Next chapter's on the 8th of August.
Fai is simmering some kind of vegetables into a sauce in the small kitchen when he hears that man come into the room.
He clenches his hand by his side, wraps the other around the worn metal of the oven door handle, and squeezes hard enough with both that it should hide the shaking.
The sauce is red, fragrant in a way which only makes his stomach turn now when he can hear that other man's heart beating, almost physically feel his pulse in the room, the desire to bite and tear and drink something far more red than what is in the pot.
"Hey," his voice is intrusive, unwanted, and yet it is all Fai can focus on, brain tuning out of the safety of the bubbling sauce and into the words he doesn't want to hear, "you need to eat."
He pretends he can't hear.
He picks up the spoon, chipped and worn smooth again, and stirs the sauce.
There's pasta in the cupboard, he needs to set that boiling soon if everything is going to be ready at the same time.
He reaches up for the cupboard, opens it, hears the voice again.
"I won't let you ignore me. You're getting weak. I can tell." That man tells him, voice closer now.
The box of pasta is in his hands, he slides a nail beneath the flap, cuts it open, crouches down to get a second pan for it, not taking a single glance at the other man though he knows that he is coming closer to him. He'll have to go to the sink next to fill the pan with water.
He deliberates a second longer, takes his time measuring out handfuls of the pasta shapes though he knows that he'll cook all of them.
"You can't go on like this." The voice says.
Fai pretends to weigh the box in his hand contemplatively and then tips in the last of the pasta. He'll have to turn now but there's no way he can drag this out longer.
He tries to keep his eyes away as he turns left to the kitchen sink, twists the tap and holds the pan under it to fill. He doesn't quite manage his gaze from slipping to the corner of his eye.
That man stands there, almost beside him, eyes as red as the thing he is thirsting for, his body is crying out for, and arms crossed, tight, unmovable.
"You'll have to eat eventually." He says.
Fai pulls in a shaky breath, about to reply somehow, to tell him to mind his own fucking business or to leave him alone or to just pretend he'd only just noticed him there, when Syaoran steps into the room and then blinks at them both.
"Ah, sorry," he mumbles, tension sharp within him, "it's just. Sakura-hime is meant to take her medicine soon. It's in here." He says.
The fact that she wouldn't accept it from him comes through in aftertaste of his words, an uncertainty and guilt which unsettles them as they come from his mouth.
Fai is relieved and smiles, turning the flame on beneath the pasta as he sets it on the hob.
"Ah, I can do that in just a second if you keep an eye on the food for me." He offers, tilting his head to the side, at service.
Syaoran smiles a little bit, tension fading in his shoulders.
"Thank you," he says, voice soft, as if Fai wasn't doing this completely self-servingly, wasn't using Sakura as an excuse to get away from that man.
"It's no trouble!" Fai says.
The words are bitter.
The red eyes trail him as he leaves but that man can do nothing more for now.