Chapter Thirty-Four

Kurogane stayed out past sunset.

The wind bit at his face, the dry air leaving his cheeks raw and his lips cracked. Winter in Infinity was harsher than winter in Nihon, but Kurogane didn't mind the chill. It was better this way.

Initially, he'd come up to the rooftop for lack of a better place to go. Apart from the arena, the only place he knew well in this country was their apartment, and since he'd been locked out eight hours ago, going back wasn't an option. He'd considered looking for a bar, but rejected the thought as too self-indulgent and irresponsible.

Normally, he scorned anyone who believed suffering in silence was a way to deal with one's problems. But as the frigid air sunk its claws into his flesh, Kurogane figured that this, at least, was better than going somewhere to get shit-faced and having to return to the apartment hours later. Better this than trying to blur memories that he damn well knew weren't going to go away.

So he sat there, waiting, thinking, piecing together the apology he was obligated to give and knowing whatever he said would never, ever be enough.

The kid was afraid of him. Again.

And he has every right to be, Kurogane thought, breathing deeply just to feel the sting of cold air in his lungs. Just like he had every right to be afraid of you when you threw him into a wall. His lips twisted into a grimace. He'd always been quick to anger—his reaction hadn't been much of a surprise to him then. A disappointment, yes, but not a surprise. But what he'd done this morning . . . that was bad. Horrible. Controlling.

He hated himself for it.

As the last streaks of sunlight faded from the sky, Kurogane walked back to the elevator, staring at the stars as he waited. Kurogane watched each world's celestial patterns, mostly out of habit, but also so that when he finally saw the familiar sky of Nihon, he'd know where to go. Knowing those patterns gave him a grasp of time. He knew the mage and the princess had probably just started their walk, and that they'd likely left the door unlocked in their absence—a lack of caution Kurogane had given up trying to rectify. And even though he knew he deserved to spend a night out in the cold, he wasn't so much of a masochist that he would do it willingly, just or not.

The elevator groaned as he stepped inside; he hit the button to bring him down to the lobby, then leaned against the wall as the box descended. After what seemed like an eternity, the doors parted, and he strode straight through the lobby and down the steps leading to the apartment.

He paused outside the door, listening. This, too, was habit—assessing a situation before getting involved. Tonight, he wasn't sure what he was listening for. He didn't want to have to explain himself if the mage and the princess were still there, but he also didn't want to be standing out here when they got back.

The only thing he heard from the apartment was silence.

With a sigh, he turned the brass handle. The door swung open, unresisting, and Kurogane found himself staring into an empty kitchen. A cursory glance revealed no sign of habitation, apart from a few half-empty liquor bottles on the rack in the kitchen, but he did notice the kid's door was shut.

Might as well get it over with. He walked over to the kid's bedroom and knocked lightly on the door, half-hoping the boy wouldn't answer.

The door came open with a soft creak, and a pair of coffee-brown eyes met his. They stood there for a moment in silence, the boy clinging to the door with one hand as if prepared to slam it at the slightest provocation. When the silence stretched out too long, the boy spoke. "Is there something you needed, Kurogane-san?"

The words were like a punch to the gut. Kurogane bowed his head. "I need to apologize," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady even as he felt his already-fractured honor breaking even further. "For this morning."

Syaoran looked at him for a long moment, his expression hauntingly remote. It was like looking into the mismatched eyes of the other kid, seeing blankness where there had once been emotion. Kurogane almost wished the boy was angry, just so he wouldn't have to face something so . . . hollow.

He exhaled, fists tightening at his side. The words came tumbling out, sounding much harsher than he'd intended. "I'm sorry, all right? I didn't realize what I was doing. I didn't realize how scared you were." My fault, this time. Not a misunderstanding. "I didn't mean to make you think that I'd take advantage of you. Which I guess I sort of did, but . . ." Fuck, why can't I say it right? He looked at the kid's face, the muscles of his throat standing out along his neck as he clamped down on the steady ache in his windpipe. "So I'm sorry."

Syaoran said nothing, merely meeting his gaze for a moment before looking down. His expression hadn't changed—his eyes still looked empty, his face devoid of all emotion. It was almost like he hadn't heard.

It's not enough, Kurogane realized, as the boy stepped back and started to close the door. It was sheer impulse that prompted him to speak. "Wait."

The door stopped moving. Syaoran peered up at him, still barely reacting. "Yes?"

