Chapter Seventy-Three
Syaoran did the most rational thing he could think to do: he went to the library.
Ice cracked under his feet as he walked, weakened by rising temperatures. Though the groundskeepers shoveled Infinity's sidewalks, frequent snow and sleet created a crust of ice that yielded only to the arrival of spring. Symbolically, Syaoran knew, spring represented rebirth, life, growth, while winter symbolized death.
It made him wonder if writers ever realized how absurd the concept of symbolism was. Springtime didn't mandate happiness. Children born in spring fared no better than children born in other seasons. Even the weather, supposedly bringing warmth and renewal, left the dead grass soggy with thawing ice, the sidewalks treacherously slick. So why did poets and novelists and songwriters equate spring with all those positive feelings?
I'm criticizing centuries of literature because I'm miserable, he thought, sighing. How pathetic. The library doors parted for him as he approached. A warm cushion of air enveloped him, driving away the faint flush in his cheeks brought on by the crisp air.
"Ah," the librarian said, nodding in his direction. "Our young traveler has returned. Tell me, have you brought any books back with you this time?"
His lips pulled up a bit. After so many visits, he'd come to recognize most of the librarians by face, if not by name. She said she liked me because I always brought back books eventually, he remembered. "No. Are they due already?"
The woman shrugged. "You have another week. If you're planning on returning them on time, that is." Her papery lips pulled into a smile.
"I will." I should've brought them with me, he thought, wishing he hadn't left the apartment so abruptly. Then again, perhaps it was better that he hadn't stopped to think. If he'd stayed, he might've said something he'd have regretted later. Better if I sort through all this alone.
"Looking for anything in particular?" the librarian asked.
He started to shake his head, then hesitated. Why did I come here? he wondered. To figure out what's wrong with me? To relax? To think? He frowned. "You mentioned last time that you had some self-help books," he said slowly. "I was wondering where I could find those."
Surprise flitted across the woman's face. She adjusted her spectacles, a habit that reminded him of his clone's adoptive father, Fujitaka. "We have a fairly comprehensive section on that down that aisle." The librarian pointed toward a row of nonfiction books. "If there's something specific you're looking for, I can do a search on the computer."
"No, that's all right." He looked down. "I'm not exactly sure what I'm looking for yet, but it might clear my head just to look around." To search. To discover. The same things that had motivated his clone. But I'm not him. Maybe that's why I'm so confused. He was always sure of his path. He always knew who he loved.
His chest tightened. He hurried down the row, hoping to distract himself among the hundreds of self-help books. His eyes scanned shelves of titles, with books like Living with Schizophrenia and How Stress Affects your Love Life. Paperbacks and hardcovers, shiny and plain, thick scholarly texts and books with colorful illustrations. Yet none of them caught his attention. All those books, all that knowledge, all that support, and still, nothing sparked his interest.
He closed his eyes, refocusing. There was always something to be learned. I just have to know what to look for. He inhaled. So what's the source of the problem?
Syaoran considered that. Tonight, he'd pushed Kurogane away. Their stable, easy companionship had faltered. Why? Where did it start to go wrong? What was different about tonight?
The answer appeared in his mind in an instant. Change. Something critical had shifted in their relationship. I wasn't in control anymore. He frowned. He'd relinquished control before, allowed Kurogane to set the pace. Even if he hadn't liked the change, voicing his displeasure would've been enough to reestablish a comfortable pattern. But I didn't do that. And Kurogane said that I've seemed more desperate than usual. So I'm the one who upset the balance.
He grimaced. That hadn't been the conclusion he'd been hoping to draw, but what else could it have been? Kurogane was stable. He had a temper, true, but he also had set ways of doing things. His patterns were familiar, expected.
Yes. It must be me. I changed something, and now those ripples have turned into waves. He froze, the ramifications of that slamming into him. And there was only one thing I wanted to be different.
Syaoran slumped, collapsing to his knees and holding his head in his hands. "No," he groaned, feeling as if someone had just kicked him in the chest. "No, no, no . . ." This can't be happening. How could I let it come to this? How could this have happened without me even realizing?
In his mind, he replayed snippets of what had led up to this. A reckless mockery of a kiss. A broken door. Sandwiches. Another kiss, real this time. It can't be. It can't. This wasn't supposed to happen. Callused fingertips, brushing against his face, his neck, his ribs. Trust. Darkness. The bed. His bed. And a feeling like wildfire burning away all the guilt, all the shame, so that for one minute, he didn't feel miserable.
Then something more. Kisses both tender and demanding. A growing desire to feel those hands on his body, to feel them everywhere. And all the while, losing focus. Spending time curled up in Kurogane's arms instead of searching for this Sakura's feathers. Time spent not thinking about his Sakura, but instead relishing in the touch of another person's hands. And not regretting it. Not regretting it for a second because he needed that touch the same way he needed air. To breathe. To feel. To live.
To love.
I love him.
He wound his arms around his torso, his already-broken heart ripping itself apart even further. His throat constricted until he couldn't breathe.
