They pour all over the furniture, draped as a lazy cat or Fai himself might drape over a chair or Kurogane, respectively. They hang loosely from the walls, and it only serves to ceaselessly remind Kurogane that time is ticking away, away, away from him, and that it is not on his side this time. It always had been before, just as luck had always been on Sakura's side before, but it seems they'd both been abandoned by their advantages. It left Kurogane with an empty feeling that lasted half a second (not a heartbeat but a second in this world of damned, infernal time; there were no heartbeats here, only time and less time). It is replaced by anxiety foreign to Kurogane before the journey, but now as familiar as Nihon might be, should he live to see it again.
This world is fake and full of lies, and Kurogane thinks the mage must be very at home, and he could know if only he could FIND him... because time is ticking away and Fai is dying, somewhere alone, and it is high past time (time again, always about time (and the lack of it), Kurogane's going to explode and that won't do now, will it?) for Fai to stop being alone. He knows now, he knows, he understands, and if he can only find him, reach out and touch him, he can finally shatter the glass mask and he can know.
If only, if only, if only he could reach out and touch him, see him there. He knew, somehow, time was counting down and he could hear the seconds ticking in his head, heart, and resonating off the multitude of clocks drizzled over the landscape, flowing like water over buildings, plentiful under his feet as they pounded the pavement in time with the too-loud ticking.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, is it too late? How far has he come, how far to go, will it be enough? The clock strikes twelve (how fairy tale-esque is that, that time runs out at midnight, except this is a fairy tale with an ending too bloody to be anything but reality), and the chimes resound from all over the planet–
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six. (I'm too late, I'm too late, I've lost, I'm lost)
Seven.
Eight.
Nine. (I'm out of time and it's costing him his life, how can I lose now when I've never lost before?)
Ten. (The clocks, they mock, they tantalize with moments lost, and the thousands of clocks cascading around him show him only the reflection of the infinite pain.)
Eleven. (No, no, I promised, is my strength not enough?)
He awakens in a panic, and hears Tomoyo's (Tomoyo? Why is Tomoyo in Celes?) voice clearly as it announces that his fever just broke, he should be fine, and please, please go rest now, Flowright-san.
A dream, a dream, he knows now, and the tension seeps steadily from his shoulders and his mind slows its relentless rush of anxiety. A dream. A dream he's here he's fine, and Kurogane drifts again gently to a peaceful, dreamless sleep until he wakes again. When he does, he speaks of promises and strength and thanks God and Tomoyo, be they one and the same or not, for having shown him something infinitely more precious than power, and for having given him the blessing of time he sought when the clocks tumbled and slid and he sprinted, searching.