Chapter Twenty-Three

Kurogane left the boy, returned to the room he shared with the mage, and closed the door.

Don't think about it, he told himself, shoving down the memories clawing their way to the surface. He sat down on the edge of his bed, fingers tangling in his hair, and rested his elbows on his knees. It doesn't matter anymore. It's in the past. Don't think about it.

But he did think about it. Thought about his father's arm, still gripping Ginryuu even though the rest of him had been devoured by demons. Thought about the bat-shaped sigil on the sword that had pierced his mother's heart. Thought about how the fire had spread all across Suwa as he slaughtered monsters, and how the smoke had smelled as it rose in plumes, blotting out the stars. It was as if the reminder had propelled him back into those first days in Shirasagi Castle, when his wounds had been raw, overwhelming. Over a decade later, he could visualize all of it in sickening detail.

He'd thought he'd left those memories behind, pushed them far enough away that they would never interfere with his decision making abilities. To realize that they still had the power to hurt him rankled almost as badly as the memories themselves.

He exhaled, expelling the anger from his system the only way he could at the moment. Because, though he'd vowed to kill the bastard responsible for that night, doing so now, under these circumstances, would jeopardize one of the people he'd been trying to protect.

Protect those who needed protection. Destroy those who threatened them. That was what he'd always done. The only time he'd regretted killing was when Tomoyo had laid her curse on him, and he'd only regretted it then because there had been consequences attached.

There would be consequences if he hurt the boy. Bad ones. And not just because the others would be distraught, however indifference they acted now, but because it would ruin him. I promised to take care of him, he thought, gritting his teeth to clamp down on his fury.

Even if the boy hadn't freed him from his obligations, Kurogane liked to think he had enough honor to keep that promise. At the very least, he could give himself time to think before he acted, time to consider how much of what had happened was actually the kid's fault, and how much was exaggeration brought on by the boy's guilt complex.

The rest of the apartment was silent. The kid was usually quiet during the day, either sleeping or reading. The exception was when he came out for meals and tried to make conversation.

Kurogane doubted the kid would be coming out of his room again tonight. He doubted he'd see more than fleeting glances of the boy until the next chess match. I shouldn't have left him alone, he thought, calming a little. At least focusing on this problem meant he didn't have to think about the night Suwa burned. I should've stayed.

As soon as he thought it, he realized staying would've been a mistake. If he'd stayed, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from hurting the kid. It was better to leave, better to ignore him completely, than risk strangling him.

Better to let the kid sort things out on his own.

Syaoran didn't leave his room again until everyone had fallen asleep.

He'd heard the shuffling of feet, the low murmurs as Fai and Sakura made dinner. The scent of baking bread wafted in through the vents, but Syaoran resisted the urge to join the others at the dinner table.

Kurogane never came and got him either.

Syaoran hadn't expected him to, after what he'd revealed. Shock. Anger. Hurt. He'd expected those. Indeed, he'd expected a far harsher reaction. Broken bones, bruises, anything that might finally snap that lingering thread of trust between them. A part of him had hoped for it. I had no right, he thought. I had no right to ask for his affection. It's better if he hates me. At least then, I won't have the opportunity to be so selfish.

He thought of his Sakura, and how he'd reached for her hand that day in Clow. He'd hesitated, just for a moment, because there would've been consequences, and his hesitation had cost Sakura dearly. When her curse had taken effect years later, he'd made a wish to turn things back, make things right.

If he'd known how much it would hurt the people he'd one day consider allies, would he have done it?

He didn't know. He didn't know, and that scared him.

And so Syaoran stayed in his room, ignoring the demands of his body until everyone went to sleep. Then, like a ghost, he slipped out of his bedroom and went to the kitchen.

The refrigerator was full, thanks to the grocery run Fai and Sakura had made earlier in the day. Briefly, Syaoran wondered if things would've been different if they hadn't gone out. Would he have kept hoping for Kurogane's affection? Would he have been able to live another day pretending he'd had no role in the disaster in Suwa?

Would Kurogane still have cared about him?

He shook off the thoughts, finding the leftovers from this evening's meal. It had been bread, as he'd guessed, filled with various nuts and berries to add flavor. It seemed like an odd choice for a meal, and he wondered if Fai had served anything else with it.

Syaoran found himself slipping into his old habits, hoarding food that would keep for most of the next day, then grabbing what he could eat fresh tonight. He was about to return to his room when something caught his eye.

It was a green bottle, still corked and filled with alcohol. Elegant script marked the label, but though the letters were familiar, he couldn't decipher the words. There was a bright blue sticker indicating the price on the neck of the bottle. The liquor had been cheap, as was most of what they purchased in this world, but Syaoran was willing to bet it was strong, if Fai had bought it.

Minutes passed as he considered his options. Then, he reached out and plucked the bottle from the shelf, adding it to his supply. They won't even notice, he told himself as he trudged to his room again. There, he unwrapped everything he'd taken and surveyed it, calculating how long each item would last. He ate the perishables first, to fill the void in his stomach.

The liquor bottle taunted him from the edge of the pile.

Not yet. Not until things get really bad.

Despite his internal oath, he found his gaze repeatedly drawn to the bottle. It would only take a few gulps to ease the shame of what had happened today. Surely, no one would begrudge him that. Begrudge him for everything else, certainly, but not for that.

You leave a trail of suffering in your wake, whispered a small, insidious voice in the back of his mind. Every mistake you try to right twists around and hurts everybody else. You're a disaster waiting to happen.

"Shut up," he whispered, curling up on the edge of his bed and pressing his hands to his ears as if that would stop the flood of guilt. As if he even deserved to have it stopped.

Even your clone couldn't escape that. Everything he did was futile, just like everything you do will hurt others. So why bother? It would be better if you just disappeared.

But he couldn't disappear. He had a responsibility. He owed the others an attempt to make things right, even if it rebounded back on him in the worst way possible. He couldn't just walk away.

Can't walk away. But you can forget.

Syaoran looked again to the liquor bottle. Then, hating himself for his weakness, he popped the cork.