FIC: XXXHolic[ Crowfeet ]
Hello, please do not mind me- I just wanted to put this somewhere.
It is an embarrassing hobby of mine.
-----
Crowfeet
Fandom: XXXHolic
Genre: Gen-ish? Doumeki- Watanuki interaction
Summary: Watanuki notices the wrinkles on Doumeki's face.
WARNING: SPOILERS after Chapter 185 of the manga
Doumeki and Watanuki are both 37 in this story.
-----
Doumeki is getting wrinkles.
They are not deep enough to sink a fingernail, but they are there, quiet and unassuming.
They start from the corners of his eyes, tiny forked lines spreading like tree roots.
If Doumeki smiled, they would crinkle. Just a little bit.
Watanuki counts the lines, and his heart hums a spontaneous song, to the tinkling of the wind chimes.
Crows feet, crows feet-
Little black crows are going *hop hop hop*-upon the olive soil that is his skin.
"What are you looking at?"
The melody breaks into a thousand pieces, rudely interrupted by the sound of Doumeki's voice.
He speaks in a coarse monotone, the words pronounced slow and flat.
Watanuki pours Doumeki some more sake, and makes an irritated sound.
"Nothing."
Outside, the pouring rain has turned into gentle plip-plops. The smell of wet grass soaks into the wood of the veranda. A cool moisture lingers upon the skin, forming a million tiny dewdrops, resting upon a million tiny erect hairs.
Inside, they sip their rice wine in silence, and try not to disturb the air.
Watanuki peers over the rim of his sake cup, and tries, as discreetly as he can, to spot more lines on Doumeki's face.
He finds it strange.
How did he look like, before?
Watanuki pictures his own hands, white and smooth in comparison to Doumeki's darker hue, reaching out for Doumeki's face, and stretching the facial skin taut. The ghosts of his thumbs are sliding against the crowfeet, digging into the shallow dips of skin, dragging north, then south, in vain attempt to erase the lines.
When did he change?
Over the years, Doumeki's face has altered, his bone plates shifting quietly beneath the surface of his skin. Puberty was kind to him, and he transitioned effortlessly from boyhood to adulthood. Now, nearing the age of forty- Doumeki has adopted the quiet elegance of a distinguished professor. It was a strangely fitting look for a man who obtained his degree in Japanese folklore, and lived in a Shinto shrine. A pair of spectacles connected to a silver chain hung around his neck. He only wore them during his reading. His forehead was higher, and his cheeks were more drawn in, revealing sharp cheekbones. His jawbone was stronger and wider. The corners of his mouth turned down at the sides. His hair, greying slightly at the tips and the temples, was worn the same way-short and clipped at the back, with a falling section of it side swept at the front. His eyes appeared to be smaller, and more deep-set, skin creasing lightly just beneath his eyelashes. His irises, however- remained a calming shade of gold-green. They flickered with age, wisdom, and composure.
Watanuki, on the other hand- was always struggling to keep up with his body's irrational growth spurts. His delicate face belied his crude, graceless transition from childhood to adolescence. One summer his left arm would be longer than his right, and on the next; his right would be longer than his left. One eye always seemed to be bigger than the other; that sort of annoying thing.
At seventeen, his features finally evened out- although he still maintained an unfortunately skinny frame.
At seventeen-
Watanuki stopped aging.
He imagines that the bone plates of his own face must be frozen cold, locked within a piece of time's vice-like grip.
His hair will never turn silver.
His skin will never wrinkle.
He will neither grow taller nor shorter.
Now, he is what he was twenty years ago, a young boy of seventeen-with round cheeks and wide mismatched eyes and an eternally lineless face. In ten years to come, this is what he will continue to be, unless his heart forgets to beat.
It was the price he paid to wait.
Lost in thought, Watanuki reaches out- for real this time, and points a long, slender finger towards Doumeki's forehead. His fingernail trails a single, clean line just above Doumeki's brow.
A horizontal cut.
"Here, I predict a wrinkle."
His finger shifts above the imaginary line.
"And here, another one," he says, as he makes another incision.
Watanuki's eyelids are growing heavy, weighed down by eyelashes and wine. "Doumeki is an old ojisan", he drawls, in between a hiccup and a yawn. He withdraws his finger, and places his palm against his own forehead. It feels cool, smooth, and strangely translucent, in contrast to Doumeki's warm, coarse skin.
"You know, you've really aged."
"Hn."
"Crow feet," Watanuki says, and he taps the skin under his own eyes to demonstrate.
"Hn."
"Even your hair…you must have been holed up in a dark room for far too long- reading ancient scrolls… or something like that. It's just like you to live like a hermit, even though the sun is shining outside."
Plip plop, goes the rain.
Watanuki sighs.
"As always, a charming conversationalist."
Doumeki's expression does not change. He clears his throat, and finishes off his sake- then holds out his cup for more.
Watanuki frowns in annoyance.
