Prologue
--
The hard, cold metal chair dug relentlessly into his body. The dents and bumps that scarred the years of use into the chairs poked and prodded until it was near impossible to sit comfortably on what amounted to a heinous device of torture.
At least that was how Syaoran Li was viewing it at the present time.
For now, he sat in the most comfortable position he could find: back slouched over, elbows resting on thighs, hands dangling between knees, and head just bowed enough so locks of brown hair fell over his eyes.
People passed by, unnoticed by him, as arrival and departure flights were called over the speakers. Flight numbers rolled down screens, chatter and snores sounded around him, and heavy suitcases rattled by, dangerously close to his toes. Still, Syaoran remained still, eyes clouded over and lost in lonely thoughts.
It had been years. What made him think she would want anything to do with him now? Where were the letters? The emails? The phone calls? Wasn't that a clear enough indicator of their disintegrating relationship?
But he could still see her eyes from four years ago. Still hear her voice, and still feel the warmth from her hands as she grabbed his arm.
He clutched the flight ticket in his hand as green eyes stared at him from long ago memories.
"Don't go."
The desperation was in her eyes and how her fingers dug into his flesh.
"Hey. Hey…" he murmured, gently grasping her fingers and loosening them from his arm. "I won't be gone forever. I'm a phone call away."
Her troubled eyes still bore into his. "Too far away."
It threw him. All the desperation in her voice and body language was too different coming from the normally cheerful Sakura.
"What's the matter? What's wrong?"
Her eyes searched his, a little too intently.
"Something's coming. Something big. Something that… I don't know, Syaoran. I'm scared. Please," she stopped suddenly, hesitating.
"What, Sakura?"
"Don't go."
He felt that clutch in his belly, that little twinge in his senses when he felt the presence of something when he heard her words. He was only fourteen. What could he do?
"Sakura… Don't do this. Please don't ask me to do that. My mother – I can't – You… I have to go home. You know I have to go back now."
She released him then, as she stepped back. But when her touch left him, it felt like more then just that simple connection had been broken.
"Of course. I do know that. But… It was silly of me," she gave him a weak smile, "I should never have asked. I'm sorry if I worried you. Nothing will probably happen." She bumped up her smile a notch, and Syaoran could see her pulling her usual cheer back together like a shield. "Have a safe trip home and… I wish your family well. I hope… I hope everything turns out well."
Syaoran nodded and she turned back to the group waiting a little ways off. He could see Touya scowling at him. He didn't care.
"Sakura." She turned back. "Call me if anything happens. Anything. I'll be here, okay? I promise." He wiggled his pinky finger at her, his lips curving into a small smile.
"Your pinky? That's a serious promise, Syaoran," she replied, a bit of her usual humour coming back into her eyes. "Okay. I'll remember this."
That was the last time he saw or heard from her, Syaoran thought as he opened his eyes, four years later, in a different time, in a different airport. In a different country.
"You never called," Syaoran muttered. "Why didn't you call?"
"Flight 210 passengers, seats twenty-five to forty-eight may now board. Seats twenty-five to forty-eight."
Syaoran stood, slinging the single duffle bag over his shoulder. A lady at the gate smiled at him, her hand outstretched for his ticket. A part of Syaoran laughed at his hesitation to hand the ticket over. The poor lady had no idea how much of a barrier she was to him. She was the last thing in his way, asides from his own conscience, that was between him and the past that he wasn't sure even wanted him back.
--
Sakura knocked on Touya's front door, her anxiety quickly turning into impatience.
God, why wasn't he answering the door?
She knew she'd woken up late that morning, forty minutes late, actually, but she'd rushed over as soon as possible. Touya couldn't possibly have slept in later than she had.
Her impatience was quickly reaching the boiling point when she felt it. As her knuckle rapped the door again, a brush of cold shot up her fingers. Her arm jerked back, her hand cradled against her chest. Surprised, she stared at the door. She shouldn't have reacted so strongly to something so minor.
Then she remembered the incidents that had started four years ago, that had began escalating, and felt her heart begin to beat a little too fast.
"Touya…" she murmured, rapping on his door again and feeling the urgency begin to build in her chest. "Open the door, Touya."
She stopped, hand curled into a loose fist. What if this was just a result of her ever growing paranoia?
Her hand curled over the door knob.
She was just paranoid. Really. But the door knob was cold. So cold.
She called on Lock and felt, more than heard, the locks click open.
This was stupid. Touya was probably fine. Sleeping.
What if you're wrong?
She was running before she even got the door fully open.
She didn't know how she knew to go to the kitchen, but her pounding footsteps brought her there with each panicked breath.
The house was too quiet. Empty. Cold.
"Touya!"
Sakura skidded to a stop in the middle of the kitchen. The floors were red.
Everything suddenly seemed so far away. Disconnected, somehow. There was a high pitched roaring in her ears, making everything seem too silent but too loud at the same time. Her heart thumped wildly, lodging in her throat and making it hard to breathe. It was too hot in here. She was shivering. Her hands were clammy. The room was spinning.
Why was it so cold?
She didn't realize she'd dropped to her knees and reaching out for Touya until her eyes focused on her blood streaked hand.
Blood?
Touya was sprawled out on the floor. His eyes were open, but they were a matte, empty brown, staring up at the ceiling as if there were horrors there he couldn't close his eyes to.
"T-Touya?"
There was too much blood. As if from a long distance, Sakura looked down at her brother. He'd been torn open from sternum to navel, blood still the bright red before it dries to rusty browns. In horror, she realized the glimpses of white she saw were strips of his ribcage jutting outwards.
I'm too late. I'm too fucking late.
Then it all rushed in, every detail, too fast, and too close to her. Jerking, falling, scuttling back, her eyes never leaving Touya, Sakura began to scream.
--
At that very moment, thousands of miles away, Syaoran snapped awake with a pressing urgency to get to Japan. In hours, he was booked and on the next plane out.
And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
--Jeff Buckley
