Chapter Twelve

Kurogane stepped out of the shower and pulled one of the towels from the bathroom cabinet, wiping it across his skin with little regard for the rough texture. He'd stood in the shower, thinking, until the searing water had gone numbingly cold, and while he hadn't figured out what the hell was wrong with him, he thought he knew why the kid was acting so strange.

He finished drying himself and donned a clean set of clothes. He'd gotten into the habit of keeping spare garments lying around in case they suddenly had to switch dimensions. Besides, it was probably bad manners to walk around wearing only a towel in front of a princess, no matter how well you knew her.

The living room was empty when he entered. No surprise there. The TV was still on, volume turned low, forgotten in the raw intensity of the kiss. Kurogane shook his head, trying to clear it. Now wasn't the time to worry about that. First, he had to make sure the kid hadn't slipped into a coma.

He knocked first. If the kid was awake, he'd be more inclined to answer a polite knock than a forced entry. "Kid? You in there?"

No reply, but that didn't mean much. Kurogane sighed, hand moving to the doorknob. The kid usually locked his door, but it would look awfully stupid of him if he tried to break in when it was unlocked. Still, it came as a shock when the door actually opened.

Syaoran's room was dark, the lamp on the dresser unplugged. The only light that intruded either came from starlight piercing the tiny window or the artificial light coming in from the doorway where he stood. Shadows pooled under the bed, rising up in the creases of the blanket like hands clawing their way to the boy curled up on the mattress.

The boy's sleep was not peaceful. Syaoran's hand twitched, like the paws of a dog locked in a nightmare, and his face occasionally pinched tight, as if in pain. Considering how recently the boy had taken his pain medication, Kurogane didn't think that was likely. If Hitsuzen, or fate, or whatever, was cruel enough to torment the kid even in his dreams, Kurogane could almost understand why the boy had reached out to him like he had.

The kid only wanted someone to assure him that things were okay. Hitsuzen couldn't even give him that.

Kurogane ghosted over to the edge of the bed. His shadow fell over the boy's haggard face, and he wondered how little sleep the kid was actually getting, regardless of how much time he spent isolated in his room. Dark circles ringed both eyes, only slightly paler than the bruise he'd received in the fight.

Syaoran twitched again, a soft whimper rising from his throat. The sound was so anguished, all Kurogane could do was stare. A moment later, the sound repeated itself, quieter this time. Defeated. Syaoran's fingers splayed, hand twitching forward as if reaching for something. His lips moved, framing some word Kurogane couldn't decipher. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, shimmering in the faint light flowing in through the doorway.

It was the tears that did it. Kurogane knelt down at the kid's bedside and rested his hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder. The kid's only response was to moan, as if he was about to sob.

"It's all right," Kurogane whispered, absently running his hand down the curve of Syaoran's shoulder. "You're all right."

Perhaps Syaoran's subconscious mind absorbed the words, or perhaps his nightmare had ended. Either way, his body relaxed, and the unconscious tears ceased. Kurogane moved his palm back and forth across the boy's back, a soothing technique his mother had often used to lull him to sleep as a child. The memory surprised him—most of the time, he tried to keep his parents off his mind. He'd thought he'd left those years behind. It was strange how easily they resurfaced.

"You're all right," he murmured again.

The boy slept soundly now, though not as soundly as he might've if he'd slipped into a coma. Kurogane decided to let it go. The kid's injuries had been relatively minor, and keeping him awake had merely been a precaution. In all likelihood, he'd wake up tomorrow, same as always.

And then he'll look at the princess, and he'll look at the mage, and he'll start falling apart again. The thought irked him. It made sense for the mage to be upset—this kid wore the same face as the kid who'd ripped out his eye—so even if Fai's coldness wasn't justified, Kurogane understood it. What he didn't get was why the princess treated the kid like she did. She didn't speak to him, didn't even look at him, despite the fact that he was searching for the feathers for her.

I'm the only one looking out for him, Kurogane realized with a jolt. His fingers curled into a fist, and Syaoran flinched in his sleep as if he'd felt the movement. The ninja made a concerted effort to calm himself. He can't talk to the others, and the manjuu bun is more of a liability than anything. He thinks I'm the only one who would step in to help him, if it came down to it.

The disturbing part was that Kurogane thought the same thing. Sakura could no more help the boy than Mokona. Fai might save him from harm, if only by reflex, but beyond that? Kurogane hadn't been able to understand the mage's motives even before Tokyo, let alone since. The mage had gone to great lengths to protect the other kid, from wounds both physical and emotional. Kurogane wanted to believe he'd step in for this kid, too, if it came down to it, but the mage was so distant these days, so hard to read. He wasn't a reliable guardian, not like he had been.