A quiet sob broke through his control. Just one. Just one, and he crumpled where he knelt, silent tears streaming down his face.
I love him, he thought. And he doesn't love me back.
Kurogane couldn't sleep.
He wanted to chalk it up to years of restlessness, of worrying over Tomoyo-hime's safety, of sitting outside waiting for demons to storm Shirasagi Castle. His body seldom rested, so it had adapted to less sleep. He wasn't that tired, anyway.
He could've accepted that, if he hadn't known it was a lie. He knew why he couldn't sleep. Talking to the mage always gave him a headache. The only difference this time was that the words wouldn't stop echoing in his ears.
"You love him," the mage had said. Calm. Confident. Like there was no question about it. Bastard. Can't even make up his mind, and he's acting like he knows more about this than I do. He grit his teeth, rolling over under the sheets. What does he know? He only found out about this a few weeks ago.
He shifted again, burying his face in his pillow in a futile attempt to muffle the thoughts beating against the inside of his skull. It didn't help. The same questions kept coming back, whispering in his ear like a malevolent spirit. Why did you let the kid go? Why hasn't he come back yet? Why aren't you looking for him?
He rolled again, then forced himself to stay still for a few minutes. Sleep never came to the man who refused to hold still. Then again, the same could be said for the man who couldn't quiet his mind and relax. Even calling on all his experience with meditation, the anxiety hovered over him, buzzing just loud enough to drive any chance of sleep away.
Maybe I should start looking for him now, Kurogane thought, opening his eyes to stare at the door. A sliver of light peered through the gap at the bottom, coming from the living room. The mage was still awake. I'll only prove his point if I go out there now.
The thought bothered him. When had he become so petty that proving the idiot wrong was more important than the kid's safety? Then again, the boy would probably return soon anyway. It was pointless to lie awake waiting for him. So sleep, the logical part of his mind whispered. You'll need to be well-rested if you have to go looking for him at sunrise.
Outside, he heard the creak of the front door. In an instant, he leapt to his feet, walking to the bedroom door in near-silence. He pressed his ear against the wall, listening.
"Welcome back, Syaoran-kun," the mage said, voice only slightly muffled by the walls. The kid must have returned the greeting in some nonverbal way, because after a moment the mage spoke again."Where did you go?"
"The library."
Naturally, Kurogane thought.
"Find anything interesting?"
"Not really." There was a pause. "Fai-san . . . Do you know anything about love?"
Kurogane froze, pulse drumming in his ears. Love. Why did it always come back to love? Why was that word so important to the kid now, when he'd never asked about it until recently?
Why did the word fill him with a sense of guilt when once it would only have annoyed him?
"Why do you want to know?" Fai asked after a long moment. Kurogane pressed his ear more firmly against the door, listening.
"It's just . . . I'm curious about some aspects of it."
Another pause. "What aspects specifically?"
"I was wondering . . . if love is permanent. If there's a way to fall out of love."
Fall out of love? The words echoed in Kurogane's mind, like the phantom chime of bells. Is he talking about the princess? Or . . . The magician's earlier words came back to him. Is the kid actually in love with me?
Outside, the mage spoke, voice subdued. "Love changes, but I don't think it ever goes away. You might fall out of romantic love, but I have to believe you'd still care for that person on some level."
"I . . . see."
"Is there something that sparked your curiosity?"
Kurogane listened more intently. Maybe he could salvage their relationship. Maybe he could convince the boy to stay at his side.
He stopped, frowning to himself. Salvaging the relationship? Convincing the kid to stay with him? What the hell is wrong with me? That wasn't part of the deal. He ground his teeth together, but stayed silent, still listening.
"You can tell me what's going on," Fai said. "Kurogane seemed worried about you."
"He did?" the boy asked. Even a fool would've heard the spark of hope in his voice, and Kurogane was no fool. "You . . . You two talked about me?"
"We did." Fai chuckled. "Kurogane got very angry and stomped off to bed, and now I have to sleep on the couch because he locked the door."
Bastard, he thought. I should've kept my mouth shut. Of course he'd go blabbing about it the first opportunity he got.
"I see," the boy said. Kurogane could imagine how his shoulders would curl inward, how his eyes would stray to his feet. "He was angry about me leaving."
Kurogane reached for the doorknob, then rolled his eyes as he remembered he'd locked the door on his way in. He unlocked it and stepped into the living room, shoulders stiff.
The others turned and stared at him, going still, like rabbits being stared down by a wolf.
Fai recovered first. "Kurogane, I didn't realize you were still awake."
He scowled, but otherwise ignored the mage. "Kid, can we talk?"
The boy continued staring at him. His bottom lip trembled, and his eyes clouded over with something Kurogane recognized from years fighting off enemy assassins: panic. "You were listening? You heard?"
Shit. Should have seen this coming. "Yes. Look, that's not—" He broke off, stunned into silence by the moisture trailing down Syaoran's cheeks. Shit. I made him cry. Instinctively, he reached out to comfort the kid. As soon as his fingertips grazed his arm, the boy bolted, fleeing into his room and slamming the door behind him.