Chapter Ninety-Eight
Syaoran tied the belt around his waist, staring at himself in the garden's reflecting rock. Sora had ambushed him with an assortment of new outfits early this morning after Syaoran had (somewhat foolishly) asked him whether he'd be expected to wear something formal for the festival. Sora had responded by gushing about several new outfits and insisting that he try each of them on. Out of courtesy, Syaoran had agreed.
He was starting to regret that decision.
"This one complements your skin tone," Sora said, nodding. "It would have to be tailored, but the style works well with your body type. What do you think?"
"I like the accents." He lifted one drooping sleeve. Tassels ringed the opening, tickling his wrist when he moved.
"As do I," Sora said. "But let's try the next one before we decide. It's got some gold stitching along the front that I think you would just adore."
"Um . . . I guess so."
Sora stooped down, pulling a flowing white garment from his basket. As he did, a shadow fell across the grass. Instinctively, Syaoran tensed, turning toward the figure behind him and shifting into a subtle fighting stance.
"Not bad, kid," Kurogane said, eyeing him with surprise and approval. "But you still need to pay better attention to your surroundings. You should have sensed me long before you saw my shadow."
He relaxed, his expression warming. "Good morning."
"My lord Kurogane," Sora said, bowing. "It is an honor to meet you in person. I was just helping Syaoran-sama select an outfit for the festival."
Syaoran jumped a little at the honorific. Only rarely in his childhood had he been referred to as "Syaoran-sama," and those instances had occurred only when he'd been in the company of his Sakura. He understood now that the people at Shirasagi Castle regarded Kurogane in much the same way as the people of Clow saw their princess. I never realized how high a position Kurogane held in his world, he thought. It makes sense, though. To protect a member of the royal family . . . of course he would be respected.
Beside him, Kurogane studied the clothes Sora had laid out. He stepped forward, grabbing the sleeve of one outfit and rubbing it between his fingers. "Please feel free to look at any of these" Sora said, sounding eager. "I'd love to get your opinion."
If Kurogane heard, he gave no indication. He walked over to another outfit, studying it for a moment, brushing his fingertips across the fabric. "You spent a lot of time on these."
Sora beamed. "Oh, yes. I designed every piece myself."
"The fabric is a bit sheer for this early in the year."
The man's smile faltered. "These were meant for summertime, actually, but I think with proper underclothes, they would be warm enough."
Kurogane paused, absorbing that. Then he picked up a black tunic with maroon trim. "Hey kid, have you tried this one on yet?"
Syaoran nodded.
"And? Does it look good?"
He hesitated, taking the slippery fabric in his hands. Black silk. "They all look good."
Kurogane raised an eyebrow. "Does it fit?"
"The sleeves need to be tailored," Sora interjected. "It fits the rest of his body well."
The ninja nodded and turned toward Sora. "Can you have that done before the festival starts tonight?"
The man shot up onto his tiptoes, eyes shimmering with excitement. "Absolutely! I'll just have to take measurements and track down my apprentice. Have you met Ayame? Big eyes, wears pigtails?" When no one responded, he went on. "She can sew like no one I've ever seen before. It's almost magical. She'll be able to fix the sleeves in no time. Now, Syaoran-sama, hold still." He flitted over to stand in front of Syaoran and started taking measurements. "Yes, there. And there. Good. Very doable. Let's just try that outfit on once more so I can get a clear idea of how the sleeves should be done. You should be able to remove the one you're wearing now if you just untie the belt and loosen the ties on the top."
He hesitated, his eyes snapping to where Kurogane stood a few feet away. The red-eyed man studied him, leaning against the trunk of a sakura tree with his elbow propped against a low branch. Petals drifted down around him, some clinging to the simple white robe he wore.
A blush crept across Syaoran's cheeks. He'd spent the better part of two hours dressing and undressing out in the open so he could see how he looked in front of the garden's reflecting rock, but it felt strange to contemplate doing that now, with his lover standing just a few feet away as another man asked him to strip.
