Chapter Six

Time limped forward, like a dog with hip problems.

Syaoran didn't bother taking his pain pills. The ache in his shoulder was no more than a mild annoyance with the inactivity between chess matches, and the pain of his throat had nearly faded in the week since the injury. Taking medicine for it would've been superfluous.

He didn't eat much, either. At first, the rawness of his throat was a decent excuse not to eat. But a shift in the group dynamic kept him from visiting the kitchen as often as he liked, and that shift was named Kurogane.

Previously, the ninja had shared a room with Fai. They hadn't been able to find an affordable apartment with enough space for each of them to have their own room, so they'd defaulted to the living arrangements they'd kept since before Tokyo. But after their encounter two nights ago, Kurogane had taken to sleeping on the couch, right beside the path Syaoran took to sneak into the kitchen, which might not have been so awful if the ninja didn't wake at every soft whimper of the door opening. The first night, Syaoran had endured it, guessing some disagreement with Fai had prompted the ninja to sleep in the living room. On the second night, when Kurogane woke during his first infiltration of the kitchen, Syaoran made extra preparations for the following day and skipped his early morning mission.

As usual, he miscalculated the amount of food he should've gotten. By noon the following day, he ate the last crackers from the smuggled package and realized he wasn't going to eat again until Fai and Sakura went to bed.

Hours went by, his hunger slowly growing, his thirst a razor's edge against the painful knot in his stomach. By the time Fai ushered Sakura into her bed for the night—an hour later than usual—Syaoran's extremities trembled with weakness.

I have to get up, he thought, tumbling off his bed and getting to his feet. The world swam, the faint light peeking under his door too intense for his eyes. Kurogane was still awake, then.

He hesitated at the door, then unlocked it. The seed of hunger had sprouted and grown out of his control. Anything to keep it at bay was worth it, even if that meant facing one of his traveling companions.

Kurogane looked up when he entered. Immediately, a look of shock overtook his expression; clearly he hadn't expected Syaoran to tread this far while he was still awake. The older man's surprise emboldened Syaoran; he choked out a weak "good evening" before hurrying into the kitchen.

He moved quickly, stealing from the cupboards what he could—a box of cereal, another package of salty crackers, a couple bottles of water, a jar of pickles. He set these all aside as rations for tomorrow, then got to work looking for things he could eat now. The refrigerator yielded fruit, cheese, and other things he only enjoyed in the hour or so after these nightly trips. He set these out on the counter, then started preparing them for consumption. The cheese would dry up the fastest—he would eat that first.

With trembling hands, he pulled a knife from one of the drawers and set it on the countertop. He unwrapped the block of cheddar, then set it on the cutting board, cleaving thin slices off the ends to eat. The smell drifted up to his nose, familiar enough to send a painful pang of yearning through his desolate stomach.

And suddenly, it was too much. Seeing the knife shake in his weakened hands, smelling something so mundane yet feeling such vicious hunger, trying to focus through the haze in his brain. He had just enough presence of mind to set the knife down before his knees buckled under him.

"Kid?"

Syaoran barely heard the word, barely heard the footsteps that followed, but instinct prompted him to curl up into a ball, to protect himself from the impact of his own humiliation. His knees continued to shake even as he pressed them to his face.

He felt a light pressure on his good shoulder. "Kid?"

His mind cleared somewhat. His eyelids slid open, then squeezed shut as the light assaulted them. A steady throbbing grew in his temples.

Kurogane started giving out orders. "Stay down. Keep your head between your knees, it'll help with the dizziness."

It took him several seconds to obey, dazed as he was. By then, Kurogane had knelt down beside him with a rectangular package. The crackers, Syaoran thought distantly. But those are for tomorrow. He waved them away.

"You have to eat," the ninja said. "Now. Don't cry."

"I'm not crying," he said. But when he reached up to feel his face, his fingertips came back moist. He blinked, confused.

"Eat." Kurogane unwrapped the top of the package and offered it to him. Uncertainly, Syaoran took it. The smell of salt filled his nostrils, reawakening the raging hunger he'd felt a moment ago. Without a second thought, he jammed two crackers in his mouth. The taste spread out across his tongue, so sharp he almost choked.

"Easy. That's good, just take it easy." Kurogane lifted his hand up to the countertop and pulled one of the water bottles down. "Drink something."

"I'm not thirsty."

"You're dehydrated. Drink." Kurogane unscrewed the cap and handed the bottle to him. Hesitantly, Syaoran set aside the crackers and took the bottle, hiding his eyes behind his mop of hair to conceal the tears he'd apparently let slip.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Kurogane stood up, towering over him like the looming buildings of this wretched city. One of the drawers came open with a rumble. A moment later, Syaoran felt a washcloth probing at the moisture around his eyes. "Just relax," Kurogane said, wiping the tears from his cheeks as if they were made of acid. Syaoran set the water bottle in his lap and reached for the cloth, shame taking the place of the momentary chaos. The ninja took his wrist and guided his hand back to crackers. "Eat, or I will shove that whole package down your throat."

