I'm happy. I truly am happy. Well, maybe not right now- moving books, trophies, and other stuff to boxes here in my brother's room may test anyone's patience... and will. The light shining through the window radiates in a rather reddish tint, which makes me realize I've been here all day just TRYING to put order! Damn! Why can't Onii-chan do this by himself?! Beep! My wristwatch reinforces the pass of time in this afternoon, yet its sound makes me smile- it was, after all, a moment like this, in the middle of a task, when Syaoran-kun, my boyfriend, gave it to me as a present... And... Hoe!! He proposed to me. It was perhaps the happiest minute in my life the one I took to get his question to sink into me, and finally answer. I could just spend forever zombified replaying this memory. Moving here. Carrying. And a quick thump as something drops from the bundle I was transporting wakes me from my short reverie. I sigh. It's probably the thirty-fifth time I've had to pick up an object Touya couldn't wrap well enough. Alas, this one does call my attention. I don't remember seeing one of these since I was ten, and a strange if brief feeling makes my eyes well up in tears. We Japanese have a word for brief, nostalgic emotions on objects or ideas- aware. And it's about the only word fitting for it. What did I see? (Personally, I still can't believe someday I'd feel this, for I thought only artists, like my best friend, can be sensible enough to let their souls be receptive to such an emotion... and of all things!?! A tape!!!). Just a tape. A plain old, out of use cassette. It reads Sony, so it's a recording tape. The tears never come out, though, for I smile as I think of the many times before using Cd's and then mini discs that tapes were about the only way to listen to music. I recall them as being cheap, too. Perhaps that is why Oni-chaan preferred them to burned discs or even originals he borrowed from friends. I giggle a bit imagining him with his ages-worn walkman amid a discman subway crowd. I examine the tape, as if I found a priceless archaeological artifact. I turn to my back to try to find its case. I'll know then what's it about. I'm actually VERY curious. This being stuck here all day helping Touya in his moving has made me reach for anything to shake the monotonous hum the job has had. Quite quickly, taking only a few seconds, I found the empty case. It read Sony too. Bingo. Radiohead- B-Sides and Rare Collections. I think I may have heard them a couple of times before, mostly when my brother was in high school. There was one particular song that he played again and again back then.... let me remember... Reading the song list will probably give me a hint to its name. Radiohead- B-Sides and Rare Collections... For starters, I can perfectly make out it's not his handwriting. So, Yukito-san gave you this? There's a slight grin playing on my lips. Yukito-san still has this cheery effect on me, for his kindness and polite manner are truly special. And it is this same qualities that I noticed since I met him that made me finally long ago understand why my brother fell in love with him. Let alone be his friend. Hai, Yukito-san gave him this tape. And I spot the song I was looking for. An asterick in violet ink gave away the answer. True Love Waits. Live. Searching up my memory. Found it. Yep. This is the song he couldn't stop playing one summer. I thought it to be a bit corny back then. More than corny, puzzling. Puzzling. You can't make it out 'cause you still don't learn English, kaijuu! A bit of blood rushes in a boiling manner to my face. He dismissed my curiosity like that and shut the door. He returned to a rather pensative gaze towards the ceiling as the door made way to block me his view and the recorder's sound. Live. The sound was that of an acoustic guitar, I think. True Love Waits... Sakura! Dinner's served! Coming, dad!! True Love Waits... I decide to put the tape in the case, and place it in my pocket. As I close the door, for a short pause I consider putting it back. Nah!! He owes me plenty. And I leave hurriedly for the kitchen downstairs. Steamed vegetables and chicken teriyaki await. -------- parenthesis : Tomoyo An 18 year-old girl stands out from the crowd. It must be the Prussian blue velvet blazer she's wearing. She walks towards a store in this three-level mall. Then again, it's almost impossible for people not to notice her beautiful features- long wavy dark hair, stormy indigo eyes, petite nose & lips, in an elongated figure. Her skin's as pale as the winter air hanging outside. Her graceful movement crowns this ideallic picture. And how fitting! She has walked into the art supply store. A ring and a voice meet her. - Daidouji-san! Back so early for material? The girl this mature-looking, all-knowing man greets nods cheerfully. - Hai, Mitsumori-sensei! I'm going to need more tubes of titanium white and ebony black than I expected. He now stands from the wooden stool he was sitting on, leaving aside the silver vase he was intent on restoring to its lost glory. - Just those? Have you turned away from expressionism or are you shortening way too much your other oils to save yourself money? Her giggle came out discreet. And she moves again with a grace to an aisle of the store. - No, not at all, sensei. But pale colors seem to suit my work much better... - If you say so, Daidouji-san...- he says while he scoops off with his fingers a drop of sweat from his brow. She's with her knees bent in front of the bottom rack of the aisle, her eyes searching cooly for the tubes. And then it was that she started to hum. Hum. hum. Hum. hum. Unlike a buzz, unlike an untrained bird young. It was how angels would sound if they knew how to hum at all rather than fill the skies with overpowering arias. - Hmmm... I've not heard this one before... Are you and the band preparing for a performance? Daidouji Tomoyo was snapped out of her search. And out of a secret reverie hardly unveiled by the hum. She grabs a boxed set of oils and walks back to the counter where her sensei stood. - With the crowd we're getting at the club we have to be preparing almost on a daily basis, sensei. Here. The old man took the card she tended to him, and passed it quick through the machine. He handed it back along with a short thin sheet of paper. - With school and your art studies, it's still a wonder you take time