Chapter Twenty-Eight
Fai had guilty before, but never like this. As the vibrations of the slamming door echoed in his sensitive ears, a chill swept through him, colder than a winter night in Ceres.
Beyond the thin walls, he heard Syaoran stagger across his bedroom, catching himself on the edge of his wooden dresser to avoid a nasty fall. The drawers rolled open with a loud rumble, and the whisper of fabric brushing against itself filled the quiet apartment.
Kurogane stared at the door for several seconds after it slammed shut, anger warring with shock on his face. Fai thought the ninja was going to march over to the door and knock it down, but after a few seconds, the fury faded from his eyes. He sat back down and poured himself another shot.
Fai stood there, listening to the boy crawl under the covers. Once he was settled, he laid still. Listening? Fai wondered, arms curling around his torso to stave off the sudden chill in the air.
"He heard," the ninja said. That was all he said, not giving any context for the remark. But both of them knew what he was referring to.
"He did hear." He sat down, hugging himself tighter. A sound emanated from the other room, almost too soft for his vampire senses: a series of short sniffs, a break in Syaoran's breathing, the tightening of fingers around the bed sheets. Crying. I made him cry. "I never meant for him to hear."
"No. But you still said it, and he still heard."
His chin drooped down, and he took a step toward the bedroom door. I have to make this right, he thought, just as a hand wrapped around his wrist. His head whipped around in surprise.
"The kid needs to sleep. It can wait till tomorrow, when he's sobered up some."
The sobs were just a little louder. Probably not loud enough for the ninja to hear, but louder than they'd been a moment ago. Fai looked back toward the closed door, then back at the ninja. There was no accusation on his face. All the accusations had been crammed into those two little words: "He heard."
Fai sat down, leaning one unsteady arm down on the table. He'd been pacing himself, drinking lightly in the hopes that he'd be able to assist with the ninja's quest to acquire information. Even so, the alcohol he'd had was now moving through his bloodstream, making his hands shake and his vision blur.
In the other room, the soft sobs faded into nonexistence.
Kurogane poured more wine into two of the shot glasses and handed one to him. He waved it away, miserable.
"We both fucked this up," the ninja said. "Quit staring at your feet like this is all your fault."
"He heard . . . He heard me say I wanted him dead." His voice broke. "I thought, because he never said anything . . . I thought he hadn't heard me. I convinced myself he hadn't."
"You were wrong."
"Yeah."
"On both counts."
"I know."
The ninja made a sound of annoyance. "If you're going to agonize about it, quit being so passive."
"I didn't mean for him to hear."
"No, I don't suppose you did."
"I didn't mean it, I just . . . I didn't mean it."
"I know."
Fai rested his head in his hands, closing his remaining eye. It was never his fault. All he did was try to make things okay, and I shut him down. It wasn't his fault. Everything seemed suddenly clearer, despite the alcohol in his system. "I didn't mean it."
The ninja sighed. "Are you going to have another drink, or not?"
He looked up at the shot glass he'd been offered, staring at the bubbling wine. After a moment, his fingers coiled around the glass and moved it to his lips.
It was the first time in weeks he'd slept without nightmares.
Syaoran surfaced from his slumber slowly, as if drifting to shore after floating in the ocean. It's warm, was his first conscious thought. He could feel the sunlight hitting his skin, warming his body. The heating system is much better here than it was in the last apartment, he thought, rolling over on his back and letting his eyes slide open. Minutes went by as he lay there, staring up at the pocked ceiling, imagining patterns that weren't really there.
For the first time in a long time, he felt refreshed, clearheaded.
Since the sun was already peaking through his curtains, he decided to get up and move them aside so the bright shafts could better illuminate the room. As soon as they opened, the golden glow overflowed into the small space. He stood by the window, staring out for several seconds before realizing the sun was too high in the sky. I'm late for training, he thought, the lingering ease of sleep fleeing from his body the second he thought it. He half-ran to the door before he remembered what had happened last night.
Did I really say that? he wondered, fingers hesitating above the door handle. I wouldn't say that out loud, would I? He tried to remember the context of the words, tried to remember what had prompted him to say that. As much alcohol as he'd had, he was surprised he remembered anything at all. We were arguing. We were drunk, and we were arguing, right near the end. But what about before that? He squinted, as if that would help him remember.
I can't believe I actually said that.
His hand dropped to his side, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. His hair blocked the sunlight coming in through the window. I need a haircut, he thought irrelevantly.
With the angle of the sun, he could guess it was anywhere between late morning and early afternoon. Kurogane-san didn't wake me, he thought, feeling cold despite the sunshine on his skin. He always wakes me up, if I'm not up in time for breakfast. A low rumble in his stomach told them that had been a long time ago. Why didn't he wake me? Is it because of what I said? Has he decided I'm too much a burden?
But you deserve it, some small part of him whispered. Can't even control your tongue. Why would anyone want to waste their time with you?
"No . . . No, that's not true."
He was right, anyway. You did have to be drunk to tell the truth.
"No."
You've been lying to them from the moment you met them. Why would they expect you to tell the truth? It's obvious why they thought they needed to get you drunk first.
My fault, all my fault, I have to apologize. He stood up and walked out of his room, not giving himself time to back down.
The living room was empty.
He found himself feeling absurdly disappointed by this. You should be relieved. Isn't that what you want? To be alone, so you don't have to face the accusations, the looks they give you? Doesn't that make things easier for you?
Doesn't that make the choice to leave easier? If you can steal away without anyone noticing? He flinched away from the thought, moving over to the dining table instead of the door. He sat down for a minute, hoping that being there would jog his memory of whatever happened before things had gone south. What did I tell them? he wondered. What the hell did I tell them?
Nothing about Seishirou, he was sure. If that had been it, he could only imagine the damage control he'd be doing now. It couldn't have been something that big. What else? My time sealed away in a tube? I already told them I was being kept prisoner. A little detail like that wouldn't make them want to get rid of me. He realized with a start the reaction he would get if they walked in right now and saw him sitting at the table, like nothing had happened. He stood, the sound of his chair scraping against the linoleum making him wince.
As long as they're not here right now, though . . . he thought, moving to the fridge like a thief to a jewelry box. He plucked an apple from the bottom shelf and brought it back to the table. Before he even took a bite, his hand went still. Sakura loves apples. I shouldn't be eating this.
He stared at the pale green fruit a moment longer. Why should you feel so guilty? It's not like there's an apple shortage in this world.
It's not like you're supposed to care what the princess thinks of you.
Almost in defiance, he sank his teeth into the apple. Enough, he thought. No more worrying about what anyone else thinks. If they hate you so much, there's no point in staying. You might as well go to Seishirou right now.
He stood there for a long moment, took another bite of apple, reevaluated his options.
And left.