Author's Notes:
So, it's been over a year since I updated this. I imagine most of you have forgotten me by now. But for those of you who haven't, here's an update. I do apologize for the long delay. I swear I'm not trying to be annoying, and I do intend to finish this fic . . . soon. Within the year. Probably.
Recap:
Mere weeks after their departure from Acid Tokyo, Syaoran and company sign up for a dangerous gambling tournament in an attempt to win one of Sakura's feathers. In the first round, Syaoran led Sakura across a massive Trick Tile board loaded with hidden traps. Though they survive their first trial unscathed, the stress of the tournament pushes Syaoran to seek comfort in Ryuuo's companionship. Together, the two of them make their way to Ryuuo's apartment, where Syaoran allows himself to be intimate with Ryuuo despite knowing he will have to leave with the others once they acquire Sakura's feather. Their relationship seems destined to end in heartbreak, but Ryuuo's optimism has yet to waver, even in the face of their inevitable parting. Will they find a way to be together, or will circumstances leave them shattered and alone? Stay tuned to find out.
Chapter Eleven
"You're not going to get in trouble for ducking out early, are you?"
Syaoran stirs, eyelids fluttering. They've spent the last hour dozing on the sofa, his back to Ryuuo's chest, Ryuuo's arm slung over his waist, and it takes Syaoran a few moments to follow the thread of the question back to his traveling companions. "Maybe," he says. "But I doubt it. They don't need me again until the second round."
Ryuuo says nothing, but his arm draws tighter around Syaoran's abdomen. Syaoran accepts the shift as the reassurance it's meant to be, though it doesn't quell the thought lingering at the edges of his mind—that the others don't care enough to worry about his sudden disappearance. Surely he's not that much of a ghost to them. Surely he's an asset worth protecting, even if they can't bring themselves to care about him like they did his clone.
As if sensing the turn in his mood, Ryuuo kisses the back of his neck. "I'm glad you're here. It's been a while since I've been with someone I could talk to like this. I mean . . ." Ryuuo fidgets, his toes trailing down the back of Syaoran's calf. "Souma's a great gambling partner, but even she acts like I'm just some naïve kid. But you . . . you actually believe in me. In what I'm doing. I haven't had that since . . ."
Since when? Syaoran wonders. It's not the first time he's heard this thread of melancholy weave through Ryuuo's voice, but it is the first time he's had more than a moment to ponder it. He thinks of that night they kissed, the flicker of pain in Ryuuo's eyes when he explained the risks of the tournament, his determination to stop the Spectacle. And then tonight, when Syaoran mused about the nostalgic qualities of drinking rum, and Ryuuo's expression sobered.
He twists around to meet Ryuuo's eyes. "You lost someone, didn't you? To the Spectacle."
The words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, Syaoran worries he's crossed some boundary. He has no right to Ryuuo's grief, no right to pry into his secrets. But then Ryuuo tilts his face forward so their foreheads touch, a pained smile tugging at his mouth. "I knew you'd figure it out eventually, but I sort of expected it to take longer." He sighs, his gaze growing distant. "Her name was Yuzuriha. She was my best friend."
"I'm sorry," Syaoran says.
"No, it's okay." His mouth twitches, as if he has to fight to hold onto his smile. "It's been over a year since—since she died, so . . ."
Syaoran winces at the tremor in Ryuuo's voice. "You don't have to talk about it."
Ryuuo turns his face away, his shoulders tensing as he withdraws. Uncertainly, Syaoran reaches up to lay a hand on his shoulder, but before he can, Ryuuo twists in the crease of the sofa and wriggles onto the armrest, facing away from him.
I should go, Syaoran thinks, sitting up only to go still when Ryuuo speaks. "We had a friend—Kusanagi, his name was. He came from the lower levels, just like us. Worked in a factory, saved up until he could afford the minimum bets at some of the seedier gambling houses. Got good at it, started making real money, but never forgot his roots, you know? He came back to the slums sometimes, handed out money to people who needed it. Most people who make it out don't come back, or if they do, it's because they've gone bankrupt, but Kusanagi . . . he took care of us, even though it would have been easier, smarter to walk away. Me and Yuzuriha, we idolized him. Wanted to win tournaments and make a fortune, just like him, so we practiced every day, learning the tricks and strategies of as many games as we could.
"Kusanagi saw our potential and loaned us some money so we could start playing—small time stuff at first, but we worked our way up to the really prestigious houses. The Golden Eagle. The House of Illumination. The Red Band. Kusanagi coached us on how much to bet, taught us which games offered the best returns at each house. We spent pretty much every day up here, learning from him, saving our winnings. But then . . ."
"Then?" Syaoran asks, voice hushed. He hears Ryuuo's sudden intake of breath, sees the twitch of his jaw, and berates himself for prying. But after a moment, Ryuuo continues, haltingly.
