(A/N: Realization. Of feelings and otherwise. Enjoy.)
Disclaimer: I do not own Card Captor Sakura. I own whatever their personalities are in this story and any character that I make up. I own my storyline.
Chapter 8
The shining silver hurtled down, catching the light. Later, Syaoran was to remember this, and wonder if it were the lights that had given him away.
The Master moved, so quickly that the eye could not follow. Half a moment ago, his hand had been flat on the ground, supporting his weight as he regained his breath. Now it was at Syaoran's throat. And it squeezed.
Syaoran felt the pressure; couldn't breathe. He tried to draw breath, but the hand had cut off his circulation completely, forcing the used air back down his throat. He choked, again trying desperately to inhale. Red and purple blotches dotted his vision; it was becoming harder and harder to focus. All his training had been forgotten in the space of a minute, when he'd attacked and had not been prepared for the consequences.
The knife jerked hesitantly away from its path, slowed, fell. The sound of it hitting the stone floor had a terrible tone of finality.
Dimly, Syaoran saw the Master get back on his feet. He was still panting slightly, but his hand was strong. Choking, choking…
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A sickening slash of pain brought him back into consciousness. Before he could recover, another came. And another, and another.
His mind fought the torture, fought to keep from sinking into that emotionless shell that he could retreat into to seek shelter from the pain. He was being torn apart, ravaged by the battle within; retreat or go mad. The shield, his shield, the one that kept all his feelings and hurts and vulnerabilities locked away, could be his downfall. He couldn't lower it once it came up.
But he had to, or go mad from the strain on his mind. Letting an inaudible cry of despair escape from his lips, he closed his eyes once again and let the waves of indifference wash over him.
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"Syaoran," somebody called softly. His mind struggled to wake him from his slumber, as much as he subconsciously protested. But the voice called to him…bade him to wake. It was a voice he'd heard only twice before, both in unfortunately memorable circumstances, and thus he remembered now whose voice it was. As if he had ever forgotten…
Sakura…Syaoran's eyelids slowly opened, and the pain came back in a great rush, biting him and stinging him and mocking his weakness, so that he nearly cried out. The open wounds on his back felt like lines of fire, burning him without mercy. Behind him, he could still hear the faint drip, drip of blood, and feel it running slowly off of his back.
He closed his eyes again, trying to will away the pain whilst clinging on to the small whisper of the voice in his mind. If only he could think straight…
"Syaoran? Wake up," the voice said. It sounded so far away… Strangely enough, he felt an unexplainable urge to obey, and so he opened his eyes and tried to find his way out of the darkness.As the blurriness in his vision was receding, he tried to focus on something, anything, to take his mind off of the pain. The first thing he saw was a wall. It was cold and damp, the incessant torchlight playing across it in an unsettling manner that made his head spin. Dimly he realized that his arms were bound to the wall, and he was slumped over, the uncomfortable position making his shoulders ache.
Sakura had it worse…she was actually hanging off of the wall…
Why was he thinking of her? Why, when he had cut off the contact he had with the rest of the world? He shouldn't have been able to… Perhaps she was affecting him more than she should have been…
Something stirred at the edge of his vision. Syaoran was in too much pain to react quickly. With great effort, he turned his head.
He was in a cage. Or rather, half of it. Three stone walls made up an unbreakable barrier, and a wall of iron mesh separated him from the next cell. Someone was in it.
Narrowing his eyes, he could just make out a figure, standing with its back to the wall as he was. It seemed to have its head turned towards him. Faintly, he heard the voice calling him again.
"Syaoran…"
Confused, he realized that the voice seemed to be coming from the other cell. But why would it? Sakura couldn't possibly be here…
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The joy of dancing had long worn out for Tomoyo, and when Eriol stepped into the small room, it was the sight of her staring into the flickering fire with a sad glaze in her eyes that greeted him. He paused for a moment to study her.
Thin lines of worry and anxiety, so rare on someone so young, crawled lightly across her forehead and eyes. Sleepless nights had made her tired face pale, and deepened the shadows under her eyes. But they were still beautiful. Their violet and amethyst hues, rarely missing the cheerful spark, brightened his day. Her long, wavy hair that he longed to run his fingers through…
He stopped himself. She could never know of his feelings. They were meaningless, as pointless as the waves lapping gently at the foot of a great mountain. His thoughts of her were dangerous, especially in a place like this.
But waves could one day wear the mountain down, and smooth it over until it was a shining stone…
Tomoyo shifted, bringing him out of his reverie. Her back rose and fell slightly as she sighed and buried her eyes in the heels of her hands. He walked up silently behind her, and laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked up into his worried eyes.
"Are you okay, Tomoyo?"