to sing in a club band! At your age it's not so good to overwork your abilities and miss out on the ordinary youth past times... She once again displays that discreet, yet cute smile. - It's okay, it's not like I'm missing out on much anyway. They're all important activities to me, since I want to master the most possible for my artistic goals... They may all be of some use when I leave in the end of the summer... Her pause, if done properly, called on the attention of her sensei. After all, not in vane has he known her since she was -and still is, he thinks to himself- a 12 year-old quiet, observant, condescendant, well-mannered, intelligent, talented, sweet girl. - In the end of the summer? She keeps to herself, as usual when a question she considered not answerable for now appeared. Yes, she's opening her wallet, placing back the credit card Mitsumori-sensei tended to her. She'd probably give an answer, if she only considered the moment adequate. Yet... - I didn't realize I'm running late to pick up my mother from the toy company. I have to leave now, sensei. Just before she could exit, her head turns back to me. She sighs and her deep blue eyes seem to flicker in a lower light, but then shine brightly as anyone could tell you, along with a soft, discreet smile. - Here, sensei. This is the flyer we're handing out to promote our next concert. Hope I'll see you there. Mitsumori Aoi took the flyer in his long, slightly wrinkle-skinned hand. - I'll be there, my child prodigy. I'll be there. The last thing he heard aside from her light footsteps was her humming, that slow soft hum that suddenly let a few words escape...... I'd drown my beliefs..... And, perhaps in the lowest breath ever made by a human, she continued while grasping out of her blouse an ages-worn locket. ------------ parenthesis 2 : Syaoran The afternoon seemed perfect. Almost perfect enough to remind him that he was a foreigner. Yet this wasn't the first time he walked these streets. He did it before as a child, and nothing seems to have changed. Except that, aside that he had a nice compact sports car that he used every now and then, there was someone here in this town that loved him dearly. And suddenly Tokyo was just as beautiful as the garden of Eden. Just that I wish every now and then that such paradise could last. And just as I'd go forward down the avenue to reach home, a crowd, a voice asking for attention, and a guitar strum capture my attention. That's about enough to make me run into the record store and ask immediately for the album. - Why certainly, Mr. Li!!!! When I received the shipment this morning I thought you'd love it. The tall, brown haired man nodded. - I appreciate the special treatment I get from you, Sorata-san. Even that you refer to me in a respectful manner. The other young man, short and with his long hair dyed in various colors, smiled and replied: - I suppose that back in Hong Kong people refer to you like that.... That'll be 2,000 yen, sir. Li Syaoran took out his black leather wallet and extended the right amount of cash to his friend. He examined the cover of the mini disc. - Mmmm.... I didn't know it was Radiohead!! The clerk then handed the bill. He put a surprised expression on his brow. - You didn't know??? Syaoran blushed in embarrasment. He, the best customer of this record store, that purchased at least three to five albums per week, didn't actually have knowledge of this song!!!! - Don't worry, little gentleman!!! I got the same expression from my other favorite customer, and she's also a music specialist!!! Like if she was a ball player, she'd be Major League!!! The Chinese boy couldn't help noticing the dreamy gaze Sorata was wearing. - I hope your affirmation's because of her knowledge and not her looks!!- he grinned. - She's the lead singer for a band,- replied the young punk, trying to look serious yet having a slight blush on his cheeks- that plays almost every night at the club further down the street.. AND I've seen her a couple o' times here with your girlfriend!!-, he added with a bit more of enthusiasm. An enthusiasm that Li Syaoran, however, did not share. - Well, I have to run now, Sorata-san. See ya! Sorata just stammered out a series of "But-but-but-but....". - I put the song again since the beginning, Li-san!!! Nonetheless, Syaoran, as he left, still managed to hear out the initial harmonies. To a more faint, due to the distance, .... To have you be in peace..... he whispered "Sakura" ... And a somewhat indecipherable tone he employed to add "Daidouji-san". ----------------- He always thinks of me as a child. ... And I'd dress up as your niece, ... I giggle a bit. Maybe I am. The butterflies in my stomach can't help but fly madly. Funny.... ... to wash your swollen feet.... The crude sound of the guitar and the accompaning cruder vocals.... they have... Here he is now. Beside me. It's our wedding day. And there's flowers. Of all kinds. Save for some men, everyone else is dressed in white, including the bridesmaids... Touya, Yukito-san and Kero are in white too. Here we are. At the altar. The priest is about to ask the groom if he'll take the lovely bride as his wife... To cherish and to protect her 'til death do them apart.... (What a tough question, indeed!!) She shines the brightest, for the answer is one she's been expecting since she can remember.... (All my life, it seems!!!) Then, something about the air... She darkens, so noticeable due to the contrast of her ever-white gown. He nods in refusal, or more like if he can't make up his mind. ....Just, don't leave... He takes off running. RUNNING! But why? Why does she feel so torn apart from this scene? Everyone, let alone him, seem so out of reach. No matter how she tries to recapture them, him, with her hand; yet ever so strange, unreal, her feet take her away further and further... ... have taken her to another world. Our dream girl, this young thing with brunette short hair, emerald eyes and a long, athletic yet elegant look, shoots up from her slumber, and steps hurriedly toward her studying desk. Her right index finger reaches to the "stop" button on the tape player, and no more sounds come out from there. Still, Kinomoto Sakura is surprised. In her surprise she's echoing the last lines she listened to. Like a child. The butterflies have stopped their flight.
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