A/N: After finishing watching the second part of Shunraiki (again), I just started writing. I really hate those vows-- it's so un-Kurogane-ish. And it would be devistating to Fai if he ever heard them, I think. At that point in the story, I don't think he'd be strong enough to handle them. I guess this is what inspired this? It's not really KuroFai at all. T_T I hate that.

Thirteen: Vows

He….. shouldn't be hearing this. He shouldn't be listening to this. He shouldn't be here like this at all.

The wounds were still fresh—why allow them to be torn open once more? It suddenly felt like ice was being poured across his skin; his heart ached.

He should leave. Go back to the reflecting pond; go find Syaoran—something, anything… anything would be better than listening to this.

Of course he understood these sorts of things—he'd partaken in enough of them himself with Ashura. Another pang to his heart.

He wasn't quite strong enough to listen to this yet without fears. Without doubts. Without the pain.

Yet he still stood here, hand to the wooden doors, wondering why Kurogane hadn't snapped up and throttled him for eavesdropping yet.

A new line, something even more sacred.

Finally his hand decided to withdraw; he snatched his hand to his chest, cradling it limply with his other like it was injured. He didn't know what injury he was nursing—the fact that his body wouldn't obey him when he told it to or the way his chest ached with every beat of his heart.

It wasn't what it sounded like.

It couldn't be what it sounded like.

Maybe it was. He could see—just barely, squinting through the crack of the door—he knew Kurogane had just seen the golden flash—there was no mistaking that it was him! There was no one else in this entire world that had his hair and eyes… yet it still continued. He had to have seen him—he always had seen him before, even when others found him to be unobtrusive. Distant. Barely there—he was always there in the peripherals of Kurogane's sight! Except this once, huh?

In retrospect, it was a short exchange. Yet heartbreak made it long, unbearable. When the final syllable left the princess's mouth, he fled. He had no choice but to. He didn't want to see what came next, if anything came next— something would probably come next.

It didn't mean anything that they'd sacrificed so much to each other, did it? The poor ninja probably hadn't even noticed, or care to remember, that he was stuck with him, did he? Unspoken vows. More important… it was certainly more important to keep him alive wasn't it?

No. Pretty princesses with wide lively eyes and quiet voices were adorable, much better to protect than old, cursed magicians who had penchants for lying and running away, who killed one of said princesses—

Sakura…

Another sorrow deepened his heartbreak. He felt like sitting down to cry. He sighed softly; there were others who were wounded far more deeply than he. Syaoran.

He found the boy atop the roof, staring distantly off into the sky.

Living is hard isn't it?

Living and loving is even harder, though…

Break upon break, he was delivered that night. He didn't deserve gratitude, and he was tempted to tell the heartbroken boy that, but… it was comforting in a way to know that he did everything he could to help his princess.

He left Syaoran with a slight pat to the shoulder and a slightly less broken heart.

He still wished he hadn't heard that. He still wished he could've moved before his world, so carefully reconstructed, so utterly shattered once more, but held quietly, tightly, so the pieces wouldn't shatter with a promise of something stronger than glue or blood… then that, too, was…

There was no name to what he felt. Sorrow was too shallow, but grief was too deep. Maybe he'd just lived too long a life to put up with misunderstandings. He had thought that…

But he was wrong, now wasn't he?

Once again, he was wrong. Misguided, misunderstood… misused.

A sigh and a frown parted his lips, and he sat down there, on the floor, in the middle of the hallway. He had no where to go, no on to speak to, nothing to do but dwell on the day.

He didn't want to dwell anymore. He wanted to go back to him, his companion, his friend, his ally, his enemy, his ninja, his savoir, his lover… He drew his knees to his chest, laying his head upon them. It was too much loss for one day. He lost his Sakura-chan, the girl he saw as a daughter once more. He'd never be able to apologize or hug her again. Despite Syaoran's stalwart promises of bringing them both back, he knew… that she—that she—would never…

He wanted to go and speak to him about it; tell him how much losing her again hurt, how he had hoped Syaoran would bring her back and they could be a family again for a little while.

Impossible. Impossible.

