Chapter Thirty-Six

The kid relaxed in his arms, pressing his face into his shirt and closing his eyes. Kurogane allowed it, calculating the approximate time he had before the magician and the princess were likely to return. He could afford to wait a few minutes before he had to move.

The kid didn't say much, but when he finally did, his voice was soft. "I'm not ashamed of it, either."

It took him a few seconds to remember the conversation they'd had before all this. Kurogane ran his hand through the kid's hair in silent approval.

"I used to be," Syaoran murmured. "I thought I was betraying everything I'd fought for. I thought you were pitying me, and that was why you . . . well, not exactly approved of what I was doing, but didn't push me so hard to stop."

"Are you talking about before or after I took you to bed?"

Syaoran fidgeted at the casual mention of their first encounter, but answered. "Before. The first time I kissed you. If you'd wanted to, you could've made a much bigger issue of it—"

"I broke your shoulder. I don't think I could've made a bigger issue than that."

"You could've told Fai-san, or Sakura-hime. And that . . . You must've known how much more that would've hurt me. I would never have been able to look them in the eye, if they knew."

Kurogane pulled the boy closer, so the kid could rest his head in the crook of his neck. "You wouldn't have been able to avoid them forever."

"But you didn't tell them." Syaoran exhaled. "You said you'd punched the wall, and that was why there was a dent in the sheetrock. You lied for me."

Kurogane tensed, then relaxed. "Yeah, I did."

"That was . . . unusual for you. I was so afraid you were going to tell them then, and I'd . . ." He faltered, and Kurogane ran a hand down his back, trying to reassure him. Now that they were both coming down from the thrill, the atmosphere had shifted. Kurogane wasn't holding him like a lover, he was holding him because seeing the kid suffer was starting to hurt almost as much as suffering himself.

"It's all right."

Syaoran exhaled. "And after that . . . It seemed like every time I tried to make things better, they only got worse. I needed help, and you were the only one who did anything about it. I . . ." His breathing hitched, belying the careful control he'd maintained so far. "I started to . . . want things. I wanted to pretend someone cared."

"I did care. I still do." The words felt stilted and unnatural on his tongue, but they were true.

Syaoran nodded against his neck. "I know that now. But back then, I thought I'd caused so much damage that I didn't deserve even that. I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd hated me."

A pang shot through his chest, and he found himself pulling the kid closer, trying to surround him as much as possible, to prove things weren't so dismal. "I never hated you."

"I know." But there was relief in his voice, as if he hadn't been sure until Kurogane had said it. As if he truly needed the assurance to know someone cared. "And then you stopped pushing me away, and I didn't care whether it was pity or affection or anything else. I needed you, and you were kind to me. And then, the first time we were together . . . You were so gentle. I really believed that you might . . . that you might . . ." His breath trembled.

"That I might what?"

Syaoran composed himself. "I thought that you might . . . love me, just a little."

The words cleaved through his defenses like a blade. Love? Kurogane thought, tensing as if he'd walked into an ambush. Even his parents, who had doted on each other more than any other couple Kurogane had met before this journey, had never spoken of their love so directly. Displays of affection just weren't ingrained in his culture. So hearing the boy speak of love, here and now, left him speechless.

Syaoran was quiet, too, sensing a change. He drew back slightly, his expression guarded.

Kurogane shifted, legs hanging over the edge of the bed. "Listen," he said. "I do care about you—I wouldn't be here if I didn't. But I don't think this is a good time for this conversation. We've got a lot to think about, and this is all very . . . new." His lips twisted around the word. It sounded so inadequate.

"I understand," Syaoran said quickly. "We don't have to talk about that, then. I don't mind things staying the way they are right now."

Kurogane glanced over his shoulder. The kid was smiling, but his eyes were tight. Kurogane sighed and leaned in to plant a kiss on Syaoran's lips, as if that would really make things any better between them. "The others will be back soon. Do you want to shower first, or should I?"

