XXXHolic Fan Fiction ❯ Freaky Manjuu ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

Freaky Manjuu

 

DISC: I do not own xxxHolic or any of the characters. These belong to Clamp - those crazy mangaka who make us all practically faint for the shonen-ai and then YANK it out from under us. Clamp, if I can have one request, it's to give us some DouWata love by the end of this series! PLEASE!

 

 

Chapter 2

 

“Oi.” From within the plushie, Watanuki couldn't help but roll his eyes. Would that giant oaf ever learn a proper greeting?

 

His thoughts were interrupted by his Mokona-controlled body, flailing about. “How many times do I have to tell you? I have a name! I swear, how much of an idiot can you possibly be that you can't even remember my name?”

 

The archer shrugged and said nothing, and he saw that his body sighed and said, “Well, since you're here, you might as well come in.” He'd turned and began walking into the sitting room. “By the way, why ARE you here?”

 

Doumeki faltered half a step, and he saw his shoulders and his expression tighten for a fraction of a second before he replied, looking at the seer's retreating back wistfully. “I'm here to see you.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Mokona called over Watanuki's shoulder, “you're just here for the free food. You're such a parasite. Don't your parents ever feed you?”

 

The archer's mouth tightened before he made a non-committal grunt. The Watanuki-plushie could see that Doumeki's gaze ran along the form of the one walking in front of him.

 

“Well, you're here already. I suppose it would be rude to not offer you something.” He continued his way toward the kitchen.

 

Continuing to follow him he stated, “I want fu irichi.” The Watanuki-filled Mokona saw Doumeki's mouth form a smirk as he said it.

 

But the smirk quickly vanished and was replaced with stoic disinterest as the Mokona-powered boy jumped and spun, going into full spaz mode. “I don't take orders! You'll eat what I make you and you'll like it - You should be crawling on your knees, thanking me, the great Watanuki-sama, for deigning to feed that black hole you call a stomach!” Stomping, the boy continued toward the kitchen.

 

`I don't really sound like that, do I?'

 

Doumeki just shrugged, but when he saw Watanuki couldn't hear him, he chuckled and then quietly followed.

 

In the kitchen, Mokona realized that there was going to be a problem. If he cooked, Doumeki would know. He'd figure it out. Quickly he spun, rounding on the unsuspecting Doumeki. “Out! Get out of my kitchen! If you're going to be a gluttonous pig, you can just wait for food in the other room.” He pushed a container of sake into the archer's hands, then pushed him out of the room. “Oh no you don't!” he exclaimed at the body of Mokona. “You'll drink the entire bottle before anyone else gets a chance to even have a sip. You can just stay here with me in the kitchen and help me cook!”

 

Then he closed the door to the kitchen and faced the now silent wrath of Watanuki.

 

He couldn't speak, but Mokona knew Watanuki was fuming for being tricked into changing places.

 

The Mokona-ful boy leaned over and said, “I know you're not too happy right now. But you're going to need to do the cooking. I'll help.”

 

The Watanuki-filled plushie crossed his arms, his expression clearly declaring, “Humph!” even though he made no sound.

 

“Okay. I'll do the cooking then,” Mokona was so sly. “And then, when it doesn't taste like your cooking normally does, Doumeki will notice that it wasn't cooked by you. You know what? I bet he'll think you've been possessed - which, in a way, you have - and he'll try to exorcise you. What would happen then?” the creature asked, knowing full well how painful it would be should Doumeki try to counter Watanuki's wish magic. Painful for Doumeki. “How badly do you think the rebound energy will hurt Doumeki, anyway?”

 

With a grimace, the manjuu bun shape began stomping - his plush feet not making nearly enough sound with each stomp to be at all satisfying - around the kitchen as he prepared the meal.

 

Mokona caused Watanuki's face to smirk, noticing that he was making, as usual, exactly what was requested - along with some edamame and onigiri yaki. When it was all finished and on the tray, the seer's body walked over and picked it up, bringing it into the sitting room, where Doumeki was lounging, sipping on a cup of sake.

 

Slamming the tray down as noisily as he could without jostling any of the contents at all, he declared, “Here's your damn food,” and then began to serve.

 

Seriously. Did he really come across as that rude? He'd always thought of himself as polite and well-mannered, but Doumeki was acting as if nothing was different at all. It made him swallow hard.

 

But what made him swallow harder was the way Doumeki was looking at his body. He watched Watanuki's every move - how he laid out the food with familiar, simple and efficient movements, how he served Doumeki first, then Mokona (which was himself), Moro and Maru, and only then allowed himself to eat. The look of longing on Doumeki's face did not seem to be at all directed toward the food. And Watanuki's body didn't seem to even glance toward the archer at all.

 

Then, he saw how Doumeki poured a cup of sake and handed it to himself - as Mokona.

 

Well, crap.

 

Watanuki knew he didn't hold liquor very well. Would he be able to as the plushie? And if he didn't drink, would Doumeki become suspicious? Not only did he have to worry about what would happen if Doumeki got it into his head to undo the magic he'd put into place, he also had to think about the ramifications of Doumeki finding out he'd spent the day as a voiceless plushie. God, he would never live it down. Really, what choice did he have? He nodded a thanks and accepted the cup, throwing it down his throat the way Mokona usually did.

 

Oh, my god! The warmth filled his belly and a feeling of happiness electrified him, spreading out through all his limbs. No wonder the damned thing was so eager to drink if this was its body's response. With a shit-eating grin, he eagerly held his cup out for a refill.

 

“Oh, no!” Watanuki's voice filled the room. “You eat something first. Sheesh! I swear, you're such a little drunkard. And I'm not going to have to deal with your hangover tomorrow!”

