Chapter Fifty-Six

It had been the look in the kid's eyes that had gotten to him. That look, right when Kurogane had called him by name, that played over and over again on the backs of his eyelids as he tried to sleep that night.

Kurogane rolled onto his side, staring into the darkness. His eyes had adjusted hours ago, when he'd intended to go to bed, which meant his gaze pierced the darkness with a too-familiar clarity. In the bed across the room, the mage snored, head buried so deep in the pillow that Kurogane wondered how he managed to avoid smothering himself. Each crack in the walls looked like a dark crevasse in the sea of white, and the floral patterns on the ratty sheets stood in sharp definition. Yet he didn't see it, didn't register these details, because all he could see was the kid's face. The way he'd winced. The flicker of suppressed hope. The reddish tinge circling his eyes that could only have come from tears.

A mistake. Calling the kid by name had been a mistake. Pulling the boy into his arms, comforting him like he had—that was another mistake. A lapse. I can't do this fucking balancing act anymore. He flung the covers off and stalked over to the door. He yanked it open, wincing at the way it squeaked, then glanced back at the mage. Fai didn't stir.

More cautious now, he eased the door shut behind him and walked into the living room, his footsteps silent over the cement. The boy would be sleeping on the couch, as he had been ever since he'd come back from the hospital. Kurogane ghosted over to where he expected the kid to be, then let out a soft sigh when he saw the boy lying on his side, arms curled up by his head, conserving warmth.

Kurogane picked up the cotton blanket the kid had wriggled out of in the night, pulling it up to cover the boy's torso. The kid remained limp, ignorant of the change. With his features relaxed in unconsciousness, he looked almost peaceful.

He considered his options. As things stood now, comforting the boy earlier had been a mistake. But it didn't have to be. If things changed, if they moved back into a territory where that kind of comfort was not only acceptable, but expected, then it would go from a lapse in judgment to an expression of . . . what, exactly? Affection? Acceptance?

Love?

Kurogane fidgeted. Just thinking about love grated on his sensibilities. But he knew the kid well enough to know he needed more than simple acceptance. Drawing the line there would be too easy, and it had failed more than once already. Repeating the same thing and expecting different results would be ludicrous.

Or, if he stopped acting on those impulses to comfort the kid, what then? It would distance them, obviously. That should have been a good thing, but after everything the kid had been through, it might well destroy him. But what could he do? Even before those bastards had spent sixteen hours torturing the kid, things had gone sour between them. Which was your own damn fault, he thought to himself. You pushed him away. You broke it off. Now look what happened.

Kurogane dragged a hand through his hair. Damn, this stuff was complicated. Come on. Think like a rational person. There's no way anything like that could work out in the long-term. And it would hurt him in the end. Hurt him because it would hurt the princess. It's impossible.

He stood, pacing in front of the couch, then looping around it, hands balled into fists. After several passes, he paused and looked again at the boy. Syaoran hadn't moved, too deep in sleep to even stir. Considering it was past three A.M., that wasn't surprising.

His mind flickered back to that moment by the bathtub. He hadn't even meant to call the kid by name. Not really. But the boy had looked so broken in that instant that Kurogane had lapsed back into an old habit. Inexcusable, he reminded himself. A mistake.

But he'd do anything to keep the boy from looking like that again. Even if no one else would ever understand. Even if it could never work out between them long-term. So, maybe, if it made things better . . .

He shook his head. He'd never been this indecisive in Nihon. Fighting was easy. It came as naturally to him as breathing. But caring for someone, wanting to spare them pain . . . It threw him off.

Frustrated, he knelt in front of the couch and rested his chin on the cushions, studying the kid's face. The tiny shifts in his features fascinated him, as if he was watching the boy's dreams play out. Eyebrows drawing together. Nose twitching. Lips settling into a frown. Once in a while, his whole body would shift, surfacing from the deepest throes of sleep and into a more aware state. And then he'd relax again, his breathing evening out, slowing. Almost peaceful.

Kurogane took a deep breath, considered his options, then leaned against the side of the couch. If he went through with this, it wouldn't end well. Couldn't. They'd have to keep it a secret, and ultimately, all he'd be doing was distracting the kid from the girl he loved. And if the mage or the princess found out, any semblance of trust would vanish.

Kurogane wasn't sure their group could survive any more major upheavals now. Everyone was still bleeding from Tokyo, but their fragmented relationships were finally starting to come together again. If he fucked that up over something doomed to fail . . . How would he live with that? How did anyone live with it?

No. Only a coward stops moving forward in fear of what comes tomorrow. Being trapped in the same situation and doing nothing about it was the worst kind of weakness because it means you refuse to move forward. And I am not weak.

He looked back at the kid, still asleep. Then, closing his eyes, he muttered a curse. Fuck it. There was no way to predict tomorrow's disasters or next week's problems. He'd face the consequences whenever they came. But things were going to change, starting tomorrow.

Syaoran woke feeling more rested than he had since before he'd been captured. No nightmares. A cessation from pain. It was a small mercy, but he'd take it.

"Morning," Kurogane said. Syaoran blinked, his vision only coming into focus when he saw the ninja stand next to him. As the grogginess faded, curiosity sparked in his mind.

"Didn't you sleep?"

The ninja glanced down at him, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, some. You?"

His hands curled around the edge of the blanket. "Better than I have been."