He wouldn't let the tears fall. There were those who hurt far more than he did. Syaoran hadn't cried. At least, he hadn't cried where anyone could see him. He would be like the boy, his son, his second son… and be strong despite the loss.

But it felt like he, too… had lost a loved one.

What would he do now…? He'd finally let it out, let it bloom, let its delicate petals open to the sunshine warmth of him.

And then he heard that.

His mind always circled back to that, no matter how he tried to distract himself. He always harped. He could never let anything go. But this hurt far more than the rest. Why did it hurt more? Why did it overshadow the pain of losing his princess? Of seeing her stabbed again, in the exact same place he slid the first sword into her breast? It shouldn't be forefront in his mind, losing Kurogane.

In fact, it wasn't losing him. He never possessed him enough to lose him in the first place. He'd given up whatever claim he had—if he even had one to begin with—that morning in Tokyo, and again in Infinity, and for the final time in Celes. Over and over and over again, he pushed that man away; it didn't hurt then.

But maybe it didn't hurt because those times, again and again—as many times as he pushed Kurogane away, Kurogane pushed back, closer, closer, closer; saving him as many times as he needed it, picking him up every time he fell to the floor, yelling at him exactly when he needed it…

Truly, in every sense of the word, Kurogane was his savior. From death, from life, from pain, from guilt, from his past, from his present…

He had become stupid. He'd begun to nurse the notion that the warrior loved him, because certainly, why else would anyone notice him, pick him up, save him again and again, no matter the circumstance, the reason, the cost… the cost… oh, god, if he didn't love him, why pay so much?

To return here? So the group wouldn't be slowed by grief and tears and injury, he'd given everything and so much more to him?

He could barely breathe; his throat closed tightly, painfully, around itself, and his chest swelled with pain—he felt like he was going to burst with it. Tears came then, softly enough that the were invisible in the shadow, trailing down his cheek from his single golden eye, pooling against his collarbone, dripping one by one onto the fabric of his clothes.

It was a cruel game he was playing of give and receive. How much longer would it be until his body was no longer his own, but Kurogane's? How much could the ninja give until he died? Until he could not fulfill that oath that was so important to him, until the need to return overthrew his loyalty and he could no longer return because he gave every damn thing to someone he didn't love just so he could come back in haste to someone he did?

Not only was he hurt, he was confused. He'd only begun to return to normal, but now, he didn't know what normal was. He was stupid, he knew, so if he went along like normal, happily chirping nicknames and things when he was upset, he knew he would slip. Not only would Kurogane know he was unhappy, but he would also know of his eavesdropping.

But he should know already! He purposefully let that slip of his hair and eye show through the door, praying that it would stop—that Kurogane would see and stop and he wouldn't have to hear!

But he heard.

His body was cold without his magic, without the warmth that hope and love brought to him.

There came a light hand upon his head. He tipped his head upwards and he found that he could not hate this girl, this young woman who prayed so hard for Sakura's safety, who had made Kurogane into the man he had fallen in love with.

"Fai-san," Tomoyo said softly, "Don't grieve alone."

He stood slowly, nodding, taking her soft, unspoken promise that Kurogane was in his room alone. He heard the suggestion in her face, and he would fulfill her expectations of him. He knew she knew, at least, for it was her who promised him the first time, who calmed him, who saw how desperately he loved her ninja the first day they arrived.

He was almost afraid to open the doors. He didn't have to, Kurogane pulled them aside, allowing for him to step unsurely into the room that the night before had been a promise of togetherness but now held only something desolate for his broken, beating heart.

"Tomoyo-chan sent me here," he said faintly.

"From the hall, I know. I saw you leave the pond earlier." Kurogane jerked his head to the opening of his outside doors. True enough was a clear view to where he had been standing before he had come to speak.

He shook his head softly, tears falling.

"I… miss her too," Kurogane said gruffly.

He'd never tell. He would hold the heartbreak tightly and cherish it as proof that he was human and he loved. Even unrequited at best, his love for the man before him was the best, the happiest thing that had ever happened in his life… so, he would never tell. He would keep this secret locked away behind bars more sacred than his past, and he would make it so that no matter what, his ninja could keep those vows.