Chapter One-Hundred-Eight
Days went by. Twelve days, not that Kurogane was counting. His last glimpse of the kid—curled up on his bedroll, eyes closed as he feigned sleep—haunted him. Kurogane had spent most of that day in his room, trying to ignore his cracked rib and hoping the boy would visit him . . . but also hoping he wouldn't. The following day, after another restless night, Kurogane spent the morning practicing his swordplay with a wooden bokken, hoping Tomoyo would bring him a new sword, as promised . . . and also hoping that she wouldn't. Then he spent the afternoon rationalizing his behavior, trying to snuff out his guilt by making himself believe that what had happened really wasn't his fault, then reminding himself that yes, it was his fucking fault and he deserved whatever ill came of it. Including the cracked rib, as irritating as it was.
He spent the next six days alternating between stewing in his room and working out his tension with the castle's practice swords. These solitary sessions became his primary means of dealing with the guilt and self-hatred as the days went on, and the more time he spent alone, the more brutal his drills became. He'd started out by going through old katas in an effort to reclaim the balance and agility he'd had before he'd lost his arm. By the eighth day, his bokken sliced through the air, blurring with speed as he hacked apart imaginary warriors. The empty room became a battlefield where he fought countless enemies until sweat ran in rivulets down his body.
On the ninth day, he started leaving notes on his bedroom door, telling anyone who stopped by to look for him in the practice rooms. No one came. He hadn't spoken to anyone since leaving flowers for the kid.
On the tenth day, he began to wonder if the boy had felt this miserable when they'd shunned him after Tokyo. Instead of practicing, Kurogane spent the morning in his room, reflecting on what Souma had said about empathy and wondering if the kid would take him back if he begged.
On the eleventh day, the door of the practice room slid open. Kurogane turned to it eagerly, hoping the boy had decided to visit him, then deflated when he saw that it was only a servant looking for one of the other ninja. She took one look at his face and fled, not even closing the door behind her. When she disappeared around a corner, Kurogane walked over and slid the door shut.
On the twelfth day, Kurogane thought, To hell with this, and went to see the kid. He strode down the hallways, his gait purposeful. Servants shied away when he passed, and he wondered if it was because he looked intimidating or because rumors had spread about his brutality. Not that he could blame anyone for fearing him.
He knocked on the kid's door, then flinched when the mage answered. Surprise flickered across the wizard's face, replaced almost instantly by a distant, guarded expression. "Is there something I can do for you?"
"Is the kid around?" he asked, peering through the doorway.
"He went to lunch a few minutes ago. You can come back later if—"
"Sure," he mumbled, already walking toward the dining hall. He heard the door shut behind him and wondered what the mage thought about all of this. He hadn't reverted to his old self—no lying smile, no evasive humor—but his greeting had been lukewarm at best.
As he reached the dining hall, he scanned the room for signs of the kid. Nobles occupied most of the tables, kneeling on cushions and discussing business with each other over trays of food. The festival had ended a few days ago, but many of the nobles lingered to finish making deals with each other. Thankfully, Kurogane didn't see the nobleman whose nose he'd broken. But he also didn't see the kid.
Come to think of it, he hadn't seen the kid at all, not even in the dining hall. Granted, Kurogane had developed a weird schedule over these past twelve days, but it seemed strange that he hadn't run into the boy even once. Unless he's avoiding you. And why wouldn't he be?
Kurogane sighed in disappointment. He marched through the dining room, still searching, then passed through the door on the opposite side of the room without catching a single glimpse of the kid.
As he stepped into the hallway, Souma walked past. She paused, turning toward him, and cocked her head to the side. "Haven't seen you in a while."
He shrugged. "It's a big castle."
Souma raised an eyebrow, but chose not to remark on the evasiveness of his response. "So, did the flowers work?"
"I don't know."
"How can you not know?"
"He was asleep when I stopped by. I haven't seen him since."
"Oh." Her eyebrows pinched together. "Well, he's out in the front garden if you want to see him now."
His heart leapt. "Really?"
"Yeah. He always goes outside for meals now."
So, that's why I haven't seen him in the dining hall. "Thanks," he said, hurrying toward the front garden.
"Hey," Souma called behind him. "What have you been up to these past few days?"
"I've been practicing fighting with one arm."
"Typical," she muttered as he flung the exterior door open. By force of habit, he shut it behind him, but most of his attention was focused on the slight figure sitting on the steps. Syaoran turned his head, eyes widening when he saw Kurogane looming over him. A grain of rice clung to the boy's lip, made sticky by the sauce that went with it.
