Chapter Thirty-Two

It felt as if someone had driven an iron spike into his head.

Syaoran curled up in bed, clutching his skull as pots and pans had clanged together in the kitchen. Fai had woken fifteen minutes ago, opening and closing doors, rifling through cupboards, and otherwise making a cacophony of noise that, on a good morning, wouldn't have bothered Syaoran in the slightest.

It was not a good morning. Even considering the amount of liquor he'd consumed last night, his hangover was brutal. The discomfort caused by the pounding in his head was rivaled only by the nausea threatening to overwhelm him. When the rich scent of syrup and melting butter wafted in through the gap beneath his door, he had to clamp his teeth together to keep from throwing up. For the relatively minor side-effects he developed while he was drinking, the hangover was disproportionately unpleasant, and it was all he could do to simply pull his blankets over his head and wait for the headache to go away.

It was half an hour later that he heard a knock on his door. Syaoran stayed quiet, the percussive tap slamming into his eardrum. Go away, he thought. Please, go away.

"Kid? You awake?"

He moaned, half-inclined to answer the door because Kurogane was standing on the other side, and half-inclined to shut his eyes and never open them again. When Kurogane knocked more insistently, he threw his sheets aside and staggered to the door, head swimming.

"Morning," he mumbled, narrowing his eyes against the sunlight streaming in from the living room window.

Kurogane stared at him for a long moment. Dimly, Syaoran remembered asking for a goodnight kiss, before he'd drifted off. He couldn't remember, through his pounding headache, whether he'd actually gotten one. But there was something else, a question he vaguely remembered asking, a question nurtured by doubt. Do you still want me? Did you ever?

He tried to figure out how to approach the question subtly, since Fai and Sakura were still in the living room, munching on dry cereal. Fai's face looked sallow, his blond hair limp, and Syaoran surmised that he wasn't the only one with a hangover this morning. Sakura looked marginally better, but she hadn't been drinking, so her apparent grogginess still alarmed him.

"I want you to have your freedom," she'd told him. As if she believed he was staying here only out of obligation.

"You look like shit," Kurogane said.

He blinked, returning to the present moment. "I'm sorry."

Kurogane snorted. "Go shower. You'll feel better afterwards."

Syaoran nodded, swaying slightly as he walked to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him, wincing at the sound it made, then leaned over the sink, trying to assess the likelihood of either passing out on the floor or throwing up into the basin. When neither occurred after a minute, he shed yesterday's clothes and double-checked to make sure his spare outfit was in its usual place, so he wouldn't have to walk back to his room in a towel.

Kurogane didn't say anything about last night. The thought came, unbidden, and burrowed into his mind. Kurogane seemed to have little sympathy for anyone with a hangover, which was understandable, so didn't it follow that he had no sympathy for people who did stupid things while drunk?

Unless we did something else, he thought, heat rising to his cheeks. Something he wouldn't want the others to find out about.

The thought chilled him, even as he stepped under the searing fountain and pulled the shower curtain shut. Their relationship balanced on a knife's edge, the line between friendship and intimacy crossed abruptly, without warning. Drunk as he'd been, it was entirely possible that he'd requested something he'd had no right to ask for. And given the ninja's lack of irritation this morning, he doubted there had been a confrontation. That could only mean things had ended up . . . differently.

No, he thought. I was still dressed when I woke up. That must mean nothing happened.

Yet still, he couldn't quite shake the thought. Fai and Sakura had been in the next room, certainly, but that sort of thing was easy to overlook while drunk. What if they heard something? What if they know? His breath came faster, hot water running down his lips.

Another thought struck him: Who asks for a goodnight kiss when nothing else has happened?

Shame and guilt and horror flooded through him, mingling together until they formed a haze of misery over all his thoughts. He had to know what he'd done last night, but it would be hours before the others left for their evening walk. Hours of waiting, wondering. The mere thought of waiting that long was a torment in itself.

I could ask Kurogane if we could talk alone. He banished the thought from his mind. If someone had overheard something suspicious, going off with Kurogane would only make things worse. No, I'll just have to wait.

He hung his head, massaging cheap shampoo through his hair, then standing under the cascade as it changed randomly from boiling hot to numbingly cold. Even when he stepped out of the shower half an hour later, he felt unclean, and still dazed from his hangover.

Syaoran headed to the kitchen, hoping the others had retreated to their respective rooms while he'd been showering. Instead, they were flitting about the living room, tidying up. He paused, feeling guilty for being so self-centered while they'd been maintaining the apartment, then went over to the kitchen sink to do the dishes. He hadn't eaten yet, and his stomach snarled at the smell of pancakes, but he still felt more nauseous than hungry. Best to put off breakfast a little longer.

The sound of plates scraping together in the soapy water grated on his eardrums as he worked. He welcomed the pain now; it distracted him from more troubling thoughts.

Once he'd finished the dishes, he washed the kitchen table and replaced the placemats so everything would be set up for lunch later on. After that, he scrubbed the dried pancake batter off the countertops with a washrag and reorganized the stuff in the refrigerator so the oldest items were near the front. By the time he finished with that, the living room had been cleaned, and the apartment looked pristine.

Fai and Sakura headed back to their rooms, leaving him alone with Kurogane. Syaoran scoured the cupboards for something to eat, having seen nothing appetizing in the fridge. He was pretty sure he'd be able to keep something down, now. When he found a can of chicken noodle soup, he read the directions and poured it into a bowl.

"You look better," Kurogane said, watching him from across the room.

Syaoran glanced up, face flushing. The compliment didn't make him feel any better. There had been plenty to improve on when he'd dragged himself out of bed an hour ago.

He placed the bowl of soup in the microwave, and set the timer for three minutes. He sensed, rather than heard, Kurogane approaching from behind. The ninja rested a hand on each of his shoulders. "You all right?"

Now there was concern in his voice. Syaoran craned his neck to meet the ninja's gaze, but the man's expression was distant, unreadable. Syaoran opened his mouth to say he was fine, then hesitated, glancing at the flimsy doors separating him from the others.

Something sparked in Kurogane's eyes when he didn't answer right away. "Is your hangover that bad?"

"No, but . . ." Again, he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Did anything . . . happen, last night?"

Kurogane's expression turned to stone. His hands slid away from Syaoran's shoulders and fell to his sides. "No. Nothing happened."

Relief thrummed in his veins, a dizzying counterpoint to his earlier anxiety. "Oh. Okay."

Kurogane's jaw was set in a hard line. "You honestly think I'd take advantage of you while you were drunk?"

Syaoran flinched, bowing his head; he hadn't considered that angle. I should have, he thought. But Kurogane is too honorable to do something like that. He swallowed thickly, ashamed of himself for not even considering the ninja's perspective. "I'm sorry."

"You're not drunk now."

He looked up. "Huh?"

Kurogane stepped forward, a hand coiling around his wrist and pinning him against the edge of the countertop. Panic shot through his body, as sharp as the relief he'd felt a moment ago, and on the opposite side of the spectrum. He glanced at the row of bedrooms on the side of their apartment. If one of the others walked out right now, how would he explain their position?

The ninja's fingertip brushed along the side of his neck, pausing where his pulse was strongest, then moved to his chin, tilting his head up so their eyes met. Syaoran stared back, immobile. Kurogane leaned forward, until their lips were only inches apart. He asked only one question. "Do you really think I'd need to get you drunk to take advantage of you?"