Chapter Twenty-Two

Fury seethed in Kurogane's veins as he stalked over to the kid's door. Before he could raise his fist to pound on it, however, his vision caught on the hinge he'd broken the last time he'd let his temper burn out of control.

Anger was easy. Anger had been a familiar companion to him since childhood. Irritation was his first response to any unpleasant stimuli. If the unpleasantness continued, he generally resorted to threats, as he'd done so often with the mage before every trace of lightheartedness had been stripped from their group.

Anger, he thought, was a lot like fire. The hotter it burned, the more damage it did, and with abundant fuel, it could rage for days or weeks, destroying everything in its path.

Kurogane swallowed it all back, reminding himself that although he could break down the door, it would only tip off the others to the fact that something had happened. While Kurogane didn't care much about what other people thought, he knew the kid had gone to painstaking lengths to please them recently, by attending meals and persevering through brief, awkward conversations at the dinner table. It was a start. It was a damned good start, after everything that had happened. Kurogane had resolved not to fuck that up.

So instead of knocking the door off its hinges, he tapped the wood with his knuckles. "Kid? You all right?"

No answer.

Oh, gods, I have no idea how to do this, Kurogane thought wearily, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to the door, eyes closed as he breathed. "If you need me, I'm here." The words felt awkward on his tongue, and he wondered how his parents had repeated that same sentence so many times in his childhood without ever tripping his bullshit detector.

Still no answer. Kurogane stepped away from the door, hoping the kid would realize he meant no harm. The boy had finally let some of his frustration show, but Kurogane had seen him falter, right at the end of their conversation. The ninja figured if things were bad enough to trigger such a strong reaction, it was worth further investigation.

After a few seconds, he decided any further prodding would alienate the boy. Kurogane sighed and started to turn away from the door.

A soft sound stopped him. It was like the creak of a loose floorboard, but softer, more drawn out. His hand went to his hip, his body preparing for a fight at the unfamiliar sound, before he realized Souhi was still leaning up against the opposite wall, where he'd left it. He bit back a curse—he'd never been this careless in Tomoyo's service. His weapon had never been out of arm's reach. Now it was across the room, too far away to do him any good in the event of an intruder.

He heard the sound again, louder, but not so loud that it would've drawn his attention had he been distracted. It was a strangely human noise, like breathing, but strained and hoarse. Keeping his senses alert for threats, he edged toward Syaoran's bedroom. The sound grew clearer, but it wasn't until he was inches from the door that he recognized it.

Syaoran was crying.

I made him cry.

The anesthetizing shock wore off after just a moment, turning to horror. The kid was tough. He didn't cry.

Or did he? How many times had the kid slunk back to his room, hiding his tears? How long had he been suffering like this?

"Kid? Come on out."

The faint cries immediately cut off, followed by a rapid shuffling on the other side of the door. Kurogane waited, hands in his pockets. He heard the boy turn the lock, but the door didn't open. After a minute, Kurogane turned the knob and went inside.

Syaoran's bedroom was as dark as a cellar. Cold air swept in through the heavy curtains. A sliver of light escaped the drapes as they fluttered, falling across the tower of books in the corner, but apart from that, the only light came from the doorway where Kurogane stood. "Why are you sitting in the dark?" Kurogane demanded, stalking over to the lamp on the desk. It took barely three strides to get there, but when he did, he realized that, not only was the light off, the lamp was unplugged.

"It's easier," Syaoran said quietly. Kurogane turned, power cord in hand.

"What?"

"The darkness . . . It feels right. I remember, when I shut out everything my clone saw and really looked at where I was, everything was dark. Outside the capsule, there was an empty room, like an unused storage closet, but bigger. There were never any lights there."

Kurogane looked at the kid for a long moment, trying to control the swell of pity building in his chest. The boy was sitting on the edge of the bed, head down, bed sheets wrapped tightly around his thin frame. He's so small, the ninja thought, breath catching in his throat. The boy must've heard the sound, because his dark eyes flickered to his face, darting away when their gazes met.

Kurogane plugged in the lamp. Light flooded the room, so bright it was almost a physical force. On the bed, Syaoran flinched. "You shouldn't sit in the dark." He brought his hands to the window and slid it shut. "And you shouldn't let the cold in like this."

"I'm sorry."

Kurogane sat down on the edge of the bed, beside the kid. Several minutes passed in silence. The ninja waited, knowing it was only a matter of time before the kid spoke.

