I don't need this.
It isn't helpful, harassing someone who just wants to be left alone. What does he think he is, some kind of knight in shining armour, riding over mountains and piles of corpses to my aid?
I'm not fine. I know I'm not.
But isn't that my problem?
What does he want from me?
Why must this man probe and pry into those dark corners which I am content to leave damp and untended and filled with spiders? Does he want to clean this house of me, to throw open the shutters and let daylight fill the rooms? For if a house is to fulfil its purpose, it must be filled with people, and for too long this place has been derelict, empty, forgotten.
That's okay. I'm fine with that.
I will never get back those years. The walls will never echo with laughter and the play of happy children. To try and repair the cracked plaster, and to bolster up the sagging ceilings would not only require far too much time and attention to be worth any man's while, least of all his, who has never lived in that house, and who will never be allowed to visit; to do so would be meaningless, the repairs plastic; an empty artifice, serving only to amuse. What attachment has he to its walls, crumbled but intact, silent but liveable? It will suffice for my own purposes, and my will is the only one relevant in this case. I will stay as I am in the name of another. I will not allow myself to be filled with strangers, trampling over the creaking, fragile floorboards, sitting wherever they wish without heed, standing swords by the well, and ignoring everything which came before.
He doesn't know my history, and it serves none of us for me to tell him. Fai lives only through my lies, and I am working every day to make them come true. Who is Yuui? That selfish and distant stranger was left behind in Valeria, left to rot, as he well deserved. Is that who he is trying to find? It was Fai, Fai, all Fai, who stepped through that rift to leave the world which left him for dead, whose bare feet broke the crisp surface of the snow of a new dimension as, bleary-eyed and exhausted, he took the warm and bejewelled hand before him and walked into a new life. It was Fai who slept for three days and nights, Fai who had his hair cut short and who wore for the first time in his life real clothes, neither the fanciful gift-trappings of his earliest years nor the faded shift of his time in the tower, but clothes, real clothes, warm and functional and quite the most beautiful thing he had ever been given. While Yuui was watching from the sidelines, numb and hollow, it was Fai who spoke to the villagers, who strove to learn healing magic – he had always been so gentle, so gentle and kind, and it was his downfall – who stood by at births and fought monsters to protect these wonderful people and their simple bounty. It was Fai who smiled to please Lord Ashura, though perhaps it was Yuui who silently urged him never to kill again, even if people begged him to. All this life, it was Fai, it was all Fai as it should have been and always has been and always will be, Fai, Fai, Fai! Why must he force me to deny that? There's no ill in making things right like this! Yuui is a liar, a filthy liar, and a fratricide! Fai is alive and well because blood flows in my veins and magic from my fingertips and even our parents, though likely they would have cared little, would not try to change my mind if I told them that I, Fai, was doing just fine without them.
Every time that I have a little space to myself, a moment to think or to breathe, he's there, right behind me, scowling at me, shouting at me, shaking me by the shoulders.
What does he want from me?
What does he want?
–
He is watching me again. Hawklike, with those keen hunter's eyes. Their last-of-the-coals red has been stilled by the will of the fates, for just as I receive at last my first respite from his constant probing questions, finally his eyes have ceased to burn my flesh.
Strange then, that looking at him now I feel a flickering of regret.
As I enter the room and hang my cloak, I greet him cheerily, only to see his ever-present scowl deepen further. Have I annoyed him already? Marvellous.
I fake-whistle as I sit down to remove my footwear, for the wonderful effect it seems to have on him. Does he have any idea how wonderful he looks when he is angry? So warm, so human, so alive! If I am forced to continue this wearying, futile journey, why then it is very bliss to have a playmate so hot-blooded and easy to tease. Of course, I am not getting attached. Nor should I allow myself to become too enamoured of these boots, either... beautifully made things, with their stitching nearly invisible. What did we do to deserve something like these? We always seem to end up trading our clothes away in the end though. Such a shame. I would have liked to have taken some mementos back to show to Ashura... which is but a glimmering fantasy of course. He is safest where he is. Still, perhaps Chi would have been interested.
He tuts his disapproval of something or other, like a village scold. How nostalgic! Had I a mother, I am sure she would make a noise like that. It's beautifully unbecoming, product as it is of this honed weapon of a man. He always sleeps so shallowly. Does he think we will come under attack at any moment? The man is a veritable sword. No, a suit of armour. He always insists on protecting people, even if he thinks they don't deserve it...
Tut-tut-tut, I imitate, as I remove my socks, and smile what I hope to be a cheeky, knowing grin at him. I practised it in the reflection of a polished dish earlier this evening.
He is still watching me. I cannot help but wonder what he might be thinking, at a time like this. Don't make a fuss, don't make a fuss – this might actually matter. Absently, I remove my breeches. Their fastenings are still a little unfamiliar to me. I cannot help but wonder how he fits so easily into every new world we meet. Back in Outou I saw him wear something which he said was close enough to informal clothing for his world... to me it looked like nothing more than a dress with awkward, pleated leg-holes. And those shoes-!
Why is he still watching me? What does he think I'm going to do?
I think that I may have upset him, now I come to think of it. My sleep has been disturbed these past few nights, and I seem to remember him watching me like this when I awoke before dawn before. Perhaps I have been snoring, though I have never known anybody disturbed by my sleep-noise before. It isn't fair of me to inflict myself on him like this, I realise as I fold my robes. After all, he is always so ready to wake as it is, and grab his sword to protect his companions from any conceivable threat...
And still, he watches. Waiting.
Finally, it strikes me. This alien feeling... his constant harassment, this new penchant of his for watching me when I wake... he cares so much about people. I don't know what has worried him so; perhaps our separation from Syaoran and Sakura (I do not count Mokona in my worries; Mokona is really quite powerful enough to take care of itself). Even if he thinks too little of me, even if I am a burden to him... he isn't viewing me as means to an end. Not like those other people in my past life, shunting me from one place to another, treating me either as a weapon, or as a problem to be solved. I love Lord Ashura as well as I can, but I am not naïve enough to truly believe that I was not very useful to him over the last few years.
This feeling... like something is restored, that has been long-gone.
I slip into bed. The impossibly fine sheets are warmed by his presence.
I want... to find something. Why am I so... attached? I promised myself I would never...
Still, he watches. Solid, implacable. Acceptant.
I am filled with a sudden reverence. Why, if the ground were to open up and a hundred dragons lay siege to the castle; if the sky rained fire and every tree crashed down; even were I to force him to use a knife and fork... he would still be no more and no less than himself. Utterly, completely, whole, and unmovable. How can he be so certain? I want to be like this. I want...
I find myself wanting to reach out and touch him. There is a faint trace of stubble around his neck. I think he hasn't found much time to shave lately. And he is warm, and he is solid, and when I wake in the morning he will be there still.
He meets my eyes with that same inscrutable acceptance and calmness. I feel a smile welling up, and I think to myself that this will be a good one.
"Goodnight, Kurogane," I murmur, as I sink happily into his warm presence in the bedclothes.
"Oyasumi, Fai," he says, with a faux-gruff smile, and extinguishes the light.
I hope I don't snore this time.