XXXHolic- "Never Gone"
Title: Never Gone
Universe: XXXHolic
Theme/Topic: Kink Meme fic!
Rating: PG
Character/Pairing/s: lightly DoumekixWatanuki
Warnings/Spoilers: Vague spoilers through ch 182
Word Count: 1,835
Summary: Even when the mind forgets the body remembers.
Dedication: beltenebra’s thank you fic! Using #6 on your kink list (kind of?). I was going to write you JE but when I sat down to do it I realized I had no idea who your favorites were.
A/N: This is clearly just speculation on my part, probably enough to be considered AU.
Disclaimer: No harm or infringement intended.
He doesn’t remember why it started or when, but part of him feels like he should.
It’s like a bizarre hitch in the universe whenever the notion hits him, a pregnant pause in his very being whenever something happens that feels strangely familiar when rationally, he knows it shouldn’t.
It’s like right now, when he turns to his side and sees stupid Doumeki right there, always tagging along for no reason even though Watanuki is fairly certain he never said they could be friends before.
It is something that just is, but he doesn’t know why.
Whenever it happens, Watanuki can’t help but feel like he’s forgetting something important.
Beside him, Doumeki’s strides are long and easy.
“This is not your major!” Watanuki shouts at the taller college student eventually, when he comes to a stop in front of his lecture hall and Doumeki stops there too.
Doumeki blinks and puts his fingers in his ears automatically at Watanuki’s rise in volume; Watanuki scowls and wordlessly stomps into the room, hoping Doumeki will go to archery club practice or to a chemistry class instead.
Doumeki follows him in.
Doumeki always follows him in.
Watanuki wants to scream that he doesn’t need watching after anymore, but stops himself before he does when he realizes that statement doesn’t make any sense. There is nothing that Doumeki has had to watch over before in the first place. Not in his memories anyway.
But lately, he always feels like he’s forgetting something.
Some of the girls who are also in this Japanese Mythology class see the two of them when they enter together (always, it’s always the same) and they giggle at them; Watanuki feels his ears go red under their scrutiny and purposefully takes a seat between a sleepy-looking boy and a gyaru girl texting absently on her cellphone, in the back of the lecture hall.
Perfect. No seats for stupid Doumeki on either side of him. If the big idiot wants to stay in the class he can go sit in the front. By himself.
But Doumeki doesn’t.
Instead he stands in the aisle by the sleepy-looking boy’s seat and stares absently at him until the sleepy-looking boy gets weirded out enough to stand up and offer Doumeki his place.
Doumeki nods in silent acceptance and calmly sits down next to Watanuki, while sleepy-looking boy scurries off towards the front.
Watanuki is not as calm. “Why do you always do this?!” he demands in a screamed-whisper, as he gets his textbooks out and glares through his glasses at his self-appointed keeper.
Doumeki blinks, and for a single, terrifying moment, looks like he’s forgetting something too. “I don’t know,” he admits after a beat, honestly. He doesn’t look particularly troubled. “I just always have.”
Watanuki rolls his eyes because it seems like the right thing to do. “Of course. For an inconsiderate brute like you, that kind of overly simplistic answer seems absolutely perfect.”
Doumeki doesn’t respond; he looks like he’s thinking.
Watanuki decides to ignore him for the rest of their lives and hunches over his lecture notes in an attempt to organize them as they wait for the professor to show up.
But even still, he can’t stop thinking about Doumeki’s words.
I just always have.
Watanuki feels like there’s something he ought to remember.
Twenty minutes later, the professor breezes into the class exactly twenty minutes late; from the way she walks as she enters the room it seems like she’d hadn’t bothered to rush at all on her way here this morning, despite being very clearly behind schedule. She smiles crookedly at the students when she sees them there, all silently waiting for her. “Ah, my bad!” she starts around a twittering laugh, brushing long, dark hair over her shoulder and smiling sweetly. “There was a late night marathon on TV yesterday about haunted houses and exorcisms. I got so engrossed in watching it I barely noticed what the time was until twelve of my beers were gone and the sun was already coming up!”