"You're warm."

Kurogane's eyebrows lifted.

"I've never . . . No. I have met people as warm as you, but not for a long time. Sometimes, I forget what it's like." He sighed, pulling the sheets tighter around his body. "It's like I'm cold inside, like I'll never be warm."

Kurogane repressed the urge to snap at him. It was such a ridiculous notion, that a person could be cold inside. Kurogane knew from experience that some people were empty inside, capable of great cruelty without regret, and that others wore their hearts outside, so their confidence and kindness hung around them like a halo, but he'd never heard of anyone feeling cold inside.

"I'm sorry," Syaoran whispered. "I'm sorry . . ."

This conversation is starting to feel awfully familiar. "I don't want you to be sorry."

Syaoran's breath caught. Evidently, he remembered that conversation as well, because he quoted it. "If you don't want me to be sorry, what do you want?"

Kurogane thought about that for several minutes. He'd never been great with words. Tomoyo had often teased him for his bluntness, especially compared to the subtle way of speaking some of the nobles had employed. Yet she'd also said his bluntness could be refreshing. He supposed it had to work now. "I want to start over with you. No expectations, no judgments, no assumptions."

"Why?"

Because clearly things are fucked up beyond all reason, and having unrealistic expectations will only make it worse. "Because you deserve the chance to start over and do this right. Because the mage and the princess need you—not some broken shell of a person trying to atone for something that wasn't even his fault."

"But it was my fault. If I had gotten to Tokyo five minutes sooner, you all could've been—"

"You didn't, and there's nothing you can do that will change that."

"It's still my fault."

"Don't be stupid!"

Syaoran flinched. Damn it. He'd wanted to talk to the kid, not make him feel worse. "I don't believe what happened at Tokyo was your fault," Kurogane said quietly. "If there's something you're really at fault for, then spit it out or get over it."

"It's my fault you lost your family."

Kurogane doubled over as if he'd been punched in the gut. Before he could think about what he was doing, he was on his feet, fingers wrapped around the boy's arm. "What?"

A pained sound escaped the kid's throat. "I said—"

"I know what you said, but what the hell does it mean?"

"I did something bad." The words came out fast, in a whisper, as if the boy was simultaneously too afraid to say them and trying to get the explanation over with. "Before Fei Wang Reed sealed me away, I made a wish. I was trying to undo something that I'd thought was inevitable, something that happened because I didn't act quickly enough. So to fix it, I turned back time. I managed to fix what had gone wrong, but in the process, I enabled Reed to act, and . . ." He took a deep breath, and the part of Kurogane's mind that was still focused on the kid's mental state calculated the probability of the boy breaking down into sobs right there.

But he didn't. Syaoran pressed on, trembling as if every word tore into him. "He was trying to get to you, back in your world. I think . . . I think it had something to do with Sakura's feathers, or the journey itself, I don't know . . . He needed people to watch over her as she gathered her memories. He was . . . I'm almost positive he was trying to bring you to his side, manipulate you into serving him somehow. Princess Tomoyo intervened before he could, and that's why you didn't know about him until Yuuko told you about him in Tokyo, but . . ."

"But what?" Kurogane demanded, fighting to control the bitter hatred twisting through his body. The destruction of Suwa, the demons attacking, the sword sliding through his mother's heart . . . He'd thought he'd buried those memories deep enough that he wouldn't have to think about them. He'd thought those wounds had closed years ago. It rankled to realize the mere mention of that day still hurt him.

Syaoran went on. "By the time I realized what I'd done, my clone had already set out on this journey. But it was my fault that it happened. I realized that in Recourt, when the Other looked into the memory book and saw what had happened to you. If Tomoyo hadn't gotten there before Reed . . . If you had been left to fall apart until he came to offer you a chance to change things back . . ." Syaoran trailed off, tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry. I should never have made that wish, no matter how much it would have hurt. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—" A sob cut through his apologies.

Kurogane saw the boy falter, watched his knees buckle as he collapsed onto the floor, heard the strangled sob that came out of the kid's throat . . . And did nothing.

"Please," Syaoran begged, on his hands and knees. "Please, I didn't mean to . . . I didn't know that would happen. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry . . ."

Kurogane listened until the boy's apologies dissolved into senseless sobs. When there was nothing left of the boy but a broken lump on the floor, Kurogane turned and walked out.