Author's Notes:

Warning: This chapter contains some explicit content, but no actual smut.

Chapter One-Hundred-Three

He turned away from me. Syaoran's eyes fixed upon Kurogane's back, following the broad sweep of his shoulders before trailing down his spine. A few shallow lines marked his back where Syaoran's fingernails had caught him as he'd struggled, and one shoulder remained covered in bandages, as did his side. Syaoran started to reach out to him, then stopped and rolled onto his side, facing away from the man who had hurt him, the man he loved.

His next breath bordered on a sob, which he stifled by pressing his face into the mattress. He waited to feel the comforting touch of Kurogane's hand on his shoulder, waited to hear the murmured apology or inquiry about his sorry state, waited to sense the ninja's gaze on his skin. But Kurogane gave him none of those things, so he resolved to lie there quietly.

Fluid trickled out of his body, although he wasn't sure how much was semen and how much was blood. Bruises darkened his arms, his mouth, and his neck from when Kurogane had held him down. He'd scarcely noticed them before, but as his shock waned, those smaller pains became more pressing. The bite in his shoulder bled sluggishly, throbbing. I should clean that, he thought. He'd read that human bites were among the most dangerous, at least in terms of infection.

He started to sit up, then laid down when the movement sent a jolt of pain through his battered body. Fresh tears budded in his eyes, and he breathed in, trying to push the discomfort aside. If he could just get up, make his way to the baths where he could wash out his wounds . . . maybe, in the morning, they could pretend this hadn't happened.

Behind him, he heard Kurogane shift. He froze, breathing shallowly, then craned his neck to look over his shoulder. The ninja hadn't turned toward him, but the tension of his back made it clear he was awake. A part of him longed to touch him, to lay close beside him, whatever he'd done. The rest of him resisted, unwilling to risk more pain, more violence. The minutes slipped past, neither of them moving, until Syaoran plucked up the courage to speak. "Kurogane-san?"

The ninja stiffened, still not looking at him. "What?"

He swallowed hard, something writhing and twisting inside his chest. "I . . . Could you please bring me a washcloth and a bucket of water?"

Finally, Kurogane rolled toward him. Surprise lit in his eyes as he took in Syaoran's injuries, as if he hadn't inflicted them himself. Slowly, his expression shifted to worry, then to guilt. "I hurt you."

Syaoran broke eye contact, shivering as troubled eyes skimmed over him. "I'm sorry. You were mad. I thought you might feel better if we—"

"Don't." Kurogane sat up, grabbing the clothes he'd discarded earlier. "Don't apologize. Not . . . not for this." To Syaoran's astonishment, his voice wavered. "Stay here. I'll get you some water to wash with." As he finished dressing, he rose and hurried through the door, leaving it open as he disappeared into the hallway.

Syaoran pulled the sheets over his body to cover himself. Then, since no one would see him under the blankets, he allowed a few more tears to slip from his eyes.

Kurogane moved through the palace, keeping his pace deliberate but unhurried. Few people walked the halls—the festival would continue until morning and start again before it even ended. They'd left after barely half an hour, leaving the other party-goers to enjoy their night.

We should have stayed, he thought, entering one of the castle's bathhouses. Maybe then I wouldn't have hurt him. In the dim light, he'd only seen the outlines of the bruises, but the faint scent of blood had told him he'd been much rougher than he'd intended. Worse, he'd made the kid cry. And ignored him until he reached out to you, whispered a cruel voice in the back of his mind. What the hell is wrong with you?

At this hour, and with such warm weather, the indoor bathhouses would be empty except for the occasional servant. That gave him the opportunity to grab a bucket from the stack in the corner and fill it with soapy water without anyone seeing him. He dropped a washcloth in the container and started for his room again, relieved when he made it there with no interruptions.

The kid had pulled the sheets over himself, but had otherwise remained still. Kurogane paused at the doorway, grimacing as the boy's eyes panned up to meet his. His lips looked swollen, and from what little Kurogane could see of the rest of his body, that was the least of his bruises.

How could I do this? he wondered, horrified at himself. How could he have become, even for a moment, the monster Tomoyo had banished? How could he have come so far and then thrown it all away for nothing?

"Kid, I . . ." he began, then trailed off, sick with guilt.

"It's all right." The kid looked away. "I know you didn't mean to . . ."

Does it matter if I didn't mean to hurt him? he wondered. It doesn't change what happened. It doesn't fix what's been broken. His hand tightened around the bucket's handle. He knelt next to the mattress and pulled the washcloth out of the bucket. "Where are you hurt?" he asked, half-expecting the kid to say "everywhere."

"Here." The kid pulled Kurogane's hand toward a bite on his shoulder.

