fandom: xxxHOLiC

title: holes

summary: The real world is...way too real for Watanuki to be comfortable in.

warnings/notes: SAP. MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF SAP. But this Doumeki is not quite holic!Doumeki, and Watanuki talks his own sappiness away, so I hope you'll forgive me for the MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF SAP AND OOC.

Also, sequel to "the man who was a butterfly," so it will not make sense and everyone will be OOC unless you read those first. Holic!Doumeki showed up one day and (in a lot fewer words) was like, "Dude. You pretty much kill me off and then you leave my alter-ego hanging? I CANNOT FORGIVE."

So I wrote this. 2600+ words.

holes

He meets Watanuki Kimihiro's parents when he carries the boy, sleeping, home when it was nearly midnight. He'd had to look their address up in the phone book.

Even asleep, his face is pale and exhausted, dark circles underneath his eyes. Once he mutters, "I have to find them," but for most of the way to his house, he's still.

And truthfully, he's getting a little bit heavy.

Watanuki's parents are naturally worried sick and they like him immensely, and he likes them just as immensely; his mother has a gentle smile and is beautiful and has Watanuki's eyes, and his father's hair is graying and all over the place and he has wire-rimed glasses and is so very, very friendly.

He invites them to dinner.

And of course, when Watanuki-san discovers that dinner is take-out, he stands up and declares that it simply will not do and all four Doumekis sigh, Doumeki's mother dejectedly, and the other three less a sigh and more a loud exhale and finally Doumeki (Shizuka, that is) says, "You could cook if you wanted to."

Watanuki-san does.

It's very, very good, and when it's complimented—every time—Watanuki (the son) looks smug and triumphant straight at Doumeki, who just gets another helping of rice. And then his eyes go confused, as though he doesn't understand why he is so smug to begin with, and then dark.

But it's a satisfying arrangement. Watanuki-san is prone to sudden dramatic speeches about the honor and glory of cooking, and occasionally his wife has an angry glare that rivals her son's, and Haruka-san—Doumeki's grandfather, who absolutely refuses to be called anything but Haruka-san (unless, of course, you're Doumeki, and then you can call him grandpa)—smokes and smiles and offers bits and pieces, and Doumeki's father is polite and decent and a salaryman and his mother is prone to dramatic histrionics that involve not yelling or waving of arms but sighs and eyerolls and the occasional teary face.

Of course Watanuki is never that dramatic, and it's funny to watch Doumeki's mother sigh dramatically when Doumeki steals the last piece of meat from the hotpot.

Doumeki goes the entire dinner without speaking, of course, and Watanuki watches, everything so unfamiliar and odd but he sort of likes it.

They plan dinner again.

Next Sunday, the neighbors join them and Watanuki-san relishes in cooking for a crowd and Watanuki meets Himawari-san, someone he knows was in the life but he doesn't know who, and Kohane-chan, who is the same way, and their parents, and Himawari-san calls Doumeki Shizuka-kun and he calls her Kunogi which is so familiar and for some reason they hit it off, the three of them, in as much as they can hit it off.

Himawari-san is cheerful, too, and funny, good with her words. She's pretty, and she and Watanuki get along well, and if he didn't feel so disoriented, he could've easily had a crush on her. But he still feels as though he has lived a life that wasn't his, and sometimes he just feels so alone—

He is suddenly surrounded by happy, expressive people and then there's Doumeki and those last five minutes of the dream are so, so clear to him, even if he remembers nothing else, and he wonders if Doumeki's happy. Wonders if there's a little bit of that dream Doumeki in him, and if so, how—

He knows Doumeki remembers the dream. They've never spoke of it but that day when Watanuki came to the shrine knowing only that he was looking for Doumeki...somebody, it started with an 's' and half in tears because he couldn't remember and then he found him.

I'm Watanuki Kimihi—

I know. I'm Doumeki Shizuka.

And Watanuki wanted to say I know to that because Doumeki was asking for it, just asking for it, but he hadn't known. And then he'd looked at Doumeki, suddenly exhausted, and he knews that even Doumeki knew that.

And well, Doumeki gets on his nerves seven times out of ten, and he doesn't mind really—he yells and shouts, yes, and Doumeki sticks his pinkies in his ears and Himawari-san smiles and they plan to meet for tea during the week, since they go to separate schools.

Usually tea is at Watanuki's house, after school, and he cooks for them too, while his parents are at work, and Doumeki likes Watanuki's own cooking even better than his father's, and when he compliments him, the second time Watanuki cooks, there's this sudden look in his eyes before he says, I like your cooking, Watanuki, and he knows Doumeki remembers more than he does, always has known it, and so that has importance that Watanuki can't see.

It hurts.

One day he realizes that they are friends, Watanuki and Doumeki and Himawari-san and that's just right, especially when Himawari-san turns to Himawari-chan and Watanuki-kun to Kimihiro-kun and, well, Doumeki just calls everyone by their last names, that's no different. But they are also friends, Watanuki and Doumeki, because sometimes Himawari-chan has student council and can't come and so those days at tea there is less civil conversation and more shouting and silence and hidden soft smiles and sometimes discussions of things like Yuuko and spirits and sake and Watanuki thinks that it's too comfortable, too right.