She hangs her coat over a nearby chair and sparkles at the students rather unapologetically. “There were world famous spirit mediums and the ghosts of cursed lovers and I think in the last haunted mansion, all the chaos was said to be the work of some very mischievous ayakashi,” she raves happily. “So you can’t blame me for wanting to watch it all. It’s like studying the subject material of this class, only translated through a modern-day perspective!”
Watanuki sighs helplessly as the professor goes on about ancient legends that still stand today, beliefs and practices that have lasted thousands of years in various forms, and more importantly, why television ghost-hunts are the latest human craze in their search for a bond the mystical world. As she speaks (clearly not hungover from her exploits yesterday only because she is quite obviously still drunk) Watanuki can’t help but wonder-not for the first time-why he’d mysteriously jumped at the chance to take this class when he saw it offered on the curriculum. To be honest, all this stuff seems like a rather far away dream to him, a wish someone makes but never comes true.
“Geez, none of those things are real, sensei! Those shows and those spiritual mediums or whatever are all completely staged, didn’t you know?” a girl in the front seat chastises their doting professor after a moment, and hearing the words said out loud makes Watanuki stop his own thoughts for a moment, makes him blink.
“They could be real,” he suddenly finds himself saying without knowing why, loud enough for the entire class to hear. “All those things could be real.”
Suddenly, everyone’s eyes are on him, staring, wondering. Eventually, the professor smiles cheerfully, perhaps a little mysteriously. “Was there something you wanted to share with the class, Watanuki Kimihiro-kun?” she asks.
Watanuki shrinks back into his chair at the sudden influx of attention directed entirely on him. He isn’t sure why he’d said that just now, and even more, why he’d believed it as much as he had. “No,” he hastens to explain, “I don’t…”
“Those things could be real,” Doumeki says from beside him, suddenly. His voice is loud and clear as well, very calm. “We can’t be sure just because we can’t see. There must be a reason why people write stories about them, why no one’s forgotten them even after thousands of years.”
The professor laughs. “As expected from the heir to a shrine.” Pause. Smile. “Have you ever seen these types of things in real life, doing the kind of work you do, Doumeki-kun?”
Doumeki shakes his head. His brow is furrowed again, like he’s thinking some more. “No,” he admits eventually, almost reluctantly. “Never.”
When he hears Doumeki say it, Watanuki feels his universe stall for a moment, all over again.
He thinks he’s missing something.
But he still doesn’t know what it is, and the feeling lingers over him like a dark spirit for the entire rest of the class.
In the meantime, their professor starts the lecture and as the lesson goes on, eventually decides that this will be a good topic for the students to do their partner projects on.
“Faith,” she says towards the end of the day, eyes dark and challenging as she holds up the course textbook for everyone to see, “For your projects, I want you and your partners to give a presentation arguing either why we-as a modern day society- should or shouldn’t continue to remember these old stories.”
The clock tower chimes the end of their ninety minutes then, and as the rest of the students get up and leave, Watanuki remains sitting for just a moment, thinking that somehow, these old stories-these old words- are very, very important.
He just can’t remember why.
“You’re blocking the aisle,” Doumeki’s voice interrupts, stirring him from that moment of still time.
Watanuki blinks and looks around; he realizes that the big idiot is right, that the gyaru girl who’d been sitting next to him is impatiently trying to get around him and to the door, while he sits there staring at nothing like an idiot.
He hastily scrambles out of his seat and out of the small auditorium, starting to feel irritated with himself for spacing out like that so often lately.
Just like always, Doumeki follows.
“Stop following me,” Watanuki says, just like always.
Doumeki blinks. “We should work on our partner project.”
Watanuki bristles. “Who said we’re partners?!”
“The professor,” Doumeki responds blandly. “Just now. Don’t you remember?”
