Chapter Seventy-Four

"Kid, wait!" Kurogane called as the bedroom door slammed. He twisted the knob, but the door held. How is that even possible? I got rid of the damn lock when I replaced this door! "Open up."

"Go away." The kid's voice trembled.

The mage hurried to his side and rested a hand on his forearm, nudging it away from the door. "Give him a minute. He's emotionally vulnerable—"

"Oh, shut up." He grabbed the knob and twisted, shoving forward. This time, the door gave way easily, nearly hitting the wall as it swung open. Kurogane staggered inside, thrown off-balance by the lack of resistance, then blinked when he saw that the boy's bed was empty. "Kid?"

A soft sob drew his attention to a lump of sheets on the floor. He approached, then saw how the kid had shrouded his body in his bedsheets as if to hide himself. Kurogane glanced back to see Fai frowning from the doorway. The mage's frosty expression bothered him for about half a second before he sat beside the kid. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

Oh, bullshit. He rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. Syaoran turned away from him, facing the wall. "Come on, kid. Tell me what's wrong."

"What's wrong? You really want to know?"

"Yes!"

"You don't love me, and I don't love you."

The words ripped at him like daggers, a sharp, unexpected pain. Not only because the words themselves hurt, but because he'd heard them before. Months ago, he'd been the one to say them. They'd been practically the last words he'd said to the boy before those bastards had kidnapped and tortured him in that basement.

"Kid . . ."

"Unless something's changed," Syaoran said suddenly, not meeting his eyes.

He's trying to get me to say it, Kurogane realized. He needs me to tell him I love him. He needs proof. He hesitated, working through the different outcomes of this conversation. If he said it, would that really fix this? Would the kid even believe him after so many months without hearing it?

Would it be a genuine declaration of love? Or would he be saying it just to appease the kid?

Syaoran took his silence as a negative. "It's all right. I wasn't expecting you to change your mind."

"That's not—damn it, can't you see that there's nothing either of us can do to change the other's mind?"

The kid flinched, his breath catching. Kurogane sighed. "If you want me to say it—if that's all you want—I'll do it. If you want me to fake it for you, I will. But what I feel is up to me, not you. So don't bother trying change it."

The boy said nothing, only curled up into a tighter ball. Kurogane walked out the door, closing it behind him.

From the arm of the couch, the mage spoke. "You really don't know how to be happy, do you?"

He glared. "Don't be stupid."

Slowly, Fai slid off the edge of the couch, rising to his feet. "You once told us that the Tomoyo of your world sent you away so you could find the meaning of true strength. Have you considered what that might be?"

He shrugged. "You wouldn't know the answer any better than I would, considering the fact that you won't even talk about what happened to you."

Fai bristled, but otherwise ignored the remark. "What if Syaoran-kun truly does love you? How badly have you hurt him tonight by saying that you'd have to fake the same for him?"

"The kid's tough. He'll get over it."

"People don't get over heartbreak like that!" Fai exploded. Kurogane jumped, startled. "People don't get over love! What you said to him . . . it hurt him. Don't you understand that?"

"I'm not going to lie about something that important."

Fai threw his hands up. "Then you don't understand the point of lying! Why would anyone lie, except to cover up important, painful truths? Why would anyone bother when honesty has fewer repercussions?"

Kurogane paused.

"How much would it have cost you to say those three words?" Fai asked after a moment, voice softening. "Wouldn't the price have been worth it? If you had just said them . . . even if they were untrue . . ."

"I won't lie to him by telling him I love him. And I won't lie by saying that I don't. I'm saying I don't know. And if I don't know, and I say either of those things, it could turn into a lie." And that, he knew, would only hurt the kid worse. Having something taken away was different from not having it in the first place.

"I can see why Tomoyo cast you out," Fai finally said, heading for the bedroom door. "You're incapable of mercy."

Kurogane clenched his fists, saying nothing. The door closed quietly, almost in defiance of the intensity of the past ten minutes. He took a deep breath, uncurling his fists.

To his right, another door opened, and the princess wandered out, rubbing her eyes. Kurogane repressed a jolt of panic. How much did she hear? How much does she know? "What are you doing up?" he demanded.

Sakura blinked, tilting her head back to look at him. "I heard Fai-san yelling. Is something wrong?"

He hesitated a beat too long, unused to making excuses. "No. Things are just a little tense right now. Go back to bed."

Her gaze sharpened, her shoulders straightening. A frown creased her lips.