The kid's face flushed. "No, go ahead."

Kurogane stood and walked out the door, not even glancing back as he closed it behind him. His heart was pounding harder than it did during battle, and a deep panic that he hadn't felt in years drummed across the back of his neck, threatening to break him apart. He barely managed to turn the bathtub faucet on before he had to sit down.

"I thought that you might . . . love me, just a little." How was he supposed to respond to that? The kid had to realize this arrangement wasn't permanent. It was meant to be a crutch for him, until he could stand on his own.

Of course he knows that, Kurogane thought, stepping under the showerhead as it let loose a torrent of scalding water. He's not an idiot. He knows this can never work long-term. So why would he say that? The ninja tilted his head up, soaking the front of his hair. The percussive tap of water on his forehead did little to soothe the tumultuous thoughts banging around inside his brain.

He tried to reason through it. The boy had been reluctant to bring it up, and he hadn't reacted badly to Kurogane's abrupt departure. Either he'd been expecting rejection, or he was a much better actor than Kurogane had guessed. Whatever the case, the boy must've understood his reluctance to talk about it, because he hadn't argued when Kurogane had wanted to leave. He had to understand, to react so calmly.

Nonetheless, the thoughts continued to plague Kurogane even as he stepped out of the shower. By then, he could sense the mage and the princess wandering about the kitchen, back from their evening walk. He dressed in the spare clothes he kept in the bathroom cabinet, dried his hair, then headed out to join them.

He didn't fail to notice the boy's absence at dinner that night, but it wasn't until the mage said something that he was forced to acknowledge it. "Where did Syaoran-kun go? He usually eats with us."

Kurogane shrugged. "Anyone check his room?"

"We saw him heading to the elevators when we were walking in," Sakura said, eyes never straying from her plate. "We thought you might know where he went." The note of concern in her voice was enough to distract him from the task at hand. He looked at her, noting the way her head drooped. Dark circles ringed her eyes, the product of restless sleep.

So instead of remarking on the weeks of apathy she'd shown the boy, he said, "The kid can handle himself. He'll be fine."

The table fell silent except for the scrape of utensils over ceramic plates. Infinity was versatile in its cutlery, with chopsticks, forks, knives, and the strange, rounded things called "spoons." They each ate with whatever suited them. The princess switched between chopsticks and the other utensils, depending on the meal. The vampire used forks and spoons exclusively.

The boy would stick to chopsticks, he thought, lifting a bit of rice to his mouth. And he'd scoot away from the table, keeping his eyes on his plate and never saying a word.

The train of thought threw him for a minute. Of all the things he observed in his environment, his companions' eating habits should have been one of the least important. Yet his mind had filed the information away, obviously classifying it as something worth remembering. It seemed odd, almost obsessive, to think about it now. He frowned at his plate.

Dinner ended a short while later. Sakura volunteered to do the dishes. Fai waltzed over to help her with them, giving her a rare, genuine smile as she greeted him. Shortly after they finished, they retired to their respective rooms.

Kurogane stayed up, waiting for the kid to come back, pretending to watch TV despite the lack of entertaining material available at this hour (he'd realized, with some irritation, that all the best shows were on at the same time, and only came on once per week, which meant that all he could do in his restless late-night hours was either sleep or catch up on less interesting programs).

Behind him, the front door creaked open. His head whipped around, and he saw Syaoran unbuttoning his jacket. The boy's cheeks were bright red from cold, his eyes downcast. He hung his coat with great care, as if its weight would break the coat rack if he wasn't cautious (and in this shitty apartment, it very well might).

"Hey," Kurogane said, breaking the silence.

Syaoran looked up, then away. "Good evening."

"You missed dinner."

"Sorry."

"You all right?"

"I'm fine." The boy walked into his bedroom, closed the door, and locked it.

Tomorrow, Kurogane thought, sinking into the couch cushions. Whatever it is, I'll deal with it tomorrow.