"Then one day, Kusanagi wasn't there. At first, we figured he was just running late, so we played a few rounds, but then it got later and later, until it was time for the Spectacle, and . . ."
"And it was him in the arena," Syaoran finishes.
Ryuuo nods. "It turned out he'd fallen into debt with the house—we never found out how it happened, whether he ran into financial troubles at home or just got reckless. Anyway, they gave him a knife and announced that he would be fighting a direwolf—The Red Band's prized albino, the most dangerous animal they had. That wolf had killed six people in the month since they'd got it. Kusanagi was strong, but that thing was a beast. There was almost no chance he'd survive.
"Yuzuriha must have known it was hopeless, but she tried to save him anyway. Jumped into the arena right as the fight started, aiming to distract the wolf long enough for Kusanagi to kill it. At first, it seemed like she might do it, that it might be enough, but then the wolf just leapt at her, and she—" Ryuuo's fingers bite into the armrest, the tendons in his wrist standing up like wires. "There was so much blood, fountains of it. Kusanagi tried to pull the wolf off of her, but it was too late, she was already gone, and the wolf bit him, too, got a hold of his arm and tore the artery there, and I . . . I just watched. It was like someone had nailed my feet to the ground. That whole time, I never once thought to join them in the arena. Maybe it would have made a difference. If I had, maybe. . ."
Maybe they would still be alive is what he doesn't say, but Syaoran hears it anyway. "It wasn't your fault."
"Of course it was," Ryuuo snaps, and Syaoran recoils from the harshness in his voice, the bitterness seething in his words. "I could have saved them, but I didn't. They died because I was a coward."
"Ryuuo . . ." Uncertainly, Syaoran reaches out to lay a hand on the other boy's shoulder.
Ryuuo's spine goes rigid, then bends beneath the weight of his grief. "It was my fault," he says. "That's why I have to stop the Spectacles. So that no one else has to die that way. So that no one else has to watch the people they care about get slaughtered because they couldn't pay their debts. I couldn't save Yuzuriha or Kusanagi, so I have to save as many people as I can to make up for it. No matter how long it takes or what it costs me, I have to see this through."
Syaoran thinks of Sakura, of the feathers, of all the things he still needs to set right. He knows what it is to carry those burdens, knows how heavily guilt weighs upon the soul. He knows nothing he says will free Ryuuo from that burden.
So he doesn't say anything. Instead, he wraps his arms around Ryuuo's chest and pulls him close, pressing one ear between the other boy's shoulder blades. Ryuuo's breath hitches, then shudders out of him. "I couldn't—I couldn't—"
"I know." He closes his eyes, listening to Ryuuo's ragged breathing, to the thump-thump-thump of his heart. Ryuuo tries to say more, but the words break into heaving sobs. "I know."
Later, voice hoarse with tears, Ryuuo says, "I think I'm falling in love with you."
Syaoran stills, the words tearing through him as if he's made of tissue paper. After a long, heavy silence, he speaks. "You shouldn't."
Ryuuo gives a quiet, broken laugh, and presses a kiss to his lips, then his neck, then his chest, traveling down his body in increments. When he reaches Syaoran's waistband, he lifts his head. "Can I?"
Syaoran hesitates only a moment before nodding, and they spend the next hour exploring each other, slow and tender. The firestorm of desire that drove them together hours ago has abated, but together they kindle the sparks of companionship into a new fire, stoking it by degrees. This time, release comes not as a fiery tempest, but a wave of liquid heat, pulsing through them like magma.
"Hey," Ryuuo says sometime later, nudging Syaoran's shin with his toes. "C'mon, I want to show you something."
Syaoran rolls onto his back, watching Ryuuo as he climbs off the sofa and gives a feline stretch before gathering up his clothes. After a few languid moments, Syaoran does the same, and they leave the apartment behind, heading out into the city. The streetlamps glow with hazy orange light, gradually shifting toward the yellows of early morning. Not that the distinction matters much, with no sun or sky to mark the passing of the day.
The others are probably getting ready for bed, if they aren't asleep already. Syaoran wonders if they've started to worry. If, perhaps, they're still awake, waiting for him to return. The thought sends twin spirals of guilt and doubt curling through his stomach. If they are waiting, he should head back to the inn, but if they aren't . . .
"You okay?" Ryuuo asks.
They've walked almost three blocks from the apartment building, but it's only now that Syaoran realizes they're heading away from the city center, not toward it. "Where are we going?"
"Just a little place Yuzuriha and I used to visit sometimes." Ryuuo glances at him, looking concerned. "You seem kind of distracted."
"It's nothing. Really," he insists when the other boy's expression doesn't change.
"Someday, you're going to tell me what happened to you. All of it, not just the vague explanations you give everyone else."