The kid wiped his mouth, setting his bowl aside. "Good afternoon."
Kurogane's face fell. "Good afternoon." So formal. So . . . empty. Kurogane took half a step forward, opening his mouth before realizing that he had no idea what to say. The kid regarded him from the steps, his expression wary. "Was there something you needed?"
He flinched. Not knowing what to say, he sat on the steps beside the kid. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. "I wanted to see you."
"Why?"
"I . . . don't know. I wanted to see you, that's all." He lifted his hand to touch the kid's shoulder, then drew back, unsure if the boy would welcome the contact. "How are you?"
"Fine." Syaoran looked away.
"You got the flowers I left, right?"
"Yes."
"And . . . the other thing?"
"The outfit?" The kid's eyebrows lifted. "I've been meaning to ask about that, actually. Were you the one who stitched the laces back together?"
Kurogane grimaced, his voice taking on a defensive edge. "Sewing is a lot harder than women make it look."
"Is that why you used red thread on a black and gold outfit?" the boy asked, expressionless. "Or was that meant to symbolize the mythical red string of fate?"
It took Kurogane a moment to get the reference, and a moment more to recognize the bitter sarcasm beneath it. "It didn't look that bad," he said, then cursed himself for his tone. What right did he have to get defensive over this?
Syaoran's looked at his feet again. "I'd never have thought you'd bring me flowers."
"Yeah, well . . . Flowers are kind of standard for apologies, right?"
The kid nodded. "I don't mind the red thread, either. It looks kind of nice."
"Really?"
"No. But it . . . it means a lot to me."
Kurogane made a mental note to thank Souma for the advice.
"Kurogane-san, I was wondering . . ."
"Yeah?" he asked, wary.
A pink tint appeared on the kid's cheeks, and he fidgeted where he sat, kneading the palm of one hand with his fingers. "Do you promise not to yell?"
The request for reassurance gave him pause. "I won't yell."
"I've been thinking about this since the festival. I mean, not all the time, but it's come up while I've been thinking of other things, and I wanted to . . . discuss it."
"What is it?"
The kid took a deep breath, staring at the ground. The words came out in a rush. "Can I be on top next time?"
In the moment of silence that ensued, Kurogane struggled to wrap his head around the idea. He couldn't picture it—or, rather, he could, but that picture looked ridiculous. All this time, the kid had played the submissive role, surrendering to whatever Kurogane did. The boy had started the relationship, true, as well as many of the encounters within it, but he'd always ceded control when it came to sex, enduring rather than leading.
The implications of the question hit Kurogane like a punch to the gut. If he hadn't taken the lead so often, maybe the kid would've felt confident enough to refuse him. Maybe their night at the festival wouldn't have taken such a brutal turn. Kurogane studied the boy's face, seeing the ghost of fear behind the embarrassment. No smile, no excitement, only the look of someone who expected rejection.
When Kurogane didn't respond after a few seconds, the boy began speaking rapidly. "I thought that maybe, if you wanted to, we could try it. It's not so bad. If you're careful, it barely even hurts. But if you don't want to—"
Kurogane pressed his hand to the boy's mouth, stopping the flood of words. "You really want that?"
The kid's eyes darted around, never finding his face. After a moment, though, the boy nodded.
"All right then." Kurogane peeled his hand away from the kid's mouth. "You can be on top next time. But not tonight."
Worry flitted across Syaoran's face. "Why not tonight?"
"Souma told me that I should work on fixing the relationship before we started doing any of that."
"Oh." Syaoran frowned, folding his hands in his lap. "It isn't fixed, then?"
He hesitated, then tousled the kid's hair. "I don't think so. We might have a ways to go before it is." He allowed his fingers to tangle in the boy's hair for a moment, relishing in the way the kid relaxed under his touch. "There's one other thing we need to talk about first."
"Okay." A pair of dark brown eyes panned up to his face. "What is it?"
"I need to tell you something, but you can't freak out until I'm done, got it?"
Uncertainty glinted in the boy's eyes. "Okay. Tell me."
Kurogane took a breath, withdrawing his hand. "What happened between us that night was wrong. I had no right to hurt you, no right to use you like that. I never thought that I could do something like that to you, and I don't . . . I don't know where it came from. So I need you to promise me something: if I ever cross a line like that, no matter what it is or what we're doing, you need to tell me to stop."
Syaoran drew back, surprise flitting across his face. But he nodded. "I promise."
"Good." He leaned forward, letting his damaged shoulder brush against the kid's. It still throbbed sometimes, but most of the pain had faded. As the kid rested his head against Kurogane's chest, the ache in his heart began to fade, too.