Kurogane was not a verbose person—he said what needed to be said so that it was clear and to the point—but neither had he ever fumbled with his words the way he did now, mouth opening and closing as he started sentences and abandoned them. "I was just—I don't know. I wasn't thinking. What happened this morning . . ." He exhaled sharply, resting one hand against the doorframe. It occurred to him that, if he'd been so inclined, it would've been easy for Syaoran to slam the door and break every bone in his hand, but instead, the boy opened the door half an inch wider, his gaze probing.

Kurogane let out a breath, mulling over what he was about to offer for several seconds before deciding he deserved whatever ill came of it. "Look, if you want me to make it up to you, I will. Whatever you ask of me, I'll do it."

Syaoran's eyes flashed up to his, and for the first time since the door had opened, Kurogane saw genuine anger on the kid's face. "Whatever I ask?" he repeated sharply.

He grit his teeth. "Yes. Anything you want."

Through the tempest of fury, Kurogane caught a glimpse of surprise in the kid's eyes. Syaoran paused, seeming to consider his offer. When he spoke again, his voice was clipped and eerily calm. "Your sword."

His hand went automatically to Souhi's hilt, but fell away when he saw the flash of panic—like lightning bursting through the clouds—shoot across the kid's face. Kurogane held his breath for a moment, then spoke. "What about it?"

"Leave it in the living room."

Kurogane watched the boy for a long moment, saw his commanding posture gradually collapse into timidity. Then, he retreated from the door and leaned Souhi and its sheath against the side of the couch. "What else?"

Syaoran hesitated, then opened his door wider and moved to the side, silently giving him permission to enter. Unarmed, Kurogane stepped inside, barely clearing the doorway before the kid shut the door and locked it.

"Do you remember the first time I let you in here?" Syaoran asked from behind him.

"Of course I do."

There was a beat of silence, followed by another question. "Did you enjoy it?"

Kurogane set his jaw, remembering that evening in vivid detail. Heat crept into his cheeks as he answered. "Yes."

This pause stretched on longer than the first. When Syaoran finally spoke, his voice was almost inaudible. "Are you ashamed of it?"

"Are you?" he countered, turning just in time to see the kid flinch.

"Just answer the question."

Kurogane sighed. "No. I'm not."

With every query, the boy's voice seemed to get weaker, quieter. "Why not?"

"Why am I not ashamed of it?" He heard the dangerous edge in his voice, and forced himself to calm down.

Syaoran nodded. "There must be some reason. Did you feel you had some obligation to make sure I was okay?"

"No."

"Then was it because you thought it would make me happy?"

He considered that for several seconds. "No."

Syaoran's breath caught, and he visibly steeled himself to keep going. "Then . . . Was it because you wanted me?"

You just don't fucking get it, do you? "No."

"I see." The boy's shoulders slumped, and he turned toward the door to unlock it.

Kurogane sighed. "The reason I'm not ashamed of it is because I chose not to be ashamed of it. I don't regret what we did that night. I don't think you should, either, but that's your decision to make."

Syaoran opened the door. "That's all I wanted."

"I wasn't done."

Two brown eyes snapped to his face. Syaoran's lips parted slightly.

The ninja went on. "I did want you to be happy, and I did want you, that way. I'm not ashamed of that, either. The only thing I'm ashamed of between us is that I put you in a position to be afraid of me. And that was wrong."

Syaoran stared at him, breathing hard. Abruptly, he closed the bedroom door, locked it, and smashed his lips against Kurogane's. His body went stiff in surprise, then relaxed, his arms sliding around the boy's torso. Syaoran's fingernails skimmed his arms, then his torso, his lips becoming more insistent. Then, gasping for air, the boy pulled away.

Kurogane released him at once, wary. The boy pressed his palms to Kurogane's chest, pushing him back until his shoulder blades were pressed against the wall. Syaoran grabbed each of his wrists and pinned them to the sheetrock, his hold firm but not painful.

It was almost the exact same position Kurogane had held him in this morning.

Syaoran held him there, the minutes ticking by as his breathing slowed. After nearly five minutes, Syaoran released his wrists and shuffled back half a step, breathing hard. "There's one other thing I want."

"What is it?" He was surprised to hear how winded he sounded.

Syaoran met his gaze, eyes blazing with a boldness that hadn't been there before. "You."