"You're really just a regular old man."
"More," is all Doumeki says.
Watanuki laughs, out of irony more than anything else.
Even the stone is growing old.
"If you didn't age, I would forget that you are human, not some expressionless statue," he retorts wistfully, as he fills Doumeki's cup.
-Crows feet, crows feet-
-Little black crows are going *hop hop hop*-upon the olive soil that is his skin.-
They drink in silence, and wish for the wind chimes to sound again.
-Plip plop-
"Watanuki."
Watanuki puts down his cup, and picks up his pipe.
"Oho-it speaks!"
Doumeki shifts from his sitting position, and stands up. He arches backwards, stretching his stiff limbs. His body has long outgrown its boyish lankiness. Age has broadened his sloping shoulders, and gently filled out his flesh and muscles; hips, torso, calves and all; in proportion to his tall frame. He appeared, from Watanuki's point of view, to resemble some sort of strange, hulking giant, bending over with languid grace.
"My bones," Doumeki continues, "they creak at night."
Doumeki stops moving, and focuses his eyes right on Watanuki's mismatched pair.
"Do yours?"
Watanuki exhales slowly, smoke coiling around his face. The silk of Yuuko's yukata feels loose around his thin shoulders, and narrow hips. They slip past his clavicles, and gather in pooling reds at his feet. He would never grow into it.
He smiles tiredly, and answers-
"All the time."
-Plip plop-
Doumeki hints a smile, that is both mocking and kind.
"Just like an old man."
Outside, the grey clouds break away to reveal cracks of blue.
The wind chimes sound again-ting ting- in the dry breeze.
Inside, Watanuki sniffs for wet grass- but smells the sun.
-fin-
----
A/N: [ spoilery ]
I hope this is alright. I wrote this thinking about Watanuki's dreadful decision to stay behind in the shop, in order to wait for Yuuko. I thought that it was sad and romantic how Doumeki will continue to age, and become and old man- while Watanuki ( outwardly, at least ) would forever remain as a 17 year old. I also tried to write Watanuki as more subdued- in line with his post timeskip behavior. It's a little strange to write him that way, though, and still maintain their dynamics.
Being unable to grow older, and age with the ones close to you- isn't that sad? It feels as if Watanuki would be lonely, because Doumeki ( and everyone else ) seems so far away. Then again, Watanuki is someone very impulsive- he acts with his heart, not his mind. I picture this scenario here- as a consequence he might have to pay.
I feel as if I was unable to reach a proper conclusion, though...
Thank you for reading.
---
It is an embarrassing hobby of mine.
-----
Crowfeet
Fandom: XXXHolic
Genre: Gen-ish? Doumeki- Watanuki interaction
Summary: Watanuki notices the wrinkles on Doumeki's face.
WARNING: SPOILERS after Chapter 185 of the manga
Doumeki and Watanuki are both 37 in this story.
-----
Doumeki is getting wrinkles.
They are not deep enough to sink a fingernail, but they are there, quiet and unassuming.
They start from the corners of his eyes, tiny forked lines spreading like tree roots.
If Doumeki smiled, they would crinkle. Just a little bit.
Watanuki counts the lines, and his heart hums a spontaneous song, to the tinkling of the wind chimes.
Crows feet, crows feet-
Little black crows are going *hop hop hop*-upon the olive soil that is his skin.
"What are you looking at?"
The melody breaks into a thousand pieces, rudely interrupted by the sound of Doumeki's voice.
He speaks in a coarse monotone, the words pronounced slow and flat.
Watanuki pours Doumeki some more sake, and makes an irritated sound.
"Nothing."
Outside, the pouring rain has turned into gentle plip-plops. The smell of wet grass soaks into the wood of the veranda. A cool moisture lingers upon the skin, forming a million tiny dewdrops, resting upon a million tiny erect hairs.
Inside, they sip their rice wine in silence, and try not to disturb the air.
Watanuki peers over the rim of his sake cup, and tries, as discreetly as he can, to spot more lines on Doumeki's face.
He finds it strange.
How did he look like, before?
Watanuki pictures his own hands, white and smooth in comparison to Doumeki's darker hue, reaching out for Doumeki's face, and stretching the facial skin taut. The ghosts of his thumbs are sliding against the crowfeet, digging into the shallow dips of skin, dragging north, then south, in vain attempt to erase the lines.
When did he change?
Over the years, Doumeki's face has altered, his bone plates shifting quietly beneath the surface of his skin. Puberty was kind to him, and he transitioned effortlessly from boyhood to adulthood. Now, nearing the age of forty- Doumeki has adopted the quiet elegance of a distinguished professor. It was a strangely fitting look for a man who obtained his degree in Japanese folklore, and lived in a Shinto shrine. A pair of spectacles connected to a silver chain hung around his neck. He only wore them during his reading. His forehead was higher, and his cheeks were more drawn in, revealing sharp cheekbones. His jawbone was stronger and wider. The corners of his mouth turned down at the sides. His hair, greying slightly at the tips and the temples, was worn the same way-short and clipped at the back, with a falling section of it side swept at the front. His eyes appeared to be smaller, and more deep-set, skin creasing lightly just beneath his eyelashes. His irises, however- remained a calming shade of gold-green. They flickered with age, wisdom, and composure.
