the homecoming bet//a cardcaptor sakura fanfic

ʜᴏᴄᴏ ʟᴏᴄᴏ

His suit was pink.

Not a lovely pastel nor a faded dusty shade, but a hue so bright he could be seen from a mile away.

Meiling had picked it for them to compliment each other, but the pink harshly clashed with his green eyes and her red. He did pick the corsage himself, though, the one that would bruise his wallet the least. The audacity of the girl, to ask him when he was tuned out like that.

Sakura would probably hate him for the rest of her life.

But when he arrived at the main gymnasium, aquamarine lights and silver balloons around, he saw her pitifulness, glaringly obvious to anyone who looked at her without so much as a glance. Her posture lay sullen and her presence was lank, her social battery at an all time low from her embarrassment.

He shot her a sympathetic look before giving into Meiling's drag to the photo booth.

-------

"Tomoyo Daidouji!" At the sound of her name, she turned, her heavily perfumed hair nearly striking Sakura in the eye.

"Sakura!"

"Why the hell have you been leaving me hanging?" Sakura pulled her aside as to not make a spectacle. 

"I'm sorry, it's just-"

"Tomoyo!" Eriol shifted through the dancing couples to find her, kissing Tomoyo's jawline softly. "Come, let's dance."

"Eri, can you leave us for a moment?" Tomoyo gestured for him to stray away. 

"You didn't think to tell me you had a boyfriend?" Intrigued, Sakura feigned comical anger to lighten the mood.

"Sorry! It's just the thrill that caught me up."

"Can you tell me when you're with Eriol form now on?" Sakura asked, congratulatory of the new relationship. She embraced Tomoyo chastely.

"Always. Sorry again."

"You should go. I think he's waiting for you," Sakura held her arm encouragingly. Watching the waltz, she sighed, watering her garden that waited for Syaoran. Unfortunately for her, Meiling had just lied about needing the toilet and made her way toward her. 

"Enjoying the party, Kinomoto?"

"Piss off, Meiling. You won fair and square."

"Oh, that's no way to talk to your competitor!" She laughed airily. Pulling up the mustache-shaped photo prop she owned, she mocked Sakura emotionlessly. "Woe is me, I lost the boy of my dreams in a little bet to his childhood friend. How dumb was I to accept in the first place?"

"I get it Meiling. Piss. Off." Sakura stood straighter, trying to release herself from the situation.

"Betting on a boy's affections only to lose to his one and only-"

"Meiling, Sakura, what is the meaning of this?" Sakura couldn't help but giggle a little bit when she saw the pink suit, but quickly faltered under the livid eyes of the suit's wearer.

"Syaoran, I-"

"Sakura, I'd expect this from Meiling, but what the hell? Trying to win me like an object?" Syaoran's face appeared blotchy-nearly too blotchy for anger. His eyes shone in the wrong way, his waterline glimmering with tears.

"I-She-"

"No. You don't care about me. Just when I thought I was starting to like you-" Syaoran was full on crying now, tears forming and dissolving rapidly.

"I do-"

"Leave it." Meiling had grabbed Sakura's wrist before she could run off to find him. "You've ruined your own life enough." 

To her own surprise, Sakura didn't go after him.

-------

At that point, Syaoran's crying had been suspended. To think that a girl like her would really feel that way, he thought. At that point he would have to accept the lifelong tortures of spending the rest of his days with Meiling, and it was something he needed to accept as soon as possible, before anything worse happened.

Time and time again through the night he turned his head to see if Sakura came running after him, but she never did. She probably didn't care, anyway, he assumed. His ordeal was a situation that was so laughable his body ached at the thought of every cheerleader learning about how their football star broke down crying in front of a couple of girls.

Nevertheless, he honed some hope for a new day, one where his feelings could really be respected in. Dully, Syaoran dumped his punch into a nearby bush, quickly taking a last lick to the rim before crunching the cup and shooting it in a wastebasket.

After half an hour he'd given up on calling a taxi, so he had no choice but to walk the mile in nothing but his suit, lack of jacket for the wind, and creased dress shoes.

The north star glowed overhead, but its heat couldn't ever reach him, no matter how far away it could be, because his insides had turned to dust, and what was left of his exterior had turned to cold. Hard. Ice.