirring the waters would bring that scent to him all the more quickly..
He saw the blue-eyed boy bring bento after bento of handmade food, washed and mended clothing, and even hand-knitted gloves to his dream-self. He'd been heartbroken to see one of those blue eyes disappear, but could not help but think that the eye which replaced it was a very familiar shade of amber. And it was no great surprise to later dream of watching, disembodied, as the owner of those blue eyes delivering a histrionic-laden rant at hisdreamself, and watching those long-fingered hands stab and slice through the air, and then seize the front of his dream-self's gi to pull him down the scant centimeters required for a kiss.
"Watanuki," said his dream-self, wide eyed. "Kimihiro." Then his dream-self kissed the blue-eyed boy again.
Time was a flexible material in dreams, indeed, but Haruka's veranda had only just resettled into a stillness sufficient to enjoy another cigarette when Shizuka appeared. Older, of course, than the last time Haruka had seen him -- taller, broader in the shoulder, and the formal bearing that had been so disconcerting on a child now suited him.
It really was vanity to think that Shizuka had become an extremely handsome young man.
It was a long time -- embarrassingly long -- before he connected his dreams of the blue eyed boy to his dreams of the end of the worlds. Dreams of effects that came before causes, of the sky torn like rice paper, of objects that twinned themselves then dissolved into dust. Dreams of the sea of dreams split down the middle, and resulting tsunamis that drowned the real world in dreams that would not end.and left only parched and lifeless seabeds where dreams ought to flow.
His grandson was dressed the archer's uniform of hakama and gi, and carried his bow. The scent of the smoke caught him; Haruka watched the tilt of his head as he took a confirmatory sniff, and saw his shoulders tighten a moment before he turned to face the veranda.
It took a moment; the Haruka Shizuka had known had been an old man, and Haruka had made certain that no pictures of his younger self survived to reveal the uncanny similarity in their appearances. Though that flat, closed-off expression was nothing of his; entirelyShizuka's father's fault, that. But the facade cracked just a little at the moment of recognition, and Haruka felt the familiar surge of warmly exasperated affection at his grandon's guarded expressions. It wouldn't kill the boy to smile more often; hadn't Watanuki taught him that yet?
It was longer still -- something beyond embarrassing -- until Haruka realized that his "dream self" that interacted with Watanuki Kimihiro was not, in fact, himself. He had realized, of course, that at a certain point he no longer looked quite like the young man Watanuki had kissed. He had wondered if those dreams were a 'might-have-been;' sometimes he hypothesized that the tearing of space and time revealed in his dreams of the future might explain the disparity. It wasn't until his beloved daughter -- like her mother, he had only been permitted far too short a time by her side -- had flipped through a photograph album and remarked on the resemblance between himself and her son -- that he realized the truth.
"Shizuka." He patted the veranda next to him, and his grandson moved to take the indicated seat. Shizuka seemed to be in a daze; automatically, almost clumsily, he approached and sat next to Haruka as he had so many times as a child. Haruka gave him the space and silence to hear his own heart. It wasn't until Shizuka's chi settled that Haruka reached out and rested his hand on his grandson's head for a moment. Not rumpling his hair or petting his head, just making a connection in an old familiar gesture.
"Grandfather."
Shizuka's tone was almost calm, almost even, and Haruka felt his smile widen in answer. He had missed his aptly-named descendant.
"I was at target practice,using the arrows to pin the kanji into shape, but I had to be sure I didn't step on the snakes -- then I needed to find Watanuki... I'm dreaming. But he's the one who has dreams of you." There was a hint of accusation in that look.
"You think that Kimihiro doesn't dream of you?" He took a deep drag of his cigarette, and watched the hint of a flush rise in Shizuka's cheeks.
It had puzzled him; why had he dreamed so long and so intensely about a blue-eyed boy who would be close to his grandson? There was a feeling of chagrin, as well -- he'd felt so closely connected to Watanuki Kimihiro, and it stung to realize that he would not be the to recieve the food, the mended clothes, the kiss. He begrudged his grandson none of it. Indeed, felt greatly reassured at knowing there would be someone who felt so strongly about Shizuka, and who Shizuka would connect with as well, as he watched the stubbornly solitary child grow. Still... why had his true dreams led him to develop such feelings about his grandson's lover?
