#clampss2016

And each leaves him in a cold sweat upon his return to the waking world. After a couple weeks’ worth of deliberation, he works up the courage to seek advice from Yue. It certainly isn’t as though Yue is the only person around that he can rely on for this type of thing, but given the content of his dreams… someone impartial would be best.

Syaoran’s index finger is still hovering over the doorbell when Yukito swings the door open wide and pulls him in warmly. Once they’re both inside, Syaoran has to shield his eyes from a sudden burst of light and feathers, and just like that, Yue is there. Soon they’re both sitting seiza on opposite ends of a worn but elegant coffee table, and Syaoran immediately burns his tongue on his tea. As he waits for the pain to subside, he takes the opportunity to listen intently to the quietness of Yukito and Touya’s apartment for any indication that the latter is home. He heaves a sigh as he convinces himself that Touya is indeed out.

Yue doesn’t seem to be interested in just the patterns Syaoran’s dreams have exhibited. He cuts Syaoran off mid-self-analysis and asks him to start describing some actual dreams. Preferably all of them. So Syaoran reassures himself once again that Touya isn’t around to eavesdrop, and then begins.

Each dream starts the same way, in the same blooming garden, with the same girl on his arm. They’re standing before a flowery trellis and a man with a book in his hands, his face and features a blur because Syaoran can’t bear to take his eyes off Sakura. Lawnchairs and their occupants flank a grassy aisle strewn with the petals of his bride’s namesake, and Syaoran’s heart is full to bursting.

This is where each dream begins to diverge. In one, he had inhaled a cherry blossom right before he was cued for his I do’s. In another, a pair of handsome strangers and a talking marshmallow fell from the sky and thus quite literally crashed the wedding. There were also several variations of dreams that featured Kero and Spinel laying waste to the entire seven-tiered wedding cake before Sakura and Syaoran even had a chance to reach for the cake knife.

There are two dreams in particular that Syaoran finds particularly troubling. In one, Tomoyo had pointed out a tear in the wedding dress’s train immediately after the ceremony, and hurriedly set about repairing it before the photo op. As Sakura kneeled down beside her to assist, it dawned on him that the train was his. Sakura was the one in a suit. Upon exiting the dream at 4:17 AM, he jumped onto his bike and pedaled all the way to Tomoyo’s mansion, intending to criticize her hypothetical whims:

“I’m not quite sure I comprehend the legitimacy of your concerns? She looked really good, right? In the tuxedo that I designed?”

“... Well. Yes, no, it’s not like she didn’t look very good, she did look very good, thanks, but, that is, I’m just--”

“Go home.”

The second dream involved the minister asking if anyone had objections to his and Sakura’s marriage. In response, Touya had vaulted over the three rows of lawn chairs that separated himself from where the couple stood, promptly inserted himself between his sister and her groom so that he was facing Syaoran, then forcefully threw down a white silk glove onto the grass. Eyes glittering with the possibility of tears, Touya opened the too-big trenchcoat he was wearing and dozens more gloves tumbled out and effectively buried Syaoran’s feet in duel challenges. Syaoran had woken up in a fetal position, clutching his cold toes in his sweaty fingers.

Yue has been listening silently. Even as Syaoran finishes, he remains perfectly still, eyes boring into Syaoran’s so intently that he can’t stop himself from blushing all the way to his roots and second-guessing the legitimacy of his concerns.

“I think,” Yue finally intones, slowly and gravely, “that you should talk to Sakura.”

“What? Well, okay, fine, that’s fair, thanks I guess, I mean, thank, thank you very much, Yue-san, but can you at least tell me if I’m actually seeing into the future or if I’m just--”

“Go home.”

Syaoran goes home. That is, he goes to Sakura’s house, where she still lives with her father, so that they can talk. He finds her already outside the house, watering some potted plants, as though she had been waiting for him this whole time. She does a double take and exclaims in surprise as she processes his defeated countenance and shuffling feet.

Sakura takes Syaoran’s hands in hers and leads him to King Penguin Park. The sun is setting and the playground is nearly deserted. Sakura plonks herself down on the nearest park bench, then pulls Syaoran down and adjusts him so that his head is in her lap. For some reason, the arrangement reminds Syaoran of those newspaper cartoon cliches, where the psychiatrist listens patiently while her troubled patient rambles on from a supine position on a chaise lounge. Sakura yelps again as Syaoran abruptly smacks himself free of the imagery.

Even without the chaise lounge, Syaoran is able to ramble. The words come easier than he anticipated, and he doesn’t falter even when his voice starts shaking from the vibrations of his human pillow as she tries to keep her laughter contained.

“Sh… Syaoran-kun,” Sakura wheezes as he finishes, “I’m no expert, but, I don’t think, I don’t think you have actually been seeing into the future, that is,  I don’t think any of what you have just described will actually occur next week, pffffffff--”

Syaoran has turned to stone in his mortification. Sakura laughs and laughs, and even through his haze of embarrassment, Syaoran still has time to think about how beautiful she is when she’s laughing, how much he loves her, how warm she is--

Sakura suddenly reaches for his hand and squeezes it tightly. “Syaoran-kun,” she asks, voice soft and gentle but still subtly laced with mirth, “even if all of those things happened next week, would you really mind that much?”

Syaoran’s face is a tomato. “I wouldn’t--” he stammers, “I wouldn’t enjoy the gloves.”

Sakura is shaking again. “You wouldn’t… you wouldn’t enjoy having Onii-chan share his glove collection with you? But you would enjoy being interrupted by cherry blossoms in your throat as you try to promise me your love in front of all our loved ones? You would enjoy Kurogane-san, Fai-san, and Moko-chan crash landing into the trellis? You would enjoy Kero-chan and Spinel-chan destroying our cake? You would… you would enjoy… just like old times, being in Tomoyo-chan’s dress, while I--”

“Sakura, ‘enjoy’ is definitely the wrong word here, also who in the heck--”

“Syaoran-kun, I love you.”

Syaoran’s anxiety dissipates like smoke. He has no more words.

Well, maybe he has a few left.

“I love you too, Sakura.”

Sakura leans down, her face getting closer to Syaoran’s. “Everything will be alright. Do you believe me when I say that?”

“Yes,” Syaoran whispers, lifting his head from her lap to meet her halfway. “I do.”

And he means it. Syaoran knows he will be alright for the rest of his life. No matter where he is, or when he is, or even who he is, he will be alright, because Sakura will be right there with him, holding his hand and kissing his lips just like this.

Syaoran closes his eyes.