Watanuki, on the other hand- was always struggling to keep up with his body's irrational growth spurts. His delicate face belied his crude, graceless transition from childhood to adolescence. One summer his left arm would be longer than his right, and on the next; his right would be longer than his left. One eye always seemed to be bigger than the other; that sort of annoying thing.
At seventeen, his features finally evened out- although he still maintained an unfortunately skinny frame.
At seventeen-
Watanuki stopped aging.
He imagines that the bone plates of his own face must be frozen cold, locked within a piece of time's vice-like grip.
His hair will never turn silver.
His skin will never wrinkle.
He will neither grow taller nor shorter.
Now, he is what he was twenty years ago, a young boy of seventeen-with round cheeks and wide mismatched eyes and an eternally lineless face. In ten years to come, this is what he will continue to be, unless his heart forgets to beat.
It was the price he paid to wait.
Lost in thought, Watanuki reaches out- for real this time, and points a long, slender finger towards Doumeki's forehead. His fingernail trails a single, clean line just above Doumeki's brow.
A horizontal cut.
"Here, I predict a wrinkle."
His finger shifts above the imaginary line.
"And here, another one," he says, as he makes another incision.
Watanuki's eyelids are growing heavy, weighed down by eyelashes and wine. "Doumeki is an old ojisan", he drawls, in between a hiccup and a yawn. He withdraws his finger, and places his palm against his own forehead. It feels cool, smooth, and strangely translucent, in contrast to Doumeki's warm, coarse skin.
"You know, you've really aged."
"Hn."
"Crow feet," Watanuki says, and he taps the skin under his own eyes to demonstrate.
"Hn."
"Even your hair…you must have been holed up in a dark room for far too long- reading ancient scrolls… or something like that. It's just like you to live like a hermit, even though the sun is shining outside."
Plip plop, goes the rain.
Watanuki sighs.
"As always, a charming conversationalist."
Doumeki's expression does not change. He clears his throat, and finishes off his sake- then holds out his cup for more.
Watanuki frowns in annoyance.
"You're really just a regular old man."
"More," is all Doumeki says.
Watanuki laughs, out of irony more than anything else.
Even the stone is growing old.
"If you didn't age, I would forget that you are human, not some expressionless statue," he retorts wistfully, as he fills Doumeki's cup.
-Crows feet, crows feet-
-Little black crows are going *hop hop hop*-upon the olive soil that is his skin.-
They drink in silence, and wish for the wind chimes to sound again.
-Plip plop-
"Watanuki."
Watanuki puts down his cup, and picks up his pipe.
"Oho-it speaks!"
Doumeki shifts from his sitting position, and stands up. He arches backwards, stretching his stiff limbs. His body has long outgrown its boyish lankiness. Age has broadened his sloping shoulders, and gently filled out his flesh and muscles; hips, torso, calves and all; in proportion to his tall frame. He appeared, from Watanuki's point of view, to resemble some sort of strange, hulking giant, bending over with languid grace.
"My bones," Doumeki continues, "they creak at night."
Doumeki stops moving, and focuses his eyes right on Watanuki's mismatched pair.
"Do yours?"
Watanuki exhales slowly, smoke coiling around his face. The silk of Yuuko's yukata feels loose around his thin shoulders, and narrow hips. They slip past his clavicles, and gather in pooling reds at his feet. He would never grow into it.
He smiles tiredly, and answers-
"All the time."
-Plip plop-
Doumeki hints a smile, that is both mocking and kind.
"Just like an old man."
Outside, the grey clouds break away to reveal cracks of blue.
The wind chimes sound again-ting ting- in the dry breeze.
Inside, Watanuki sniffs for wet grass- but smells the sun.
-fin-
----
A/N: [ spoilery ]
I hope this is alright. I wrote this thinking about Watanuki's dreadful decision to stay behind in the shop, in order to wait for Yuuko. I thought that it was sad and romantic how Doumeki will continue to age, and become and old man- while Watanuki ( outwardly, at least ) would forever remain as a 17 year old. I also tried to write Watanuki as more subdued- in line with his post timeskip behavior. It's a little strange to write him that way, though, and still maintain their dynamics.
Being unable to grow older, and age with the ones close to you- isn't that sad? It feels as if Watanuki would be lonely, because Doumeki ( and everyone else ) seems so far away. Then again, Watanuki is someone very impulsive- he acts with his heart, not his mind. I picture this scenario here- as a consequence he might have to pay.
I feel as if I was unable to reach a proper conclusion, though...
Thank you for reading.
---