"This is his dream." It was a question, despite the intonation. "I'm in Watanuki's dream."
Haruka nodded, slowly.
"You're in Watanuki's dream." Shizuka's eyes narrowed, and his brows lowered. "You told me the dead could not interact with the living. That it was a door that only opened one way."
"I'm glad you were paying attention." Haruka blew a smoke ring and redirected the conversation. "Kimihiro's dreams are not like those of other people. He's brought things from the real world into dreams before, hasn't he, Shizuka? And perhaps even lost them there."
Haruka handed a small drawsting bag to his grandson, who opened it, and stared at the twisted wire and broken bits of glass. "His glasses."
"They broke as I was retrieving them. Unfortunately, I was not able to retrieve all of the pieces."
Shizuka's fingers flexed on his bow. "Unfortunately?"
It wasn't until the shockwaves of Watanuki Kimihiro's creation -- one thing become two -- went twisting through all of space and time that he understood. Understood this boy was dreamstuff made real, and kept real only by the most fragile threads, and understood how the dreams of a dream might be the only thing that could heal the shattering of space and time. There would be guardians of his body -- but who would protect his dreams?
"There were consequences to leaving such a link."
Shizuka stood, movements edged and sharp. "Where is he?"
"We'll need to follow the wasps."
So the gate to the Shop of Wishes opened to him, and he told the Witch of the Dimensions that he needed to enter the world of dreams. To shape himself into the protections that would be needed.
"There will be a price," she said, and though he had expected that, he had not expected her to show such regret.
"Of course," he had answered. "What coin is required?"
"A two-fold price. Time -- a long time alone, instead of time spent with your family."
He had known that. Dreams could be a lonely place.
"Time. And feelings."
The grey paper hive was large, the size of a bedroom -- or a tomb -- and covered with wasps. It was not quite complete, and the wasps ignoredHaruka and Shizuka as they walked in. Watanuki Kimihiro lay on a raised platform of wasp paper, and the lower half of his body was blanketed beneath the grey substance, and more wasps crawled over his skin, working diligently to bury him deeper. His eyes were closed, and the pale face was bathed in a single beam of light that was focused by a round glasslense in the roof of the hive. The quantity of moving wings within the nearly-enclosed space made something more than a buzzing noise; it was a vibration that went down to the bone, and ached.
He watched Shizuka's lips tighten, but caught his arm before he moved. "Wait. The wasps will not sipmly let you destroy the link that keeps him trapped. Take your sight, and hold."
Shizuka lifted the bow into readiness, aiming the invisible arrow at the stolen lens from Watanuki's glasses. The motion attracted the wasps, and they buzzed around Shizuka's body, landing on his hands, his arms, and stayed still, poised to sting. One landed on his cheek, . Another joined it -- and another, and they crawled over his skin.Shizuka closed his eyes at the movement on his face, but the hands that held the bow were steady, and the aim was unshaken.
The smoke drifting up from the end of his cigarette was trapped within the hive; he took a drag, and exhaled, slowly and deliberately. Smoke poured out of his mouth, darker than the smoke he had inhaled, and scented of incense. It billowed out, aclould that brushed over Kimihiro's trapped body, and drifted up. He continued to exhale, and the hive began to fill with smoke, and the movement of wings began to slow.
The air was thick with smoke by the time the buzzing ceased entirely. "Now."
The bowstring sang, and light surged back up the beam that haloed Watanuki's face. The spirit arrow struck the lens, shattering it, and fragments of glass fell upon the still body beneath. One cut his cheek, and a single drop of blood welled up.
"Well done," said Haruka. "Now you have only to wake him."
Shizuka shot him a sharp look.