Hands shaking, he untied the belt around his waist, folding it up and laying it on the blanket Sora had laid out to keep the clothes from touching the ground. As he set it down, he glanced at the ninja. Red eyes stared back at him, glinting with interest.
Syaoran inhaled, forcing his fingers to stop trembling. He started untying the knots holding the front of his tunic together, his blush deepening each time he dared look up to see Kurogane still watching him.
When he'd stripped himself of everything except his underclothes, Sora handed him the black outfit. Syaoran dressed quickly, face burning. Fortunately, Sora helped him with the laces, tying them in what Syaoran imagined to be a special, aesthetically-pleasing series of knots. Unfortunately, that meant he had nothing to do with his hands, and therefore nothing to keep him from focusing on the ninja watching him dress. Why is he looking at me like that?
It occurred to him that Kurogane might have intervened to make sure he chose something fitting for the occasion, though Syaoran doubted Sora would supply him with anything inappropriate. Or perhaps Kurogane had overheard his polite attempts to staunch the never-ending flow of new clothes and decided to rescue him before he spent the next four hours trying on different ensembles. But why stay? He gave his opinion. He can't possibly be staying in order to make sure our outfits match, can he? Kurogane was self-aware enough to know that he had too little experience with fashion to do anything more complicated than matching colors. If he weren't for his current outfit, Syaoran would have doubted the man owned anything that wasn't black, save for the hakama he'd worn in Outo, which he'd selected for the familiar style rather than color.
"Perfect," Sora said, finishing the knots and stepping aside so Syaoran could see his reflection on the black rock. The dark fabric slimmed his figure, making him look tall and willowy. When Kurogane walked over to his side, dressed in the white robes he'd been wearing since he'd left the medical wing, Syaoran realized he had chosen the black outfit so that they would contrast, not match. Such a simple idea, yet the intensity of the contrast provided an aesthetic appeal all its own. "Well?" Sora asked. "What do you think?"
"We look perfect together," Syaoran said without thinking. At once, the blush returned, dyeing his face a deep crimson. He looked away from the glossy rock, turning his face toward Kurogane's chest. The ninja rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.
"Yeah. Let's go with that."
"Great." Sora hurried over to his basket, picking up a scroll and writing something down. Syaoran undressed quickly, donning his day clothes. "That should be all I need. I'll have Ayame drop it off in your room by dusk, if that's all right." When no one objected, he gathered his things in his basket and started toward the castle.
Alone in the secluded section of the garden, Syaoran found the courage to speak. "I didn't know you knew so much about fashion."
Kurogane stared at him. "Huh?"
"Well . . . The contrasting colors complement each other very well. It's so simple, but it really stands out, especially with the way the silk catches the light."
The ninja quirked one eyebrow. "Okay . . ."
"You . . . did all that by accident, didn't you?" He deflated, feeling absurdly disappointed. "I did like that one, although the laces in the front are going to be a little hard to tie and untie."
"I know. That was the whole point."
What? He'd have expected Kurogane to prefer something simpler. In fact, all logic and experience dictated that Kurogane would choose something easy to slip in and out of over something with complicated knots. "Why?" Syaoran asked, baffled.
Kurogane lifted his hand to tilt Syaoran's head up and leaned forward so his lips were at his ear. "Because," he purred, and the hair on the back of Syaoran's neck stood up, "more knots means I get to spend longer undressing you after the festival."
"Oh. That's . . . Uh . . ." He trailed off as the ninja's lips skimmed across his neck. Kurogane's hand slipped between them and slid downward, eventually closing around Syaoran's thigh. A spot of heat flared to life in his chest, part panic and part arousal. "Wow."
"After the festival," Kurogane said, stepping back. His eyes glinted with amusement. "Unless you don't think you can wait that long."
He opened his mouth, struggling to breathe. He felt almost dizzy, too stunned to respond. A dozen fantasies played out in his mind, vivid enough to make him wonder, not for the first time, just what was wrong with him.
"I'll see you tonight," Kurogane said, a faint smile flickering across his lips. It was gone in a second, fleeting, like all his genuine smiles. He turned and headed back toward the castle, leaving Syaoran hyperventilating in the garden.