She smiled slightly. "I'm fine."
When he raised his eyebrows at her, she tried to smile sheepishly. But she couldn't.
"Tomoyo." He took a seat beside her. "You can tell me." And though his tone was caring, Eriol couldn't keep the bitter thoughts from his mind. That was all she would ever see him as: an older brother, a protector, a mentor, perhaps, on the ways of life. Someone who would listen to her fears, and chase them away as a brother would. Only a brother.
He saw her glance over at him carefully as he sat there, his grave blue eyes fixed on her face. She could never hide anything from him. He was too observant of her. She knew it too, and turned away from him to look back into the fire as she spoke.
"I'm just…just…a little worried, I suppose."
"Ah." He sank back, nodding gently. "Yes. I understand."
They sat in silence. But Eriol didn't know that Tomoyo was wishing he would say something. The lack of noise gave her too much room to think.
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"Tomoyo, don't cry."
A young boy with dark blue eyes and large, wire-rimmed glasses comforted a small girl, who was sobbing uncontrollably.
The girl sniffed, her face buried into a white handkerchief. The little boy stroked her hair, whispering soothing words to her.
"Sometimes," he told her, his clever, polite personality evident even at such a young age, "We don't think about things we don't want to think of. Instead, we ask ourselves questions that we know have answers we'll like."
She looked up at him with watery eyes, uncomprehending. He smiled at her, and continued.
"But that's the wrong way to go about life. We have to ask ourselves all kinds of questions, and think about all kinds of things. Even the things we don't want to think about. Even the questions that we know have disappointing answers, we still must ask ourselves. If you think about it, putting off the disappointment will only make it worse when you actually find the courage to face it."
The girl clenched her eyes and buried her face into his chest.
"So…" her small voice was muffled. "So…you mean…I should get over it now?"
His dark blue eyes looked down at her fondly, and a soft smile passed his lips. "Yes, Tomoyo. That's exactly what I mean."
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Tomoyo still remembered that day, and that immeasurably important lesson Eriol had taught her as he patted her on the back and stopped her tears. So she turned her mind to the question, that solidly inevitable question that was sitting there in her head, waiting to be asked. The one that nagged at her conscience, and made her wince with guilt every time she tried to smile…
What could be happening to Sakura?
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When she had awoken in this new chamber (she could only presume it was because she had been too "disobedient" to have an actual bed), she had had to work to recall the events of the night before. It was happening more and more often, this lapse in her memory.
As soon as she gathered her thoughts, she looked around. Her arms ached, the pain of separation still evident. She longed to hold them, and run her hands along her shoulders, perhaps just to feel her own skin and find some comfort within herself. But chained to a wall, she couldn't very well do that.
Then she realized that she was wearing a long and tattered piece of flannel, perhaps the same kind that had been used in the bedding of her previous chamber; roughly made, scratchy, and limiting in all movement. It looped ill-fittingly over her shoulders and dropped down abruptly to her knees.
Well, she reasoned. At least I'm not bare.
For some odd reason, this relatively optimistic statement made her think of Syaoran.
He must be getting to me. Why else would I think such happy thoughts?
She blinked to clear her head, then glanced around to take a better look at her surroundings. Three walls were made of stone, and the last out of an odd, glistening type of metal mesh that she had never seen before. Through it, she saw another chamber that resembled her own. There seemed to be someone in it.
Squinting, she saw the outline of a person pressed up against the wall, seemingly unconscious. His head was down, his chin touching his chest. A shiver ran down her spine as she saw that he seemed to be hanging by his arms. Her shoulders throbbed slightly in sympathy, and all of a sudden, she found herself feeling sorry for him. This stranger, whom she had never met before in her life, she was feeling sad for. Why?
Realization dawned. Only one person, no matter how near or far, could make her feel this way. In the back of her mind, she'd known it was him all along…
"Syaoran…" her thoughts had escaped her in the form of a word, calling out his name. It sounded so…hopeful, echoing in the dim chamber.
She saw his figure shift slightly, before his head lifted and he looked straight at her. Their eyes met, and in a single electric moment, the familiar, yet still so shocking current passed through them again. It warmed her so that she could feel her skin become hot. Her forehead burned and her breathing sped up. But it did more than that.
One thought wormed its way through the heat. This single statement in her mind held more emotion than she possibly thought she could have contained in her entire being. It ignited her soul, burning her with its fiery passion, the shock of it registering only after it had passed.
I love him.
"Syaoran…"
(A/N: Quite boring, no? If you want something lighter, I just posted a new story today. It's called Their Separate Ways. It kind of resembles my other story, but not really. I need opinions on that one though, and how I can improve on it. If anyone can find the time to give me some feedback, it would be greatly appreciated.)