Wincing, Kurogane began cleaning out the wound. He could vaguely remember biting the kid after he'd forced him onto the mattress, but he hadn't thought the wound would be this deep. He'd barely tasted blood when he'd inflicted it. He tried to make up for it now by being as gentle as he could, but he'd seen the damage infected bites could do, and he couldn't exactly be thorough if he held back.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked as he scrubbed harder.

"No," Syaoran said quickly. Too quickly. He's trying to make me feel better about this, he realized, sickened. I hurt him, and he's trying to make me feel better.

He dropped the washcloth back into the water, swishing it around, then wringing it out as best as he could with one hand. "Where else are you hurt?"

The boy hesitated, then ran his fingertips along his sides. The damage here wasn't nearly as bad—Kurogane had raked his fingernails along the boy's ribs, but had only broken skin in a few places. He ran the washcloth across the scratches, moving slowly, soothing rather than scrubbing. The kid stayed silent, staring into the distance. After a time, he leaned against Kurogane's shoulder, seeking comfort. Kurogane pressed his face to the kid's hair, selfishly taking reassurance in the way the boy leaned against him. As soon as he dared to wrap his arm around the kid's shoulder, however, Syaoran pulled away. "I think . . . I can handle the rest on my own. I'm sorry about the mattress. I can wash it tomorrow . . ."

Kurogane glanced down. A few droplets of blood marred the mattress, some smeared, others mere spots of red. As his eyes followed the trail of blood, a new sense of horror swept through him. While some of the blood had found its way to the mattress, the rest dripped down the boy's legs, a mark of all the different ways he'd been ripped apart tonight. Kurogane stared for several seconds, only looking away when the boy shifted self-consciously.

"Don't worry about the mattress." Kurogane took a breath, handing the kid the wet washcloth. "It wasn't your fault." He doesn't even want me to touch him, he thought, an ache growing in his chest.

The boy said nothing. Kurogane's eyes focused in on a single drop of blood on the mattress. Well, you really fucked it up this time, didn't you? "Kid . . . Syaoran . . ."

"You don't have to say it."

"I'm sorry."

"I know." The boy took a breath, lowering his voice. "I know."

"Please . . ." His voice shook. Not with fear. With self-hatred. He closed his eyes. "Please, let me fix this."

Syaoran shook his head. "You told me that if I wanted you to stop, all I had to do was say so. I could have ended it anytime."

Goddamn it, the kid was not about to twist this around to make it seem like it was his own fault. Kurogane grit his teeth. "It shouldn't have mattered—I knew I was hurting you. I shouldn't have let things get out of hand. I . . ." He looked away. "What I did wasn't just spiteful. It was cruel. And wrong. I knew that, I . . ." He trailed off, feeling an unfamiliar stinging in his eyes.

Syaoran wrung out the washcloth and began wiping the blood from his thighs. Kurogane looked away, giving the boy his privacy, since he'd taken everything else from him. Several minutes passed in silence, disrupted only by the occasional sloshing of water. After a while, Kurogane bundled the sheets into a roll. He'd seen a lot of blood in his lifetime. It had never sickened him as much as it did now. "I'm going to take these out of here," he said, his voice unsteady. "Do you want me to bring you anything?"

Water splashed as the boy dropped the washcloth back in the bucket. "Could you . . . bring me some clothes? The outfit I had before is a little torn up."

Kurogane glanced at the pile of clothes lying next to the mattress. The front of the boy's top looked as if it had gone through the shredder. Another thing I ruined tonight. He turned away, his hand clenching into a fist. "Fuck."

"It's okay if you don't want to," the boy said quickly, eyeing his fist. "I can wear this one back to my room tomorrow and then find something else."

Kurogane walked over to where the kid sat. Syaoran shied away, making himself small. He's afraid of me. The thought brought a sour taste to his mouth. No. I made him afraid of me. He knelt, bringing himself down to the boy's level, and took his hand. "Anything," he whispered. "I'd do anything for you."

The kid met his eyes, shoulders hunched. "Could you . . . hold me, for a minute?" His voice broke. "I . . . You turned away from me before, and I thought . . . I thought . . ."

He wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulders and pulled him close. "I love you." He whispered the words, putting all his emotion behind them. "I want to take it all back. I want to go back in time and stop myself to make sure this didn't happen. And I can't. I'm sorry."

"I forgive you."

He froze, his breath catching. He pulled back just enough to see the boy's face. "What?"

"I forgive you." The boy met his eyes. "I don't want us to be at odds. We're so close to facing our enemy. We don't have time to be upset with each other. So . . . I forgive you."

Kurogane said nothing, pulling the kid closer. Somehow, the boy's easy forgiveness only made him feel worse. How could he let the boy forgive him when he couldn't even forgive himself?

"I'll go get your clothes," he said quietly, grabbing the bundle of bloody sheets from the floor. He hurried out of the room, relieved to find the hallway empty. And if he needed a few seconds to wipe the wetness from his eyes, well, that was his own damn business.