"That's good." The man's red eyes flickered to his face, and he looked away. After a moment, Kurogane crouched next to the couch and laid his palm across Syaoran's forehead, smoothing his hair back. Heat rushed to his face, and he closed his eyes, embarrassment deepening the pink tint in his cheeks. Hope threatened to drown him, memories of their more intimate moments flashing through his mind. It doesn't mean anything, he told himself. He's probably just checking for a fever or something. Maybe I look sick.

Kurogane's hand moved down the side of his face, fingertips tracing the line of his cheekbone, then skimming the side of his neck. Syaoran gulped, shifting away. "Kurogane-san . . ."

The ninja sat back, withdrawing his hand. His shoulders settled into straight lines, his shirt unwrinkled despite him having apparently spent the night in it. He didn't sleep, then, Syaoran thought. Or if he did, he slept sitting up. His chest tightened with guilt. "You don't have to go out of your way to make me comfortable."

His eyebrows slanted down as he snorted. "Don't be stupid. If you need help, I'm going to help you. You don't have any say in it."

I don't have much say in anything, do I? Saying nothing, he glanced away.

Kurogane sighed. "I want to talk to you."

"About what?"

"You and I . . ." Kurogane sucked in a sharp breath, then exhaled through his teeth. "Look, I'm not great at this whole dealing with people thing, so . . . You want to go back to the way things were?"

Panic shot through his veins like ice water, overpowering the surge of hope. Because surely he'd misunderstood—Kurogane couldn't mean going back to their previous arrangement, could he? He'd been the one who'd broken it off the first time. Unless he thinks it'll help me feel better about what happened. The thought twisted through his gut like a hot knife. That has to be the reason. He thinks I can't deal with this on my own, so he's trying to fix things this way. When he inhaled, he heard the tremor in his own breath. "The way things were?"

"You know. Before." Kurogane jerked his chin toward the cast on his leg.

Syaoran sat up, trying to put up a more solid front. Control. He had to stay in control of himself. "You'd only be doing it because you're trying to make things easier for me."

"I'm not."

"Prove it."

Kurogane stiffened at the challenge in his voice, folding his arms in front of his chest. "Prove it?"

"You only ever did it because I couldn't stand on my own. I don't need crutches anymore."

The ninja's voice whipped out, low and harsh. "That's strange, coming from someone who can't walk."

The reminder of his broken knee made him flinch. His shoulders curled inward, as if he could shield himself from the impact of those words. Yet they still got in, still sliced him open and left him bleeding again. The back of his throat tightened, the tang of sorrow washing across his taste buds. He was so close to tears, and just as helpless to hold them back as he'd been when he'd tried to hold back his screams in that basement. Even now, his vision swam, shapes blurring together like figures in a watercolor painting. If he could've walked, he'd have fled. Instead, all he could do was hide his face behind his arms.

"Kid?"

He shook his head, rejecting the sympathy in that voice, the unspoken apology. When Kurogane nudged his shoulder, he flinched from the touch.

Quietly, the ninja spoke. "Do you want me to leave?"

The words froze him in place, echoing in his mind. "Leave?"

"I'll go. If you want me to, I'll go. However much time you need, you can have it."

"Time for what?"

"To think. This—" He lowered his voice, glancing around. "This probably seem like it's coming out of nowhere for you. I've been thinking about it. I just wanted to know if you . . ." The sentence evaporated, and a wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. After a moment, his eyelids slid open again. "Fuck. This isn't how this conversation was supposed to go."

Syaoran cocked his head to the side. "Supposed to . . . How long have you been thinking about this?"

"All night. Shit." He dragged his hand through his hair, standing up. "I don't know how to do this, all right?" He started to move away, shoulders rigid.

Syaoran reached out and caught his wrist, holding him in place. Kurogane's arm stiffened, and his eyes flashed to his face as if in annoyance. Syaoran shrunk back, but didn't let go. "I don't want you to leave. But I don't . . ." He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Things have been bad lately. I don't want them to get worse."

"You're scared."

Syaoran looked away, wishing he could deny it. But he'd been burned too many times over the past few weeks. He couldn't let anyone kick his legs out from under him. Not now. "I just don't want this to end badly."

"It won't."

"You can't promise that."

"I'm going to, anyway: this won't end badly. I will always protect you." Fire danced in his eyes, the same fire Syaoran had seen when he'd beaten Jet to a bloody pulp in that basement, but without the rage. "You know that. I know you do."

"Yes, but . . . The others . . ."

"Forget them."

"They would never—"

"It's none of their damn business!" Kurogane exhaled sharply, regaining control of himself. "Do you want to, or not?"

His heart hammered against his ribs, lips tingling with remembered sensation. "Yes."

"Good." Kurogane leaned forward, fingers tugging on Syaoran's hair and pulling his face forward. He gasped, spine going rigid as if a cold gust of air had raked its fingers across his back. As his lips parted, he felt the man's tongue probing at his bottom lip. He leaned back automatically, trying to regain control of his lungs, his lips, anything, but Kurogane captured his mouth again, the kiss fierce, demanding.

A familiar pressure grew between his thighs. "Kurogane-san—"

"Are you changing your mind?"

"No, it's . . ." Warmth flooded his cheeks as he looked down at his shorts.

"Been awhile, huh?"

He nodded, throat closing with embarrassment. "Should we stop?"

"No." Callused fingertips traced the skin of his good leg, starting at his knee and moving up. A moan escaped his throat, his hands seeking something to grab onto. He latched onto Kurogane's shirt and pulled the man closer, hips twitching with the heat, the pressure. Their lips flowed together like converging streams of magma.

Syaoran didn't hear the door swinging open, or the startled gasp from behind him. Only when Fai's voice whipped out did reality come crashing down.

"What are you doing?"