Chapter Sixty-Three
Kurogane dumped the mage on the couch, knowing he'd heal within the hour, then turned and walked to the kid's room. There was something he needed to check.
Syaoran sat on the bed, leaning against the wall as he stared at the sheets. Since there was no longer a door to knock on, Kurogane rapped his knuckles against the wall to get the kid's attention. The boy tensed, then averted his eyes. "Come in."
Kurogane stepped inside the doorway and stopped to watch the kid's reaction. Syaoran looked at him with a mix of discomfort and apprehension, as if he was expecting to get yelled at for having a panic attack. I really screwed up this time, Kurogane thought, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Belatedly, he realized he'd never taken off his coat. "Hey."
Syaoran flinched as if the greeting had been a slap. "Hey."
"You all right?"
"I'm fine."
Kurogane paused, then decided to drop the small talk. "You want to tell me what that was all about?"
"I had a panic attack. A bad one."
"How often do you get them?"
Syaoran hesitated, then shrugged. "Depends on the day. Most of the time, it's not so vivid. It's usually just a feeling."
Kurogane nodded, then stepped forward. Syaoran looked away, closing his eyes, and, not for the first time this week, Kurogane wished he could just wrap an arm around the kid and make things all right. But with the mage lying unconscious in the living room and the princess hanging out in her bedroom, the risk overshadowed that impulse. He crossed the room, pausing at the edge of the bed. His eyes scanned over the place where he'd grabbed the kid's arm, searching for bruises. Nothing there, he thought, the pressure inside his lungs easing up. The mage was lying. He sat next to the bed, staring at the wall. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"I know."
"And I'll fix the door. I can have it done by tomorrow afternoon."
"Okay."
The dullness of the response made a lump rise in his throat. He said nothing, not trusting his voice. This wasn't supposed to happen—he wasn't supposed to go soft. Yet he struggled to keep his back to the kid.
"Kurogane-san."
His head whipped around. Syaoran met his eyes for the first time in days, his expression strangely fragile. He hasn't been eating, he remembered suddenly."Yeah?"
"I want to apologize."
Kurogane sighed. "You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do. I'm sorry I worried you. I've been in a rough place, so I didn't think about how my absence might affect you. If nothing else, I should have spoken to you about it ahead of time."
"But you knew I wouldn't let you lock yourself up like you have."
Syaoran stiffened, but nodded. "That was part of it. But I was also afraid that if I talked to you, I wouldn't be able to keep my emotions in check. I thought that we might fall into the same relationship we had before, and . . ."
"And you don't want that." You don't want me.
"It's not that. But Fai-san said that if we carried on like this, we'd have to tell Sakura-hime. And I'm not sure I capable of that."
Kurogane nodded slowly, processing that. "So if he hadn't given the ultimatum, what would you have done?"
Syaoran's calm expression faltered, and Kurogane glimpsed the shattered person inside. It took a long moment for the kid to speak, and when he did, his voice was a whisper. "Eventually, I would've slipped up. I would've fallen in love. And I can't afford that."
Kurogane's lips twisted into a grimace. "Is that what you want then? To break it off for good?"
"No. But I don't think we have a choice."
There's always a choice. He bit back the words. If the kid was going to choose that, then there was nothing he could do about it. "Fine."
Syaoran flinched.
Kurogane stood. "I'll replace the door. But I'm not putting a lock on it this time."
"You don't trust me."
He turned and rested a hand on the kid's shoulder. "That's not the reason."
"Then what is?"
"Because every door you put between us is one more obstacle to deal with. And if you change your mind about us, I don't want a locked door to stand in your way."
Kurogane made good on his promise to fix the damage. By noon the next day, he'd installed a new door and adjusted the hinges so they didn't creak every time the door opened. Syaoran spent the morning sitting in bed, watching him work. There was something inherently graceful about Kurogane when he focused on a task, like the deliberate stride of a performer stepping onto a stage. The man made no careless moves, consolidating tasks and affixing the new door to its frame step-by-step.
