Hey everybody

I've had a sudden burst of creativity! I'm gonna keep writing until it wears off! Please tell me what you think (RxR). Zachary is really a character you can work with. Hee hee.

On with the story.



I wake to a sweltering heat. Disorientated, I ponder how I got on the couch and why I have a blanket on me. I sniff and the scent of cooking catches my nose. I close my eyes and follow the said body organ to the kitchen.

Li is flipping hot cakes over the stove--the nikuman and Instant Ramen had been thrown in the garbage can--the methodical skid of the spatula over the iron pan soft in my ears. He had abandoned the t-shirt in the heat of the day, and it hangs on a chair. His golden body glows in the sunlight; his eyes shine dully, no longer red and puffy.

I rub my head; it must be nearly midday. Hesitantly taking a step forward, I falter. "Are--are you all right?"

His eyes slide towards me, without moving his head. He doesn't slow once with his hot cake flipping. "Hn." He adds the cake to the stack already on the table and slathers them with butter and syrup. Shoving me down in a seat, he pushes the plate towards me and clatters some silverware onto the table.

"Whoa, no need to be violent, ne?"

He angrily chucks the pan into the sink and begins to viciously scrub it with a sponge. Satisfied with its cleanliness, he sets it aside to dry and joins me at the table, sitting next to me. I seem to be feeling the heat more than usual.

I study him out of the corner of my eye as I start in on the hot cakes. "Aren't you going to have any?"

He grumbles something that sounds like, "I already ate." And I start in on the food.

We sit in an awkward silence; I listen to his even breathing; he fidgets.

"You must think me weak." He doesn't look at me; he just states it as if it's a fact. He seems completely indifferent. But his eyes shimmer with unshed tears.

My head jerks up, smearing syrup over my chin. "Why would I think you weak?"

"Because I am." He doesn't sound too good. I suddenly have an urge to hold him and make everything better. Following this instinct and startling him, I gently slide my arms around him and kiss his cheek, my pale skin stark against his tan.

"Some of the strongest men have fallen from lesser things, Li-san," he jerks at the formal name and my brow creases, "And you are the strongest I know. . . Li-san."

He wriggles out of my grasp. I'm slightly disappointed; his skin felt good. Agitated, he paces with his strong hands clasped behind him. I wipe my chin, which I just noticed is dripping with syrup. How embarrassing.

He runs a hand through his hair as I watch him cross the room repeatedly, and his eyes slide towards me in that special way of his where he doesn't move his head. "I feel grimy. Can I take a shower?" He stares at me with his hand still half-buried in his brown locks.

I lean back in my chair. "I don't know if I trust you to be alone." I eye him skeptically. If he's going to be difficult, I'll have to be stern; but I just want to hold him and make everything better! This is going to be difficult.

He sighs, plainly aggravated at my mistrust. Stay firm, I tell myself. Let—no—make him know you aren't going to back down.

He rolls his eyes. "I promise," he says, annoyed, "I won't attempt to hurt myself in any way or fashion while I'm in the shower. There, how's that?" He says the last bit scathingly. Stay firm. Stay firm. It's so hard!

"It'll do." I have to trust his word, even if I can't trust his actions. He trudges upstairs. I quiver and then relax when he finally disappears from my sight.

"Oh, kami, that was hard." Man, have I grown into a weakling or what? A simple look from him makes me crumble to pieces! What is wrong with me?

Well, anyway, time for business.

I pick up the phone and dial Syaoran's familiar number.

Ring. Ring. "Moshi moshi."

I catch the conversation. "Moshi moshi, Wei-san."

"Ah, Yamazaki-san! It's been a while since you've been around. I must say the house is quite gloomy."

"Um, hai, would you mind if Li-san stays here for the weekend? We'll get him to school Monday morning just fine; and he's got everything he needs."

"Sure, sure, that's fine, as long as it's what he wants."

"Uhh. . . hai! That's what he wants all right."

"Okay, then, ja ne Yamazaki-san."

"Ja ne."

I hang up. There, that's done.

Abruptly the shower water turns off. Wow, he's fast. I usually take a few hours. Within moments Syaoran descends the stairs, garbed in the sweats he had been wearing before. Without saying a word, he takes the tee shirt in his hands from the back of the chair he left it on, and pulls it over his head, mussing his hair.

It's nearly impossible to tell Syaoran to do things. You can't force him to do anything he doesn't want to. I'm going to have a hell of a time getting him to stay the weekend. I clear my throat. "I called Wei."

He glances sharply at me. "And?" There is something of a threat in that simple question.

I gulp. He can be scary. "You're staying the weekend—"

I see stars whirling around my head as the room spins. My vision clears and I finger the bruise, wincing, forming around my eye where Syaoran had punched me. He grabs my collar and slams me against the cellar door, knocking against his strange robes. Three cards fall out of the sleeve. I have just enough time to register the fact—three cards? Where do they keep coming from?—before my Syaoran shoves his face into mine, his eyes enraged.

"What do you mean, I'm staying the weekend?! Who gave you permission to do that?! I don't want to stay! I'm not going to stay!" The last sentence boosts his confidence.

"Well, you'll just try to kill yourself again!" I yell into his visage. "Ever think someone might not want you to die?" He growls, not wanting to realize the truth of the matter, and punches me again, in the stomach; then his fist cracks against my ribs. I sink to the ground as he readies another blow, and catch sight of the new card on the floor beside me.

"Shield?"

A bubble forms around me, glowing blue. Syaoran's latest punch rebounds against it. He tries to force his way through but is not successful. He looks at me sharply, calculatedly.

"Where did you get a Clow Card?"