"There are traditions for this sort of thing." It was the duty of older relatives to tease young lovers -- especially before they had quite decided they were going to be lovers. It was high time thatShizuka made up his mind. Haruka moved nearer, and let his fingers rest against Watanuki's cheek, in a gesture entirely unlike the touch he'd offered his grandson earlier. "Unless you'd rather I took care of it?"
The look became a glare. "I'll manage."
"I'm reassured. Then I suppose I'll take care of the barrier, and leave you to take care of Kimihiro."
He watched as Shizuka leaned down over Watanuki, using his body to block Haruki from watching. Haruka smiled, flicked his cigarette into the dry paper wall of the hive, and let it burn.
Author: LunarGeography
Recipient: Doumeki
Series: XXXHolic
Characters/Pairing: Haruka, Shizuka, Kimihiro
Rating: PG-15
Author's Notes/Warnings [if any]: It's Watanuki's dream. They're just in it. Some specualtions about Doumeki Haruka.
It was fitting that the first time he'd seen those startlingly blue eyes had been in a dream. A true dream, those eyes, but intermingling with a more ordinary dream of the sort very common to boys on the cusp of manhood. The details were now blurred, but he distinctly remembered falling into those blue eyes as he crested.
The sun was low in the western sky, and the breeze brushed a knife-edge of chill over his skin. He brought the cigarette up, inhaled scented warmth, and exhaled slowly, making his own answer to the breeze. There was movement in the periphery of his vision; a black-bodied wasp with a blotch of red upon the wings. He sat forward and turned to watch it fly out of sight, then resettled himself on the veranda. There never had been any hurrying that boy; even as a child,Shizuka had never rushed, stubbornly setting his own pace.
Time was a flexible material in dreams. And in any case, he'd certainly had enough years to practice patience.
Some time later, slightly more skilled in navigating the undertows and tides of the sea of dreams, he saw those blue eyes again. They were set in a face so open and expressive that merely looking upon it was an act of intimacy. He watched the tiny licks of tongue and darting looks that spoke of unease shift into fear; it was only when fear had become outright terror that he was able to tear his attention away from the face to look for the cause. But then it was too late; he was being pulled away by the dream-tides, and had only a moment to wonder what could possibly be in his family's temple that would elicit that reaction from the blue-eyed boy.
By the time his cigarette was finished, a second and third wasp had buzzed by, apparently intent on the same destination. As he stubbed it out, a pair of them approached, their path bringing them close enough to swat them out of the air. They ignored him, and he let them pass unmolested. It would do no good to kill them.
After all those years, he really ought to have mastered patience.
Ah, well.
In dream after dream, he saw the young man with the blue eyes. Watched him use a stage magician's tricks of sweeping gestures and dramatically shouted words to distract attention away from that too-expressive face. Watched pale and delicate hands move with immaculate precision to chop ingredients, polish woodwork and silver, and fold silk kimonos and woolen uniforms, infusing each action of domestic care with the same honesty and purity of intent that shone on his face. Always,Haruka watched disembodied, lacking the strength to interact with his remarkably intense dreams of the blue-eyed boy.
He noticed that his dream self had slightly longer hair; in the real world, Haruka let his grow to match and waited with little patience.
To him, the realm of dreams was very like to sea. With a sigh at his own impatience, he pushed his power until it formed a glowing sphere in his hand, tossed it like a stone high into the air, and watched it plummet down. The scene around him was ripped apart by the splash; it was uncomfortable and disorienting. But the ripples would carry the scent and flavors of the nearby waters outward.Shizuka had proven remarkably sensitive to the scent of Watanuki's distress; stirring the waters would bring that scent to him all the more quickly..
He saw the blue-eyed boy bring bento after bento of handmade food, washed and mended clothing, and even hand-knitted gloves to his dream-self. He'd been heartbroken to see one of those blue eyes disappear, but could not help but think that the eye which replaced it was a very familiar shade of amber. And it was no great surprise to later dream of watching, disembodied, as the owner of those blue eyes delivering a histrionic-laden rant at hisdreamself, and watching those long-fingered hands stab and slice through the air, and then seize the front of his dream-self's gi to pull him down the scant centimeters required for a kiss.