Syaoran managed a weak laugh. "But then I won't have anything to eat tomorrow."

"Don't be stupid. I'll knock down your door to make sure you eat, you got that?"

For some reason, the whole situation was absurdly funny to Syaoran; he started laughing, unable to lift the food to his lips. He clutched his cramping side, doubling over. The movement jarred something loose within him, and his humor turned to nausea. He gagged, struggling to keep what little he'd eaten down.

He failed, barely making it to the garbage can before he threw up. Even as his stomach heaved, his legs gave out again.

Something warm wrapped around his abdomen, holding him up. He retched, this time bringing up only bile. His mouth burned. "Sorry," he whispered, more uncontrolled tears running down his face. He wasn't sure why he was crying—nothing had actually upset him. Perhaps it was the stress getting to him, or perhaps it was a biological reaction to the failure of his body. With renewed ferocity, he scrubbed the tears away from his face.

"Are you done?" Kurogane asked.

He nodded.

The ninja pulled him away from the garbage can and set him down on the floor so he was leaning against the wooden cupboards. "We're going to try this again."

He opened his eyes, startled to see the same package of crackers he'd abandoned a moment ago. He took it, nibbling the edge of one cracker to get the taste of bile out of his throat. A moment later, Kurogane handed him the bottle of water.

Several minutes passed. Syaoran paced himself, not wanting to repeat the embarrassing display. Kurogane stayed at his side, keeping one hand on the gap between his shoulder blades as if to keep him from drifting away. As he filled the hole in his stomach, Syaoran relaxed enough to meet Kurogane's eyes for the first time in almost a week.

The expression there surprised him. It wasn't irritation, as he'd expected, nor was it scorn. It was something he'd only seldom seen through his clone's eyes, something that put a lump in his throat. He looked away. "I . . . I'm sorry if I troubled you."

"It's my job to take care of you."

He shook his head. "No, it's not. And it shouldn't have to be."

Kurogane's eyes narrowed, but rather than commanding him to take better care of himself, he sighed and leaned back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Syaoran mourned the loss of contact—after seven years stuck in a tube, every touch was a new experience, a sensation that grounded him to this world in a way his other senses couldn't. All that time, he'd been unable to touch, unable to feel what his clone felt, despite hearing and seeing everything the Other heard and saw.

In times of suffering, that lack of sensation had been a relief. But mostly, it had been a curse.

"Can you stand?" Kurogane asked.

Syaoran took another gulp of water and grasped the edge of the countertop for support. His legs wobbled under his weight, but didn't buckle. Kurogane rose with him, extending a hand as if to help him.

He stood there a moment, closing his eyes as he steadied himself. He exhaled slowly.

"You all right?"

"I'm fine." He opened his eyes in time to see something move in his peripheral vision. A fraction of a second later, Kurogane's hand came down on his head, fingers weaving through his hair. The touch startled him; his body went rigid.

Uncertainly, Kurogane pulled away. Syaoran looked longingly at the hand as it disappeared into the ninja's pocket, mourning the warmth of the touch. Kurogane half-turned, looking toward the couch. After a moment, he spoke. "You can eat out here. No one's going to stop you."

"I . . . Yeah, I know."

"Hey, I mean it. You've been holed up in your room too long. It's time to come out."

Syaoran opened his mouth, then closed it. Kurogane had heard all his arguments—it did no good to repeat them when the ninja wasn't going to budge. So to appease him, Syaoran nodded. "Okay."

"Good." Kurogane walked over to the couch and turned the TV up. Syaoran turned toward the countertop, still overflowing with perishables, and started preparing something more substantial than half a package of crackers. By the time he was finished, he had a plate of sliced cheese and fruit, and a bowl of the caramel-streaked ice-cream Fai had purchased last time he'd gone out.

A small part of him felt guilty for dipping into the ice-cream without permission. The rest of him just felt hungry.

He brought his dinner over to the living room—not a far walk in this tiny apartment—and sat down on the couch a few feet from Kurogane. Soft murmurs from the television underscored his dinner, like background music in a movie. Syaoran ate, sinking deeper into the cushions as he relaxed.

Something had changed when he'd collapsed, some fundamental constant between him and the ninja. The razor's edge they'd been balancing on for the past week had dulled. It wasn't painful to be around Kurogane like it was to be around Fai or Sakura.

It was . . . nice. Safe.