A/N: So. Um. I've been away. For two years. School is my only excuse. Also, whenever I tried to get back to writing Forget-Me-Not, I'd take one glance at my old writing and immediately stumble to the nearest trash bin to puke. It discouraged me from writing so much that I just stopped. I don't feel like I improved at all since then, but hopefully I did. You be the judge. This is a very short fic (ficlet?) that I've been working on, probably only three or four chapters. It broke up nicely into parts, so I'll split it up instead of leaving it as a one-shot.

Title: Let Me Hear Your Voice
Rating: T
Genre: Romance, angst
Pairing(s): Sakura/Syaoran
Summary: AU. Each time Syaoran enters her hospital room, he figures it's the guilt that keeps bringing him back. There's nothing else it can possibly be... right?
Disclaimer: Cardcaptor Sakura. It be CLAMP's.


let me hear your voice
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pt. i


Your words, like smoke, they made me sick

But they kept me warm.

- The Hush Sound, "Magnolia"


A cappuccino sounds good right now.

Ninety-one. Forty-three. Eighteen.

"Here's fifty-four cents in change. Have a nice day."

Ten.

Huh. That uniform. She's from my school.

Three—

Idiot. Look both ways before you cross the street.

Two—

"Hey—"

One...

"Kinomoto!"

Zero.

Suddenly, time no longer matters.

Thinking back, he calculates that it took him seven seconds to reach the edge of the sidewalk from the stone steps of the coffee shop; one hundred eighteen seconds before his school's warning bell would ring; twenty-three seconds early to have a stray cat cross his path; four seconds after the driver of a dark blue Highlander Limited sneezed, accidentally grinding his foot into the gas pedal when he turned the corner; and exactly three seconds too late to yank his classmate out of the collision course of that very car.

Syaoran only wishes he had been faster.

He wants to ride in the ambulance but the paramedics refuse. They tell him to scurry off to class as they heave the loaded gurney into the back of the white and red vehicle: white like his required uniform dress shirt, red like the blood that blooms from the gauze circling Sakura's forehead.

He almost yells at them. How can he go to school with this image tattooed into his memory, with his classmate lying motionless stretched out on a bed of white, her heartbeat slowing, slowing, failing her, while men and women in their pristine uniforms connect their lifesaving tubes into her limbs, and it's all because he didn't save her, he didn't save her.

Syaoran turns and flees from the scene like they ask, but he finds himself running in the direction away from his school, wanting to reach the hospital before the ambulance does and knowing he can't.


The doctors deny him entrance to the emergency room when he arrives at the hospital. He doesn't know how long the ambulance has been sitting there in front of the building; he just knows it got there first, taunting him with its flashy sirens, and he slams his fist into the brick wall of an apartment building in frustration.

Syaoran does end up going to school after all — two thousand twenty-five seconds after the late bell, but better than not coming at all. His parents hadn't brought him to Japan just to have him skip classes. As he scribbles down his name for a pass from the office, the secretary there shoots him dirty looks, seems to think he's one of those hooligans who show up half the time and believe that homework time is synonymous to getting high and being a waste of space. He only says flatly that there has been an accident, and doesn't elaborate when she calls after his retreating form.

He makes it in time for Honors Calculus, his best class even though he hates it. The elderly teacher accepts his pass with a nod and nothing else. She knows he's a good kid and this is his first tardy of the year, so she's willing to let it slide. He easily maneuvers his way over the backpacks blocking the rows and takes his seat.

A wave of whispers sweeps through the room. Things had certainly looked suspicious when the happy, bubbly, everybody's-friend Kinomoto Sakura missed school for the first time, and so did that weird Chinese transfer, Li Syaoran, who, despite being labeled guaranteed valedictorian and playing outside midfielder on the soccer team, stays so low-profile that he might as well not exist at all. They should have known she won't skip school with him. After all, Sakura likes fun, and Syaoran is galaxies away from that.

He glances at the board, tries his best to focus. But every time he sees the teacher draw with her unsteady hand the top part of the pi symbol, he can't help but think back to the morning, inside the ambulance, to the weakly pulsing green line within the box that monitored Sakura's beating heart.

That's all it takes for Syaoran to push all thoughts of calculus out of his head.

He then looks sideways at the vacant desk beside his, the one assigned to Sakura, and he wonders how long it will be before that seat is filled again.

He doesn't know her very well, but that doesn't mean she's a stranger. She never fails to acknowledge him — and anyone else within shouting distance — before the teacher ushers her into her desk. It's annoying, that endless energy, and sometimes he would like it very much if she would shut up now, please, but he doesn't hate her, because the universe has deemed it a sin to hate Kinomoto Sakura.

If disliking her is sinful, then he must be beyond redemption for not saving her when he could.