Watanuki frowns and keeps walking. “I didn’t hear that part at all! Are you sure you didn’t just make it up? I thought I was going to be partners with someone else, why am I always your partner?” For the thousandth time he laments Himawari-chan’s decision to go to an all women’s university. “Maybe that gyaru from earlier doesn’t have a partner yet?” he theorizes out loud. “I could be her partner. Or that poor guy you scared with your big dumb face.”
Doumeki falls into step beside him easily as he rants, and once Watanuki has to stop mid-tirade to breathe, the taller boy takes the moment to casually slide a, “You should make oden for us tonight,” into the pause. “I’ll buy sake.”
Watanuki’s eyes narrow at Doumeki’s stupid, familiar words, at his love for alcohol, at his overly casual mention of oden, at the constant reminders of their seemingly inevitable partnership. It’s all very annoying to him suddenly, because it all feels like something is still missing.
“No one invited you over for dinner! Go to your own house and eat!” the shorter boy insists in righteous indignation, arms flailing as they stop in front of a crosswalk, under the fluttering shade of a million spring sakura blossoms.
“Make sakura mochi too,” Doumeki adds in afterthought, as the breeze kicks up and scatters more petals into the air around them. Across the street, the signal tells them it’s okay to cross. “It's in season.”
“Augh, you’re so annoying,” Watanuki complains loudly, mid-crosswalk. “You’re so annoying and always here!”
Doumeki doesn’t feel the need to respond.
“I mean, can’t I just be alone for a little bit?!” Watanuki finds himself muttering tiredly, without thinking.
And even as the words leave his mouth, it suddenly feels like they’re coming right back at him again, slamming into his chest forcefully. He isn’t sure why.
But this time, Doumeki feels a need to respond.
“No,” the taller boy says eventually, eyes narrowed. “You can’t.”
Watanuki blinks, and his heart aches when he hears that, though he isn’t sure why.
At the same time, Doumeki fists are clenched tightly at his sides. He feels determinedly resolute in his declaration-more so than any before- though he isn’t sure why.
They continue walking to Watanuki’s apartment in silence.
Halfway there, they pass an empty lot, overgrown with weeds.
Both of them feel like they’re forgetting something important.
END
EDITS?
Universe: XXXHolic
Theme/Topic: Kink Meme fic!
Rating: PG
Character/Pairing/s: lightly DoumekixWatanuki
Warnings/Spoilers: Vague spoilers through ch 182
Word Count: 1,835
Summary: Even when the mind forgets the body remembers.
Dedication: beltenebra’s thank you fic! Using #6 on your kink list (kind of?). I was going to write you JE but when I sat down to do it I realized I had no idea who your favorites were.
A/N: This is clearly just speculation on my part, probably enough to be considered AU.
Disclaimer: No harm or infringement intended.
He doesn’t remember why it started or when, but part of him feels like he should.
It’s like a bizarre hitch in the universe whenever the notion hits him, a pregnant pause in his very being whenever something happens that feels strangely familiar when rationally, he knows it shouldn’t.
It’s like right now, when he turns to his side and sees stupid Doumeki right there, always tagging along for no reason even though Watanuki is fairly certain he never said they could be friends before.
It is something that just is, but he doesn’t know why.
Whenever it happens, Watanuki can’t help but feel like he’s forgetting something important.
Beside him, Doumeki’s strides are long and easy.
“This is not your major!” Watanuki shouts at the taller college student eventually, when he comes to a stop in front of his lecture hall and Doumeki stops there too.
Doumeki blinks and puts his fingers in his ears automatically at Watanuki’s rise in volume; Watanuki scowls and wordlessly stomps into the room, hoping Doumeki will go to archery club practice or to a chemistry class instead.
Doumeki follows him in.
Doumeki always follows him in.
Watanuki wants to scream that he doesn’t need watching after anymore, but stops himself before he does when he realizes that statement doesn’t make any sense. There is nothing that Doumeki has had to watch over before in the first place. Not in his memories anyway.
But lately, he always feels like he’s forgetting something.
Some of the girls who are also in this Japanese Mythology class see the two of them when they enter together (always, it’s always the same) and they giggle at them; Watanuki feels his ears go red under their scrutiny and purposefully takes a seat between a sleepy-looking boy and a gyaru girl texting absently on her cellphone, in the back of the lecture hall.
