Chapter Sixty

Hours passed before he heard a knock on his door. "Syaoran-kun, it's dinnertime."

He said nothing, closing his eyes and hoping that if he ignored Fai, he'd go away. It was a childish impulse—he knew that. But thinking about the door standing between them, he couldn't hold back that little rush of satisfaction. Finally, a chance to put a wall between him and the others, to avoid seeing Fai's disapproving gaze, or hearing Sakura's weary sigh.

Fai knocked more insistently. "It's spaghetti. You should come out."

Syaoran drew the sheets tighter around his body, shivering as the cool fabric slid across his skin. Rather than hunger, he felt a stab of nausea at the thought of going out there, in his wheelchair, and trying to pretend everything was normal now that Fai knew.

Fai knew. He had trouble adjusting to that. Though he'd kept his explanations vague, the thought of Fai thinking about what he'd been doing . . . Syaoran swallowed against the bile rising in his throat.

"Syaoran-kun," Fai called, still at the door. "Can I come in?"

No. Go away. He closed his eyes, flinching as the wizard turned the doorknob only to find it wouldn't turn. "Is this locked?"

He said nothing, hoping Fai would conclude he was sleeping. Or dead. Immature as it was, the thought of making Fai worry gave him a little thrill of satisfaction. Which he then felt guilty for feeling. And that guilt turned to self-loathing.

Beyond the door, Fai spoke again, addressing someone else. "He's not coming out."

"He probably doesn't want to talk to you," Kurogane said, voice lower, but instantly recognizable. Yes, that's right, Syaoran thought. And who would want to talk about it, anyway?

Fai didn't respond to Kurogane's remark, at least not verbally. But his footsteps faded as he headed toward the kitchen.

Beyond the bedroom door, time moved forward. But for Syaoran, it felt frozen.

He didn't leave his room except for bathroom trips, and even those he dealt with only when the need was dire. He got in and out of his wheelchair without help, ignored the others when they approached. Twice, Fai interrupted him on his way out of the bathroom, speaking to him as if they'd been in the middle of a conversation.

"Dinner was great tonight," Fai said the first time. "It would've been nice if you'd been there."

Syaoran said nothing, merely opening the bedroom door and wheeling himself back into the world where the only ways to measure time were through the needs of his body. Fai continued speaking through the door, carrying on as if the lack of response had encouraged him. "I'm planning on making pancakes for breakfast tomorrow. Do you want me to add anything special? Chocolate chips? Strawberries?"

Syaoran crawled back into bed and pushed his wheelchair off to the side where he wouldn't see it every time he opened his eyes.

"I'll go with both then. We're down to about quarter of a bottle of syrup, if you wanted to come shopping with us next time we head out." To make sure you're not alone with Kurogane. The words went unspoken, but rang in his ears nonetheless. He closed his eyes. "We'll plan on that then. Sunday sounds like a lovely day for shopping, don't you think?"

This time, when he didn't answer, Fai stopped talking.

The second time they spoke, Fai was standing outside the bathroom door, waiting for him. Syaoran rolled past him, heading to the kitchen. "Are you hungry?" Fai asked, perking up. "The pancakes are cold, but I can make another batch, or we can reheat them."

Syaoran pulled a glass from one of the cupboards, noting that the others had reorganized the cabinets to make them wheelchair-accessible. The thought made his throat tighten. He filled the glass with water, tasteless and colorless, as Fai went on. "Or, if you're not in the mood for pancakes, we have some cans of tomato soup. Isn't it just wonderful that you can buy preserved food instead of canning it yourself? Canning was always a big project in Ceres—everybody would pitch in, even the king."

Syaoran wedged the glass of water between his thigh and the side of the wheelchair, then started wheeling himself back to his room.

"Sakura-chan is going to help me make cookies later on. We were thinking sugar cookies, or chocolate chip. She said she remembers a few recipes from Clow, if you wanted to—"

Syaoran stopped, and Fai, carried along by his own momentum, had to awkwardly sidestep the wheelchair to avoid tripping over it. For the first time in over twelve hours, Syaoran spoke. "Leave me alone."