Which leaves me. "I won't let you get hurt," he promised, half-wishing the boy was awake to hear his reassurances. As it stood right now, his honor was the only thing holding him to his word, and after tonight, he had to wonder if that wasn't slipping, too.

It would have to be enough.

By the time Syaoran woke, sunlight was streaming in through the tiny window, and his pain medication had worn off. He lifted a hand to his eye, then gasped as the pain registered with him.

At least he'd woken up. His nightmares had been awful recollections of how he'd let his Sakura's life slip away from him so long ago, how he'd been too late to stop the seal of death from being imprinted on her body. I was too late then, he thought. I won't lose her again. Neither of them.

He sighed and slipped out of bed. He was surprised to find himself still swaddled in the sheets. Usually, he kicked them off in his sleep whenever he had nightmares. As soon as he stood up, his legs wobbled under him, and he had to sit back down as his vision danced with spots. His entire body ached from dozens of minor wounds, none quite as severe as the blow. At least I have new books to read while I recover, he thought distantly, massaging the tender spot on his forehead. Fresh pain washed through his body at the touch, and he spent a moment wondering how Kurogane had managed to wash the wound without hurting him.

Thinking about the ninja's touch led to thoughts about last night's kiss. Syaoran felt the heat rising to his cheeks and, more embarrassingly, stir in other parts of his body. I shouldn't even be thinking about this. I should be trying to retrieve this Sakura's memories. I should be trying to find my Sakura, wherever Reed's imprisoned her. At the very least, I should be thinking ahead to the next chess match.

His stomach growled. He sighed.

You'll have to face them at some point, he told himself, rising slowly from the edge of the bed. This time, the movement was only accompanied by a faint twinge of disorientation.

He walked over to the door, moving his hand as if to unlock it. He stiffened when he realized the deadbolt was already turned sideways, leaving him vulnerable. That's right. I left in unlocked in case Kurogane wanted to kill me.

Paranoid, not quite believing he'd just thought about that, Syaoran glanced around. I must've hit my head harder than I thought. With a turn of the knob, the door came open, and he stepped out into the living room.

Fai was already in the kitchen, dragging a wooden spoon in circles through a pot. The smell of spices—earthy oregano, dirt-scented thyme, crushed red peppers—permeated the air, overlaid by the smell of vinegar and garlic. Syaoran inhaled deeply.

His breath was evidently enough to alert Fai of his presence, because the vampire's head whipped around, a single blue eye freezing on his face. "What happened?"

Syaoran tensed, thoughts scattering like roaches from the light. It took him a moment to realize Fai was talking about the bruise on his forehead. Self-consciously, he lifted a hand to the swollen spot. "I got into a fight on my way back from the library."

Fai's expression closed off, the startled concern evaporating. When the magician turned his head back to the pot, Syaoran looked down. "What's for breakfast?" he asked hesitantly.

Fai glanced back, seeming distracted. "Spaghetti."

Syaoran nodded, trying to pluck up the courage to ask for some. Since joining the group, he'd always eaten alone, never daring to intrude on the other's peace of mind. He didn't know what made him want to try now, when there was nothing to gain but a confirmation of how little Fai and Sakura cared about his wellbeing, but he found himself edging closer to the kitchen.

It had been a long time since he'd had a warm meal.

"Are you going to be eating with us this morning?" Fai asked, his tone neutral.

Syaoran hesitated. "Can I?"

Fai set the wooden spoon aside, watching over the pot like a statue. Finally, a note of regret in his voice, he said, "You're always welcome to eat with us."

Syaoran went still in surprise. He'd thought . . . But no. Fai wouldn't turn him away, regardless of the bitterness between them. However cold or distant he might be, he was not cruel. "Thank you."

Fai hummed in assent, and seconds later, Kurogane walked into the kitchen, throwing him a surprised glance as he passed. Syaoran felt the heat rise to his cheeks; he looked away, sliding off the arm of the couch and walking over to the bathroom.

He closed the door behind him. Don't think about it, he counseled himself, turning the knob on the faucet until it started spurting cold water. He captured the water in his hands and splashed it across his face in an effort to make the blood vessels in his cheeks contract so he wouldn't blush. I must be losing my mind, he thought, breathing hard. There's no way Kurogane would ever . . . He shook his head, water dripping onto the countertop. The memory seemed surreal now. A dream, almost. And like all dreams, it had to come to an end.