Perfect. No seats for stupid Doumeki on either side of him. If the big idiot wants to stay in the class he can go sit in the front. By himself.
But Doumeki doesn’t.
Instead he stands in the aisle by the sleepy-looking boy’s seat and stares absently at him until the sleepy-looking boy gets weirded out enough to stand up and offer Doumeki his place.
Doumeki nods in silent acceptance and calmly sits down next to Watanuki, while sleepy-looking boy scurries off towards the front.
Watanuki is not as calm. “Why do you always do this?!” he demands in a screamed-whisper, as he gets his textbooks out and glares through his glasses at his self-appointed keeper.
Doumeki blinks, and for a single, terrifying moment, looks like he’s forgetting something too. “I don’t know,” he admits after a beat, honestly. He doesn’t look particularly troubled. “I just always have.”
Watanuki rolls his eyes because it seems like the right thing to do. “Of course. For an inconsiderate brute like you, that kind of overly simplistic answer seems absolutely perfect.”
Doumeki doesn’t respond; he looks like he’s thinking.
Watanuki decides to ignore him for the rest of their lives and hunches over his lecture notes in an attempt to organize them as they wait for the professor to show up.
But even still, he can’t stop thinking about Doumeki’s words.
I just always have.
Watanuki feels like there’s something he ought to remember.
Twenty minutes later, the professor breezes into the class exactly twenty minutes late; from the way she walks as she enters the room it seems like she’d hadn’t bothered to rush at all on her way here this morning, despite being very clearly behind schedule. She smiles crookedly at the students when she sees them there, all silently waiting for her. “Ah, my bad!” she starts around a twittering laugh, brushing long, dark hair over her shoulder and smiling sweetly. “There was a late night marathon on TV yesterday about haunted houses and exorcisms. I got so engrossed in watching it I barely noticed what the time was until twelve of my beers were gone and the sun was already coming up!”
She hangs her coat over a nearby chair and sparkles at the students rather unapologetically. “There were world famous spirit mediums and the ghosts of cursed lovers and I think in the last haunted mansion, all the chaos was said to be the work of some very mischievous ayakashi,” she raves happily. “So you can’t blame me for wanting to watch it all. It’s like studying the subject material of this class, only translated through a modern-day perspective!”
Watanuki sighs helplessly as the professor goes on about ancient legends that still stand today, beliefs and practices that have lasted thousands of years in various forms, and more importantly, why television ghost-hunts are the latest human craze in their search for a bond the mystical world. As she speaks (clearly not hungover from her exploits yesterday only because she is quite obviously still drunk) Watanuki can’t help but wonder-not for the first time-why he’d mysteriously jumped at the chance to take this class when he saw it offered on the curriculum. To be honest, all this stuff seems like a rather far away dream to him, a wish someone makes but never comes true.
“Geez, none of those things are real, sensei! Those shows and those spiritual mediums or whatever are all completely staged, didn’t you know?” a girl in the front seat chastises their doting professor after a moment, and hearing the words said out loud makes Watanuki stop his own thoughts for a moment, makes him blink.
“They could be real,” he suddenly finds himself saying without knowing why, loud enough for the entire class to hear. “All those things could be real.”
Suddenly, everyone’s eyes are on him, staring, wondering. Eventually, the professor smiles cheerfully, perhaps a little mysteriously. “Was there something you wanted to share with the class, Watanuki Kimihiro-kun?” she asks.
Watanuki shrinks back into his chair at the sudden influx of attention directed entirely on him. He isn’t sure why he’d said that just now, and even more, why he’d believed it as much as he had. “No,” he hastens to explain, “I don’t…”
“Those things could be real,” Doumeki says from beside him, suddenly. His voice is loud and clear as well, very calm. “We can’t be sure just because we can’t see. There must be a reason why people write stories about them, why no one’s forgotten them even after thousands of years.”