And sometimes Doumeki looks at him and it's this space between warm and hot and sad and ohgod, when he looks like that Watanuki can't think straight and he doesn't know whether it's guilt or something else.

I don't even exist, so how did I manage to fall in love with you?

The words haunt him, and he doesn't know why—doesn't know how he feels or what it's called and then—

And then he runs into Yuuko and she asks how it's been and he lights up with a sudden rush of happiness that he doesn't really seem to actually feel and says, "I found them!" even if I don't know who them are anymore, he doesn't say, but Yuuko, of course, hears it.

"But you know one of them, right?"

Usually the things he doesn't say that Yuuko hears are implied, I know what you're not saying and I know you know and then together what are you gonna do about it?

"But," he begins, "I don't know him. I knew him exactly for five minutes and then I woke up and all he told me was that it was a dream and that he—" loved me.

"And?"

"He's not the same! He said so! You said so! He—"

Yuuko lifts an eyebrow. "You assume a lot, Watanuki-kun." She touches his head. "Does it even matter if he was different then? Doumeki has come to terms with himself, but why should it even matter to you? You don't remember it."

"Are you playing the devil's advocate? Or trying to tell me something? Why can't you just say what you mean?" He waves his arms.

Yuuko smiles her sneaky-cat smile. "Hurry up or you'll be late for tea. It'd be unseemly for Doumeki-kun to show up when you're not there." She turns around, gracefully walking away from him.

"Hey! Get back here!" But by the time he finishes shouting, Yuuko, despite her enormous height and supermodel-on-drugs fashion sense (according to Himawari-chan), has vanished into the crowd.

This afternoon, when Doumeki rings the doorbell and Watanuki, still contemplating what the hell Yuuko was even talking about, goes to open it, he is startled. Doumeki looks perfectly normal, kyudo bag slung over one shoulder, schoolbag in hand, uniform all nice and neat, hair combed and a little damp from a shower after practice.

But there's just this little something, and Watanuki doesn't know what—

Perfectly normal. The same way he shows up every single afternoon. Watanuki lets him in with a "hello, you jerk," and Doumeki sets down his bags and kicks off his shoes and turns to Watanuki.

"I love you," Doumeki says.

"D-don't—don't just say it like that!" Watanuki shrieks and then—"What?"

"You heard me."

"Yeah. But—" And for the first time he wonders what it feels like to love someone whom you barely know, someone who—who just dreamed you, a different you, even, and now you love him and Watanuki doesn't think he'd be able to handle it. He's known that—knew that the other Doumeki loved him, and he realizes—though neither of them ever said anything—that he knew, at least a little, that this Doumeki, the real Doumeki, loved him too.

He wonders what it felt like, waking up in love with someone whom you don't even know.

He realizes he's staring at Doumeki with his mouth hanging open. Snapping it shut, he says, "So. It was just…you woke up after dreaming my dream and then—"

"I loved you. Love you."

"And if I don't—"

"It's okay." The words come out almost too fast and then Doumeki, almost flustered but Watanuki doesn't think Doumeki could ever pull off flustered and actually, you know, be flustered, looks down. His cheeks are slightly darker than normal.

"What?" The words sink in—it's okay—and Watanuki doesn't get it. Because while his own feelings towards Doumeki are unpleasantly ambiguous, Doumeki knows he loves Watanuki. And Doumeki knows that Watanuki potentially doesn't love him back. And it's okay? Shouldn't Doumeki be either trying to get Watanuki to love him of suddenly hating him?

"I—" Doumeki pauses, looks at Watanuki, and then away. "You don't have—you don't have to do anything," he says quietly, but his voice is calm and even, just as it always is. His eyes are staring down at the floor. "You don't have to love me or anything as long as you let me love you. It's okay. I just…I felt like you should know. That I do."

Watanuki stares at him, feels his eyes go wide, his heart speed up. He just—he just goes and says it like that, so plainly, so calmly, so…desperately, and God. "Doumeki—"

Doumeki blinks. "You're—you're angry, aren't you?" And Watanuki realizes he's frowning a little, confused and troubled and he's trembling, shaking, and he doesn't know why, but—he's not angry—

"Doumeki!"

Doumeki grabs his hand, presses a kiss to the palm, and then clenches Watanuki's hand in his own, as though he'll never touch the boy again. "I'm sorry." Watanuki wonders how long it's been festering inside him, because even if Doumeki's a romantic, he's not one of those demonstrative ones, and he's so observant, always knows what Watanuki's thinking but Watanuki's so far from angry he can hardly define that particular emotion and Doumeki didn't see—how could he not see?—and then he thinks that maybe it's his own fault, a little bit, but he doesn't even know how it can be and even if it was Doumeki would never blame Watanuki for Doumeki's feelings—

I'm such an idiot—

"Doumeki, stop it!"