Prolonged hours, several ignored greetings from soccer mates, a lunch he remembers tasting like socks, and one shrill dismissal bell tearing into his thoughts later, Syaoran heads home with a heavy backpack and a heavier conscience.

And days after that, when he hears the okay from the hospital for visitors to see her, he is the first to come.

He hesitates outside the hospital room, next to the little card that reads Kinomoto S., the only indication, besides her absence at school, that anything is wrong with her at all, and he debates whether or not he should push through that door. He is afraid to see exactly what he let happen.

He doesn't have to pay her a visit, he reasons, because he hadn't been the one behind the wheel of that car. He had just been another passerby, another witness of fate's perverse ways, just as blameless as that rickety old granny he saw tossing stale bread bits to pigeons at the time.

Only, he knows that's not true.

He had heard the car coming. He'd had enough time to act. He certainly hadn't needed to wait until the car came near enough for him to read the absolute panic in the driver's expression as he scrambled for control. But those extra seconds made all the difference. He knew what would happen before it happened, yet chose not to act until too late. And by then, Sakura had already strayed into the middle of the street...

"Li-kun?"

He blinks, once, twice, a third time. He is no longer standing in the halls. Somehow, his feet had transported him past the door. The room's only occupant lies awake, staring at him with such bright, sparkling eyes that it's unmistakable who that train wreck of a person is, despite the bandages, the scratches that crisscross her face, the—

"What the hell happened to your voice?" he blurts.

The most memorable part of Sakura is her voice, as it is likely one would hear her before seeing her; it's a voice crafted from sunshine and powdered sugar and maybe even some rainbows, almost uplifting enough to rouse the dead into living. Once heard, it's impossible to forget. Kind of like the scratching of nails on a chalkboard, lingering in your mind afterward, but decidedly much more pleasant.

He can't even classify the noise that came out of her throat as a voice, more of a croak, really — and as equally cringe-inducing as nails on a chalkboard, because it's the first time Syaoran's heard her utter such a gravelly sound. She sounds like someone had choked her and added some extra wrenches to make sure she never speaks again.

But: "Sore throat," she rasps, and smiles when Syaoran flinches. "I can't whisper because that irritates the throat more. It's better to speak like this," she explains.

He nods and breathes a little oh of relief. He doesn't say anything else, doesn't know what else to say. He's never spoken to her before, not willingly, and she's just smiling and staring and probably curious why on earth he's here. He wonders the same.

The silence makes things awkward for him, so he asks about her condition.

She counts off her fingers thoughtfully, as though merely creating a Christmas wish list, as she recalls what the doctors told her: countless broken bones, the gashes and bruises, damaged this-and-thats, a leg that might not work properly anymore. Syaoran thinks those injuries are horrific enough, but then she tells him that they found something else, something vital that doesn't function like it should. The discovery is just a bit late for them to mend immediately, and for that reason she can't leave, not for a while. His face must show something that resembles worry, because Sakura assures him that they can fix it.

"It'll take some time, that's all," she says.

He figures that she's either incredibly optimistic or incredibly stupid.

It would depress him terribly if it were anybody else telling him this, but she describes it all with a smile, a positive tone, makes him want to believe that everything will turn out fine. He's never given her more than two seconds of his thoughts before, so he can't understand why he wants so desperately to see her up and out of that bed, walking on legs that aren't dysfunctional. He figures it's the guilt. It's got to be the guilt.

Syaoran doesn't stay long. It's enough for him that he had come to see her. Besides, he has a lot of homework due Monday that he won't finish unless he leaves now, right now.

His goodbye is even more awkward than his greeting: he fumbles for a while with excuses of why he can't stay before deciding that mumbling an abrupt "Bye" is better, and turns to leave.

"I'm really happy that you took the time to see me," he hears her say behind him.

Her voice is so rough and low that he almost misses what she said. Almost, but not quite, because he caught every bit of it. Her words follow him all the way home, wind their way into his memory, and trouble him through the weekend.

It is probably because of those words that, even though he had silently sworn that he will have nothing more to do with her, Syaoran inexplicably finds himself outside Sakura's hospital room once again, some days later.


A/N: Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think! Or not. Just review if you have something to say. Can you point out any mistakes if you see them? Even something as silly as a spelling error, I'd really appreciate it. I'm always looking to improve.

Lastly, since I don't know where else to put this, some of you might recognize me as Deprived of Chocolate's beta. I used to keep in touch with her until she disappeared around the same time I did. I know she has tons of faithful readers waiting for updates from her, but I haven't heard from her for two years. In case any of her readers see this, I want you to be informed that I haven't a clue where she is and I don't know when (or if) she'll be returning.

Until next time,

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