The professor laughs. “As expected from the heir to a shrine.” Pause. Smile. “Have you ever seen these types of things in real life, doing the kind of work you do, Doumeki-kun?”
Doumeki shakes his head. His brow is furrowed again, like he’s thinking some more. “No,” he admits eventually, almost reluctantly. “Never.”
When he hears Doumeki say it, Watanuki feels his universe stall for a moment, all over again.
He thinks he’s missing something.
But he still doesn’t know what it is, and the feeling lingers over him like a dark spirit for the entire rest of the class.
In the meantime, their professor starts the lecture and as the lesson goes on, eventually decides that this will be a good topic for the students to do their partner projects on.
“Faith,” she says towards the end of the day, eyes dark and challenging as she holds up the course textbook for everyone to see, “For your projects, I want you and your partners to give a presentation arguing either why we-as a modern day society- should or shouldn’t continue to remember these old stories.”
The clock tower chimes the end of their ninety minutes then, and as the rest of the students get up and leave, Watanuki remains sitting for just a moment, thinking that somehow, these old stories-these old words- are very, very important.
He just can’t remember why.
“You’re blocking the aisle,” Doumeki’s voice interrupts, stirring him from that moment of still time.
Watanuki blinks and looks around; he realizes that the big idiot is right, that the gyaru girl who’d been sitting next to him is impatiently trying to get around him and to the door, while he sits there staring at nothing like an idiot.
He hastily scrambles out of his seat and out of the small auditorium, starting to feel irritated with himself for spacing out like that so often lately.
Just like always, Doumeki follows.
“Stop following me,” Watanuki says, just like always.
Doumeki blinks. “We should work on our partner project.”
Watanuki bristles. “Who said we’re partners?!”
“The professor,” Doumeki responds blandly. “Just now. Don’t you remember?”
Watanuki frowns and keeps walking. “I didn’t hear that part at all! Are you sure you didn’t just make it up? I thought I was going to be partners with someone else, why am I always your partner?” For the thousandth time he laments Himawari-chan’s decision to go to an all women’s university. “Maybe that gyaru from earlier doesn’t have a partner yet?” he theorizes out loud. “I could be her partner. Or that poor guy you scared with your big dumb face.”
Doumeki falls into step beside him easily as he rants, and once Watanuki has to stop mid-tirade to breathe, the taller boy takes the moment to casually slide a, “You should make oden for us tonight,” into the pause. “I’ll buy sake.”
Watanuki’s eyes narrow at Doumeki’s stupid, familiar words, at his love for alcohol, at his overly casual mention of oden, at the constant reminders of their seemingly inevitable partnership. It’s all very annoying to him suddenly, because it all feels like something is still missing.
“No one invited you over for dinner! Go to your own house and eat!” the shorter boy insists in righteous indignation, arms flailing as they stop in front of a crosswalk, under the fluttering shade of a million spring sakura blossoms.
“Make sakura mochi too,” Doumeki adds in afterthought, as the breeze kicks up and scatters more petals into the air around them. Across the street, the signal tells them it’s okay to cross. “It's in season.”
“Augh, you’re so annoying,” Watanuki complains loudly, mid-crosswalk. “You’re so annoying and always here!”
Doumeki doesn’t feel the need to respond.
“I mean, can’t I just be alone for a little bit?!” Watanuki finds himself muttering tiredly, without thinking.
And even as the words leave his mouth, it suddenly feels like they’re coming right back at him again, slamming into his chest forcefully. He isn’t sure why.
But this time, Doumeki feels a need to respond.
“No,” the taller boy says eventually, eyes narrowed. “You can’t.”
Watanuki blinks, and his heart aches when he hears that, though he isn’t sure why.
At the same time, Doumeki fists are clenched tightly at his sides. He feels determinedly resolute in his declaration-more so than any before- though he isn’t sure why.
They continue walking to Watanuki’s apartment in silence.
Halfway there, they pass an empty lot, overgrown with weeds.
Both of them feel like they’re forgetting something important.
END
EDITS?