Doumeki looks up at him, and his eyes are almost surprised but not quite. His hand, still clutching Watanuki's hard enough to make bones grind together, lowers, but he doesn't let go.

"God," Watanuki says, half-amused, half-irritated. "You cretin."

He twines his fingers around Doumeki's, tightens his grip, steps closer to Doumeki. This close, with inches separating them, their slight height difference is more obvious, Watanuki having to look up just barely to meet Doumeki's eyes.

Doumeki blinks at him, eyes truly wide now, glances down to their hands and back to Watanuki's face. His eyes soften and Watanuki realizes he's smiling a little and so Doumeki's smiling too. Doumeki's free hand touches Watanuki's cheek, cups Watanuki's face, and Watanuki leans into it, thinking of those final, startlingly clear moments of his life—of the dream—of Doumeki's forehead against his own, Doumeki's breath on his face, Doumeki's voice—

He leans forward and kisses him.

Doumeki's lips are warm and he responds eagerly and it's clumsy and awkward and their noses are in the way the scrape of teeth and tongue and it's perfect and perfect and oh…

Watanuki's running out of air and Doumeki must be too, because they pull away at the same moment, lips still just millimeters apart, and they breathe the same air, gasping, and then Doumeki kisses him again, harder, slides the hand on Watanuki's cheek back to tangle fingers in his hair, tip his head back, deepen the kiss, and it's rough but not from lack of gentleness but more from lack of experience, and that's okay, it's real and since it's not perfect it's more than perfect.

Watanuki wraps his free arm around Doumeki's neck, unwilling to let Doumeki's hand go, even though his palm is getting sweaty and Doumeki's skin is rough. Doumeki's fingers tighten on his own, warm and actually, those rough fingers are calloused just right, and—it's nice, it's really nice.

They pull away again, now pressed together like they are one thing, and Doumeki rests his head on Watanuki's shoulder. "I love you," he says softly. "More than anything in the world."

The words make Watanuki laugh, sliding his arm down to wrap around Doumeki's back. "You sound like a shoujo manga hero."

"I love you like a shoujo manga hero," Doumeki says wryly, and Watanuki can feel the slight smile curving on his neck. "Eternal devotion and everything."

"Stalkerish," Watanuki clarifies, and feels Doumeki's silent chuckles, and then a strange warm shivery feeling. "But I like you, too."

Love is outside of his reach. He doesn't know—he's not certain like Doumeki is, but he feels something for him, and it burns, but in a good way. He's not sure, maybe it's love, maybe it's not, but it's a lot.

Doumeki pulls his head away from Watanuki's neck. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He kisses Doumeki again, presses Doumeki's hand against his cheek hard. He likes kissing. Or maybe he likes kissing Doumeki. Though it's not because Doumeki's special or anything. It's just because Watanuki considers Doumeki worthy enough to be liked by him.

He pulls away and tips his face into Doumeki's hand, kissing his palm like Doumeki had minutes before. Because now it's Doumeki who's shaking, whose eyes are both hesitant and hopeful, and who understands that Watanuki is never going to do that again, understands that he's Watanuki and always will be, and that's fine with Doumeki. That's what Doumeki wants.

Everything has changed, nothing has changed, and it's okay. "How about dinner?" Doumeki asks.

Watanuki blinks. "Huh?"

"How about you make us dinner?"

"Me?"

"Do you see anyone else who can cook around here?"

Watanuki pushes Doumeki at shoulder length, but for some reason is still reluctant to let go of his hand, even they're clammy and finally he pries his insubordinate fingers away to poke at Doumeki's chest. "Honestly! Do you seriously think I'll just make dinner for you just like that? It takes time and effort, you know, and just because I like you does not mean—hey! Get your damn fingers out of your ears!"

Doumeki lifts an eyebrow, pinkies still in his ears, and smirks. "Please," he says, dryly.

Bastard. "Fine, you jerk."

"Stupid."

"Cretin."

"Idiot."

They exchange smiles, Doumeki not smirking (for once), but a real, sincere smile.

Maybe he doesn't remember them, doesn't remember what happened in that other life, in what still seems to be his real life, but—

Watanuki drags Doumeki into the kitchen, pushes him against the wall and tells him that if he moves from that spot he will have a very large knife in his chest, and goes to the refrigerator. And from behind him Doumeki snorts but doesn't move and suddenly he knows—

Maybe he doesn't need to remember them, not really, not anymore, because he can make new memories. It can't replace the empty spot waking up left, can't replace a life he's forgotten, but there are other holes that need filling, holes that he can feel Doumeki sinking into, in his chest, holes that his family—all of them—fit into, just perfect little spaces, and maybe that little bit of empty space is okay, just to keep from getting too full.

It's not much, really it isn't, but—Doumeki is leaning against the wall, asking for inarizushi, and Watanuki just glares because honestly, who does he think he is?—it's enough.