"Watanuki," said his dream-self, wide eyed. "Kimihiro." Then his dream-self kissed the blue-eyed boy again.
Time was a flexible material in dreams, indeed, but Haruka's veranda had only just resettled into a stillness sufficient to enjoy another cigarette when Shizuka appeared. Older, of course, than the last time Haruka had seen him -- taller, broader in the shoulder, and the formal bearing that had been so disconcerting on a child now suited him.
It really was vanity to think that Shizuka had become an extremely handsome young man.
It was a long time -- embarrassingly long -- before he connected his dreams of the blue eyed boy to his dreams of the end of the worlds. Dreams of effects that came before causes, of the sky torn like rice paper, of objects that twinned themselves then dissolved into dust. Dreams of the sea of dreams split down the middle, and resulting tsunamis that drowned the real world in dreams that would not end.and left only parched and lifeless seabeds where dreams ought to flow.
His grandson was dressed the archer's uniform of hakama and gi, and carried his bow. The scent of the smoke caught him; Haruka watched the tilt of his head as he took a confirmatory sniff, and saw his shoulders tighten a moment before he turned to face the veranda.
It took a moment; the Haruka Shizuka had known had been an old man, and Haruka had made certain that no pictures of his younger self survived to reveal the uncanny similarity in their appearances. Though that flat, closed-off expression was nothing of his; entirelyShizuka's father's fault, that. But the facade cracked just a little at the moment of recognition, and Haruka felt the familiar surge of warmly exasperated affection at his grandon's guarded expressions. It wouldn't kill the boy to smile more often; hadn't Watanuki taught him that yet?
It was longer still -- something beyond embarrassing -- until Haruka realized that his "dream self" that interacted with Watanuki Kimihiro was not, in fact, himself. He had realized, of course, that at a certain point he no longer looked quite like the young man Watanuki had kissed. He had wondered if those dreams were a 'might-have-been;' sometimes he hypothesized that the tearing of space and time revealed in his dreams of the future might explain the disparity. It wasn't until his beloved daughter -- like her mother, he had only been permitted far too short a time by her side -- had flipped through a photograph album and remarked on the resemblance between himself and her son -- that he realized the truth.
"Shizuka." He patted the veranda next to him, and his grandson moved to take the indicated seat. Shizuka seemed to be in a daze; automatically, almost clumsily, he approached and sat next to Haruka as he had so many times as a child. Haruka gave him the space and silence to hear his own heart. It wasn't until Shizuka's chi settled that Haruka reached out and rested his hand on his grandson's head for a moment. Not rumpling his hair or petting his head, just making a connection in an old familiar gesture.
"Grandfather."
Shizuka's tone was almost calm, almost even, and Haruka felt his smile widen in answer. He had missed his aptly-named descendant.
"I was at target practice,using the arrows to pin the kanji into shape, but I had to be sure I didn't step on the snakes -- then I needed to find Watanuki... I'm dreaming. But he's the one who has dreams of you." There was a hint of accusation in that look.
"You think that Kimihiro doesn't dream of you?" He took a deep drag of his cigarette, and watched the hint of a flush rise in Shizuka's cheeks.
It had puzzled him; why had he dreamed so long and so intensely about a blue-eyed boy who would be close to his grandson? There was a feeling of chagrin, as well -- he'd felt so closely connected to Watanuki Kimihiro, and it stung to realize that he would not be the to recieve the food, the mended clothes, the kiss. He begrudged his grandson none of it. Indeed, felt greatly reassured at knowing there would be someone who felt so strongly about Shizuka, and who Shizuka would connect with as well, as he watched the stubbornly solitary child grow. Still... why had his true dreams led him to develop such feelings about his grandson's lover?
"This is his dream." It was a question, despite the intonation. "I'm in Watanuki's dream."
Haruka nodded, slowly.
"You're in Watanuki's dream." Shizuka's eyes narrowed, and his brows lowered. "You told me the dead could not interact with the living. That it was a door that only opened one way."