The words ring with such absolute conviction that for a moment, Syaoran believes them—not just that he will tell Ryuuo everything, but that someday still exists for them, that the threads of chance that brought them together will one day bring him back to this world. He cannot know the hidden turnings of the universe, but there must be patterns, he thinks, points of similarity that Mokona connects to as they drift from world to world. There is a chance, however small, that someday he'll find Ryuuo again. And maybe, by then, he will have healed enough, atoned enough to give him a few more pieces of the truth.
"Someday," Syaoran agrees, and says no more.
They walk until the noise and chaos of the busier sectors fade into nothing more than muted vibrations in the walkways underfoot, until the curving, earthen walls that surround the Undercity loom above them. Looking up, Syaoran can't help the little stirring of unease. He doesn't know much about this world beyond this massive subterranean cavern, but he is acutely aware of the fact that he is deep underground, surrounding by tons upon tons of earth and stone.
Ryuuo, ever sensitive to the changes in his moods, takes hold of his arm to steady him. "Unsettling, I know," he says, tugging him toward a metal ladder. "But I promise it's worth it."
Syaoran eyes the ladder doubtfully, but it's in good condition—no rust that he can see, and every few rungs another piece of metal connects the ladder to the wall, ensuring its stability. "We're going up to the surface?"
Ryuuo grimaces. "Not exactly. This is just a maintenance ladder—it only goes up about two thirds of the way. You're not afraid of heights, are you?"
He shakes his head.
"Good." Ryuuo grabs onto the ladder and starts climbing, glancing down once to make sure Syaoran is following. They progress quickly up the rungs, occasionally passing metal platforms that jut out of the earthen walls like balconies, allowing easy access to fuse boxes and other such fixtures. Once, they pass a worker in a hardhat, but rather than ordering them to descend, the man inclines his head in greeting, as if he's accustomed to Ryuuo bringing people up here. Maybe he is, Syaoran thinks, lifting his head. Ryuuo looks down at the same time, mouth stretching into a grin. Ryuuo certainly seems comfortable.
Their climb takes a little over fifteen minutes—long enough that he begins to feel a slight strain in his arms from climbing, but not long enough for it to develop into a cramp. Ryuuo stops on an empty platform attached to a narrow walkway and waits for Syaoran to join him, bouncing slightly on his toes. Syaoran disengages from the ladder, flexing his fingers. "Is this it?" he asks, walking up to the guardrail. The Undercity sprawls below, a tapestry of interlocking walkways and glittering lights. It's unexpectedly beautiful from up high, its imperfections reduced to mere specks by distance.
But Ryuuo shakes his head. "The view up here is nice and all, but it's not what I came to show you. Come on." He takes Syaoran's hand and guides him down the walkway, nearly skipping with eagerness, and a minute later, they come to the mouth of a massive concrete pipe set into the wall and covered with tarp. "This is the reason we came here."
Syaoran frowns slightly. "What is it?"
"It used to be some kind of drainage pipe, but it fell out of use a while back and never got plugged up." Ryuuo grabs hold of the corner of the tarp. "Ready?"
Ready for what? Syaoran wonders, but nods. Ryuuo pulls the tarp aside with a flourish.
At first, Syaoran doesn't understand what he's looking at. Light pours through a grate on the other side of the pipe, bright enough he reflexively raises a hand to shield his eyes. Beside him, Ryuuo chuckles, hoisting himself into the pipe and catching Syaoran's fingers in his own. "Come on. You can see it better if you get close."
Claustrophobia quivers at the edges of his awareness as Syaoran climbs into the pipe, but Ryuuo's grip anchors him, and he moves forward with only a little trepidation. By the time they reach the grate at the end, his vision has adjusted enough that he no longer has to squint. He peers through the bars, his breath catching when he realizes what he's looking at.
The sun peeks above the horizon, a resplendent golden arc wreathed in fog from the mountains that make up its cradle. Above it, clouds twist like ribbons through the sky, painted in streaks of red and pink. Syaoran doesn't dare look directly into the sun, lest its radiance damage his eyes, but the few indirect glances he does manage leave him breathless with awe. It's been weeks since he felt the sun on his skin, but now the light pours over him, chasing away that shadows that have clung to him for weeks, months, years.
"It's beautiful," he whispers.
"I think so, too." Ryuuo brushes Syaoran's cheek with his knuckles.
Syaoran turns, his chest constricting at the way the light catches Ryuuo's eyes, highlighting the flecks of brown and gray within the jade. Below, surrounded by metal walkways and dilapidated buildings, Ryuuo had been boyishly handsome. Here, bathed in shades of bronze, he is breathtaking: a tree spirit with a piece of the sun at his heart.
"Something on my face?" Ryuuo asks, an impish smile touching his lips. "You're looking at me kind of funny."
Syaoran doesn't think, just lays a kiss on Ryuuo's cheek as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "Thank you. For bringing me here. I . . ." He pulls a shallow breath through his lips. "It means more to me than you know."
Ryuuo grins, lifting Syaoran's hand so he can kiss his knuckles. "You're welcome."