"Syaoran-kun . . ."

"That's all I want. Just leave me alone." He twisted the doorknob, pulled the door open, and wheeled himself inside.

Fai didn't speak to him until later that night, and that conversation took place with a wall between them. "We finished baking cookies. Ginger snaps. Sakura-chan said they were popular in Clow."

A lump rose in his throat. They had been popular there, as popular as chocolate chip cookies had been in other countries of that world. His Sakura had brought a basket of ginger snaps to him once. She'd always been bringing things for him: food, little trinkets, things she'd found on her way to his house. She worried about me, he remembered. Every day, she worried about me. And whenever we saw each other, she always had something to give me.

"Please eat," Fai said, the paper-thin walls barely muffling his voice. "It's not healthy to starve yourself like this."

Syaoran opened his mouth, about to reassure Fai that he was fine. That he was always fine, just like he was always sorry. Then he clamped his mouth shut and said nothing.

The next time someone came to his door, it was Sakura. And somehow, that just seemed like a rotten trick. "Fai-san wants to know if you want any chicken."

"No, thank you," he said, voice hoarse from disuse.

There was a beat of silence. "Then would you like something else?"

"No, I'm fine."

"How about spaghetti? We have some sauce left over from the other day."

"No."

"Pizza?"

"No."

"Ice cream?"

"No."

Silence.

"You should eat. We're worried about you."

And when he didn't respond, she walked away, too.

Time held no meaning in his self-imposed imprisonment, so when Fai told him (through the door, of course) that it had been two days since he'd eaten, it surprised him.

And when Fai told him it had been three, it still surprised him. And when Fai told him it had been four days and he'd better come out and eat something instead of sulking in his room, it didn't surprise him so much anymore.

But when Fai sent Kurogane to talk to him . . . That was a shock.

"Come out of your room and eat, or I'll knock down this door."

"Go away."

"I'm serious."

He grimaced. "I'm not hungry."

"Bullshit."

It's the truth, he thought. He hadn't really felt hungry since Fai had found out about his relationship with Kurogane. And while logic told him he ought to be starving, the thought of food made him nauseous.

"Open the door, damn it!" Something—a fist?—slammed against the door, making it reverberate. Syaoran closed his eyes, shutting out the noise just as he'd shut everything else out over the past four days.

When a second impact brought a splintering sound, he sat up in his bed as if someone had poured ice water over him. With a mix of terror and fascination, he watched the door vibrate in its frame, flexing inward with every impact. Light sliced through the wood as it crumpled in the middle, and he drew back, raising his arms in front of his face as splinters fell to the floor. The door caved in with a final, shuddering crash, and his eyes narrowed against the flood of illumination.

Kurogane stalked over to the bed, hackles raised, and grabbed him by the arm. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You broke the door," Syaoran said, voice quavering.

"I told you I'd knock it down if you didn't come out! Did you think I was joking?"

"Yes! Who breaks down a door? Who does that?" His voice broke, and he winced at how much he sounded like a child.

"Why didn't you unlock it?" Kurogane demanded.

He threw his hands up in frustration. "I didn't want anybody to come in here! That's the purpose of a lock! That's why we lock things!"

Kurogane's grip tightened around his arm. He tried to pull away, then flinched when Kurogane yanked in the opposite direction. Pain twisted through his shoulder. "You do as I say," Kurogane whispered, his breath hot against Syaoran's ear. "You open the door when I need to talk to you. You don't do stupid shit like starving yourself."

"Let go." He hated how his command sounded like a plea, how his throat constricted with unshed tears.

"No."

"Let me go. Please, let me go . . ." His breath wavered.

Let me go.

The knife sliding through his flesh.

Please, let me go . . .

Jet, holding the bottle of bleach over him, ready to pour it in his eyes.

No, no, please, let me go.

Nails being yanked out of his fingertips.

Kurogane let go.

Syaoran started screaming.