Kurogane started to get that feeling he got when Tomoyo was upset with him. He shifted warily, glancing away. "It's really no big deal. Don't worry about it."

Sakura folded her hands in front of her nightgown, somehow managing to look regal despite the uneven tufts of hair sticking up from her scalp. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't keep things from me."

Oh, hell. He sighed, then sat on the arm of the couch. How the hell had she managed to make him feel guilty when the mage had only succeeded in pissing him off? Just because certain aspects of her personality reminded him of Tomoyo didn't mean he had to answer to her. And why the hell should he feel guilty, anyway? None of what had happened tonight had been his fault. It hadn't been anyone's fault, really. They'd all been tensed for a fight for weeks now. Small wonder it had finally manifested.

Maybe his guilt stemmed from something bigger. Not that he'd thought about it much, but he supposed seeing Syaoran walk around every day would have bothered the princess—she still longed after his clone, after all. Yet he'd sensed from the boy's reaction to her that he didn't feel the same way. He cared for the princess, probably even loved her, but she'd been too lost in her grief to notice or care.

Part of him had wondered if she'd have fallen in love with this kid like she had the other one. A smaller, uglier part of him felt a twinge of jealousy over the idea that the boy would choose her, despite the coldness she'd shown him. But regardless of what would have happened, part of him felt guilty that they'd left the princess out of the loop so long. He couldn't get around the fact that his relationship with the boy would, at some point, become an obstacle for the girl's happiness.

Damn, love was complicated. Why did perfectly sane people feel the need to fall in love all the time?

Sakura shifted her weight, her posture becoming less rigid. "Kurogane-san, may I ask you something?"

"Go ahead." It's not like tonight's going to get any worse.

"I, um . . . I overheard some of what you and Fai-san were talking about. I was just wondering . . ."

"Yeah?" he said when she trailed off.

"Well . . . I was wondering if you were, maybe, in a relationship with someone?" The sentence ended on an upward inflection, turning it into a question.

Kurogane fidgeted. "It's . . . complicated."

"Oh." She frowned, seeming troubled. "I just thought that you and Fai-san might be . . . well . . . you know . . ."

He spluttered. Him and the mage? What the hell had given her that idea? He replayed his conversation with the idiot in his head, wondering how anyone could have drawn that conclusion.

The princess misjudged his reaction, holding her hands up in a soothing gesture. "I'm not judging. I mean, that sort of thing happened in Clow, too. My brother and Yukito-san—"

"I don't want to know!" He stood, clamping his mouth shut to keep from voicing the first few thoughts that flitted through his mind. After a moment, he managed a coherent sentence. "I'm not in a relationship with the mage."

"Oh. But . . ."

"But what?" he demanded, exasperated.

"But you two were talking about love confessions, right?"

He opened his mouth to deny it, then paused. If she'd woken up when Fai had started yelling, then she'd heard most of the conversation. That meant lying was out. Still, he didn't want her to find out—that would only widen the rift between everybody right now. But maybe he could steer the conversation away from the harder truths. "Yeah."

"So . . . are you in love with someone else?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure."

Her face fell a little. "Is it . . . someone in the city, then?"

"Yeah." Technically.

"Oh." She looked down. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Well, you still wish to return to your home world, right?" At his nod, she continued. "So that means you'll have to leave that person behind, even though they're precious to you."

"Uh . . . Yeah. I guess so." He hadn't thought about that much, either. That when he finally returned to Nihon, he'd leave them all behind. And as he thought about it, the guilt returned in force, twisting in his gut.

She nodded to herself. "I can see why it would be painful to confess your love to someone you may never see again." Her expression darkened. "But I think that other person would be happier if you were honest with them. Not knowing . . . I think not knowing for certain would feel even worse than being rejected."

She's thinking about the boy, he realized. Not the boy in the other room, but the one they'd lost. Jeez, no wonder she acts so cold to this kid. She's probably been wanting to ask him if the other kid loved her, but she doesn't want to hurt him anymore than she already has. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, sighing. "It's important to act on what you believe, not just talk about it. A love confession doesn't mean much if your actions don't back it up, but acting on it means plenty by itself. The important thing is knowing that person cares about you, whether or not they'll admit it."

Sakura glanced up, eyes widening. "You think so?"

"Yeah. 'Course I do."

Something flickered through her eyes. Something that had been absent ever since Tokyo. After a moment, she looked down, seeming to withdraw inside herself. "That makes sense." She looked up again, then bowed. "Thank you."

"Yeah." The ache in his chest eased just a little. "Don't mention it."