 

Doumeki smirked and Watanuki felt himself, as Mokona, pout for a second - until he started eating the food laid out for him. Wow. Tasting it with someone else's tastebuds… `I really AM a good cook!'

 

But even with the distraction of food and liquor, he couldn't help but fervently watch Doumeki as he ate.

 

It was strange. In his own body, he'd watched the exorcist eat before, but it had never looked like this. Sure, he always ate fast. But, he'd never noticed that look on his face before. The man looked at the food as if in great anticipation. Okay, so it was stoic Doumeki anticipation: someone not looking for it probably wouldn't even notice. Then, on top of that, every time he swallowed, his eyes closed for just a fraction of a second in bliss. Yes, it wasn't much of an expression. Just closed eyes and blankness. But for Doumeki, it was like the equivalent of 1920s melodrama.

 

He was shoveling the food in so fast, it should have been impossible for there to be that much expression on his face. Did he always look like this? Or had his Doumeki been possessed, too?

 

Ugh. Did he really just refer to the archer as “his?” It had to be the influence of being in Mokona's body.

 

Instead of thinking about that faux pas, he decided to instead focus his attention on how every time Watanuki's expression became too thoughtful, too morose, every time it looked like Watanuki wasn't even tasting the food he was eating, Doumeki's lips would turn slightly downward, then he would reach his chopsticks over to steal something off the seer's plate.

 

He had to admit, Mokona's reactions to having the food stolen were loud and flailing, but somewhat accurate. And… Shizuka's lips quirked up - it was as if he were smiling in relief each time. Did that mean that all this time, he'd been doing it on purpose? To distract him from… whatever?

 

As he pondered, the manjuu bun exploded yet again as the exorcist stole another onigiri off his plate - finishing up his rant by asking everyone if they needed more tea, more sake.

 

Well, if Mokona could act as him, he could act as Mokona. Bouncing erratically and energetically, he held his glass out to be refilled. He'd already finished all his food - sucking it down like a vacuum. He tossed back the glass in true Mokona style, and held it out to be refilled again. Wow. Apparently Mokona could metabolized hard liquor so quickly he could barely feel the effects for more than a few minutes. No wonder he drank so damned much. He tossed it back and held it out again, bouncing to catch their attention. Because of the spell, he couldn't say anything.

 

“Oi. What's with him?” Doumeki gestured toward Watanuki in Mokona's body.

 

Waving dismissively, Mokona in Watanuki replied as he poured again, “Oh, Mokona wanted to visit Kohane, and I told him that if he could resist talking all day today, I'd let you take him the next time you visit her.” With a wistful expression, Mokona continued. “I wish I could go with you two, but…” he waved around the shop, reminding them both that he'd given up on the rest of the world, unable to ever leave the store again. “Nothing's more important than waiting for Yuuko-san to return.”

 

Swallowing hard, Watanuki saw anger flash in Doumeki's eyes, followed by desperation, loss, regret, and then finally, determination.

 

Just then, Watanuki sensed a wisher arriving at the shop. “Ah. A customer. If you'll excuse me…” Mokona had Watanuki's body stand, and he flowed out of the door in an elegant and refined stride.

 

Watanuki was torn. Should he follow Mokona? After all, Mokona couldn't grant wishes! But… he looked back at Domeki and all thought fled. The archer's expression was one of total devastation.

 

“He really is trying, isn't he?” Doumeki asked, glancing at Watanuki in Mokona's body. “Pointless. She's gone. He'll never be like her.”

 

Normally, that would be enough to set the seer off, but the honest and wistful tone made him just cock his head and hop closer to Doumeki, who shook his head slightly before reaching over to pat the plushie's head.

 

“I know he misses her. But Yuuko is Yuuko and Watanuki is Watanuki.” The unspoken, `Yuuko was detached,' was somehow heard in the slight pause before his comment, “Watanuki *cares* about people.” With a self-effacing grimace he continued, softly, “Except me, of course.” Then he slammed his cup of sake and poured himself another.

 

This was a little hard to listen to. Did he really think that he didn't care about him? He wobbled over and placed a paw on Doumeki's knee. `I… I do care,' he thought.

 

“It's alright. I knew he'd never return my feelings.”

 

`Woah. Wait. What? Did he just say…' Watanuki lifted his paw off Doumeki's knee and just stared, shock setting him into freeze mode.

 

Slamming yet another cup of alcohol, he then leaned forward and patted the plushie again. “Don't worry, Mokona. As long as he might need me, I'll be here.” The archer sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I'll keep coming back. `Til I die of old age. And he'll remain…” He cut his comment short as the seer's body, propelled under Mokona power, opened the door to enter the room.

 

The seer-turned-wish granter watched as Doumeki's gaze fell on the seer with longing, then quickly turned away.

 

“That one was easy. She wished to know whether or not her boyfriend was cheating on her. I let her look at him through Ozma's mirror and she was so relieved.”

 

“Mm,” Doumeki grunted. Then he stood. “Going home now. Chores.”

 

“So soon?” Watanuki's soft voice called.

 

Without turning around, the archer nodded. “I'll come back later.”

 

“Let me guess, you'll be back once it's time for dinner.”

 

The plushie could see him grimace, then smirk as he said, “Make shabu shabu.” Then he waved and just walked out of the shop.

 

The Watanuki-filled toy stared after him as he left.

 

Mokona, in Watanuki, slyly smiled and said nothing, pouring himself a tumbler of sake and sipping it. The expression on his face, the way he just stared at the door, Mokona knew the seer had finally seen. He wasn't going to rub it in. No. It would be better to let it settle in slowly.

 

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