"I'm glad you were paying attention." Haruka blew a smoke ring and redirected the conversation. "Kimihiro's dreams are not like those of other people. He's brought things from the real world into dreams before, hasn't he, Shizuka? And perhaps even lost them there."
Haruka handed a small drawsting bag to his grandson, who opened it, and stared at the twisted wire and broken bits of glass. "His glasses."
"They broke as I was retrieving them. Unfortunately, I was not able to retrieve all of the pieces."
Shizuka's fingers flexed on his bow. "Unfortunately?"
It wasn't until the shockwaves of Watanuki Kimihiro's creation -- one thing become two -- went twisting through all of space and time that he understood. Understood this boy was dreamstuff made real, and kept real only by the most fragile threads, and understood how the dreams of a dream might be the only thing that could heal the shattering of space and time. There would be guardians of his body -- but who would protect his dreams?
"There were consequences to leaving such a link."
Shizuka stood, movements edged and sharp. "Where is he?"
"We'll need to follow the wasps."
So the gate to the Shop of Wishes opened to him, and he told the Witch of the Dimensions that he needed to enter the world of dreams. To shape himself into the protections that would be needed.
"There will be a price," she said, and though he had expected that, he had not expected her to show such regret.
"Of course," he had answered. "What coin is required?"
"A two-fold price. Time -- a long time alone, instead of time spent with your family."
He had known that. Dreams could be a lonely place.
"Time. And feelings."
The grey paper hive was large, the size of a bedroom -- or a tomb -- and covered with wasps. It was not quite complete, and the wasps ignoredHaruka and Shizuka as they walked in. Watanuki Kimihiro lay on a raised platform of wasp paper, and the lower half of his body was blanketed beneath the grey substance, and more wasps crawled over his skin, working diligently to bury him deeper. His eyes were closed, and the pale face was bathed in a single beam of light that was focused by a round glasslense in the roof of the hive. The quantity of moving wings within the nearly-enclosed space made something more than a buzzing noise; it was a vibration that went down to the bone, and ached.
He watched Shizuka's lips tighten, but caught his arm before he moved. "Wait. The wasps will not sipmly let you destroy the link that keeps him trapped. Take your sight, and hold."
Shizuka lifted the bow into readiness, aiming the invisible arrow at the stolen lens from Watanuki's glasses. The motion attracted the wasps, and they buzzed around Shizuka's body, landing on his hands, his arms, and stayed still, poised to sting. One landed on his cheek, . Another joined it -- and another, and they crawled over his skin.Shizuka closed his eyes at the movement on his face, but the hands that held the bow were steady, and the aim was unshaken.
The smoke drifting up from the end of his cigarette was trapped within the hive; he took a drag, and exhaled, slowly and deliberately. Smoke poured out of his mouth, darker than the smoke he had inhaled, and scented of incense. It billowed out, aclould that brushed over Kimihiro's trapped body, and drifted up. He continued to exhale, and the hive began to fill with smoke, and the movement of wings began to slow.
The air was thick with smoke by the time the buzzing ceased entirely. "Now."
The bowstring sang, and light surged back up the beam that haloed Watanuki's face. The spirit arrow struck the lens, shattering it, and fragments of glass fell upon the still body beneath. One cut his cheek, and a single drop of blood welled up.
"Well done," said Haruka. "Now you have only to wake him."
Shizuka shot him a sharp look.
"There are traditions for this sort of thing." It was the duty of older relatives to tease young lovers -- especially before they had quite decided they were going to be lovers. It was high time thatShizuka made up his mind. Haruka moved nearer, and let his fingers rest against Watanuki's cheek, in a gesture entirely unlike the touch he'd offered his grandson earlier. "Unless you'd rather I took care of it?"
The look became a glare. "I'll manage."
"I'm reassured. Then I suppose I'll take care of the barrier, and leave you to take care of Kimihiro."
He watched as Shizuka leaned down over Watanuki, using his body to block Haruki from watching. Haruka smiled, flicked his cigarette into the dry paper wall of the hive, and let it burn.