So Syaoran observed, blaming his fixation on boredom rather than admiration and pretending he wasn't lying to himself. When Kurogane met his eyes at the end, he blushed and turned his face to the wall to hide his expression.
"You should eat."
He sighed. "That's not just a suggestion, is it?"
"No. What do you want?"
"Anything is fine."
"All right." Kurogane's footsteps faded, but the door remained open, noise from outside filtering through the gap. The refrigerator door opened with a pop, jars and plates of leftovers knocking together inside. A pair of footsteps, light and even, crossed the linoleum, and the refrigerator closed, rumbling inside as it restored its normal internal pressure. The lid of a jar squeaked as it opened. Plastic crinkled. Something thudded against the countertop, and a moment later, a plate slid across one of its porcelain neighbors.
For the first time in days, Syaoran's stomach snarled with hunger instead of nausea.
A few minutes later, the sounds from the kitchen faded, and footsteps approached his bedroom. Kurogane nudged the half-open door aside, carrying a plate in one hand. Syaoran raised his hands to take the plate, then froze, eyes zeroing in on the food.
Sandwiches, he thought, memories of their first weeks in this world flashing through his mind in a rapid slide-show. Packing sandwiches in plastic bags because he didn't want to leave his room. His lips brushing against Kurogane's in an impulsive, ill-considered mockery of a first kiss. The sound of the door splintering as he cowered on the other side. The moment he'd realized he'd dropped the sandwiches he'd meant to hoard in his desperation to escape.
And then finding his abandoned sandwiches in the fridge, salvaged by Kurogane despite his fury. Cradling them in his hands when he found them stacked on one of the shelves, as if they were something precious. And they were, he thought, grimacing as the back of his throat went dry. The only precious thing he'd had back then. The single most unexpected kindness he'd experienced since landing in this dismal world. And he'd never told Kurogane how much that had meant to him.
"Thank you," he whispered, pinching one sandwich with both hands. For everything.
Kurogane hesitated, perhaps sensing the significance behind the thanks. "Yeah, sure." He turned toward the door, resting his hand on the doorframe. "Your cast comes off tomorrow, you know."
His head snapped up. "Really?"
Kurogane nodded. "It's been six weeks. You'll be able to switch to a brace and start physical therapy tomorrow."
He looked at the cast that had immobilized his leg for so long, then to the wheelchair that had confined him to the apartment. "I'll be able to walk?"
"Short distances. The doctor said the physical therapy would take a lot out of you. Even with the brace, walking might be too painful."
"I can do it." He picked his sandwich up again, a tomato slipping out of the stack as he lifted it to his mouth. I'm going to get better. I'll be able to protect everyone. He bit down, moaning as the myriad of tastes spread across his tongue—tomato, lettuce, cheese, mustard, ketchup, mayo, all seasoned by hunger. His stomach growled, demanding more.
A rare smile crossed Kurogane's face as he stepped into the living room. He left the door hanging open behind him.
Author's Notes:
Does anything in this chapter stand out as particularly symbolic? I try to avoid writing symbolism, as it tends to come across as too blunt if you're writing it on purpose, but midway through this chapter, it occurred to me that a certain object (possibly several) just seemed really symbolic of Syaoran's current relationship with Kurogane. Or I might be reading into my own writing too much. Huh.
Anyway, the sandwich-related memory was a reference to the first and second chapters of this story, in case you were confused. That's the downside to writing a story that you update chapter-by-chapter: your readers tend to forget details that you, as an author, meant to be significant. Unlike with my cruel OCs of a few chapters ago, I didn't plan for the sandwiches to come back as a plot point, but I thought it fit nicely here. I'm interested in hearing your thoughts on this chapter, so if you've got time, just leave a review below. Thanks!
Oh, and I forgot the mention this when I last updated, but I succeeded with my NaNoWriMo project. Final word count came in at 50,011 words on November 28th. I quit writing that story after that point because it was horribly written and full of cliches, but I am proud to declare myself a NaNoWriMo winner. It's taught me how important it is to write daily, lest progress slow to a crawl (my new goal: write 1000 words of an original story every day).
Side note: What's your favorite kind of sandwich?