Chapter One-Hundred-Nine

"I missed this," Syaoran whispered, letting his head rest against Kurogane's collarbone. In the shade of the eaves, he lifted his hand, fingertips tracing a line down the ninja's arm. As Syaoran touched the crease of his elbow, Kurogane reached up to take his hand, massaging his knuckles between his thumb and forefinger. "I haven't seen you in almost two weeks," Syaoran continued. "I thought you'd visit me sooner."

Kurogane remained quiet, studying Syaoran's hand, his thumb rubbing circles on his palm. He didn't answer the unspoken question.

Eventually, Syaoran broke the silence. "Have you been busy?" Perhaps Tomoyo had needed him for something.

"No." Kurogane grimaced. "I spent the past few days practicing fighting with only one hand."

"Oh." He looked away, a pang of disappointment shooting through his chest. He'd hoped to hear that the ninja had tried to seek him out before today. "I see. Have you made any progress?"

Kurogane shrugged. "Some. It's hard to practice with a cracked rib."

His head snapped up. "When did that happen?" It couldn't have been at the festival; the scuffle had been too one-sided for that. Had he suffered an injury sparring one of the other ninja?

Kurogane's eyes settled on his face. "You don't know?"

He shook his head.

"After you left that night, the wizard found me in the practice room and used his magic on me."

Syaoran froze. When Fai had returned, he'd claimed he and Kurogane had discussed that night's events. The magician had given no indication that anything worse had happened, and the idea that he'd not only attacked, but actually injured Kurogane left Syaoran speechless.

"Not that I blame him. Hell, if I'd been in his place, I'd have kicked the shit out of me, too."

Syaoran stared, at a loss. "He didn't tell me." His voice sounded distant to his ears, like an echo. His shoulders sagged as he pulled away. "Where are you hurt?"

"Don't worry about it. It was barely a crack. It doesn't even hurt anymore. In fact," Kurogane tilted his head back, but the move seemed too casual, "I wouldn't mind sparring someone right now. Haven't talked to anyone for days now." The corner of his lip lifted into a half-smile—about as close to a real smile as Kurogane ever got—and his gaze once again came to rest on Syaoran.

He's asking me to spar with him, he realized, drawing back. His eyes flickered to the ninja's chest, as if he'd be able to discern where Kurogane had been injured, but his mind returned to the night of the festival. Unwillingly, he remembered Kurogane's hand wrapped around his arms, his fingers leaving bruises that had taken days to fade. Without a conscious thought, he lifted his hand to his arm, remembering how tender it had felt the morning after. "I don't think sparring is a good idea," he said quietly.

A long silence followed his refusal. Kurogane looked away, folding his arm over his lap. After a few minutes, Syaoran plucked up the courage to speak. "Would you really have stopped if I'd asked you to?"

For a long moment, Kurogane didn't answer. When he finally spoke, the words came slowly. "I don't know. I'd like to think so."

"I see." Well? whispered a voice in the back of his mind. What did you expect? He told you that the violence was part of who he was. You knew from that first kiss back in Infinity that being with him would only hurt you in the end. And you know he's capable of worse. He took a breath. "If I wanted to leave you, would you let me?"

Kurogane hesitated, then sighed. "Yeah. But I'd beg you not to."

His head whipped around, but when he looked into Kurogane's eyes, he saw only sincerity. He's not joking. He would beg me not to leave him. Syaoran leaned back, feeling as if he'd swallowed poison. "Would you really?" he asked, still not believing it.

"These past few days have been the worst of my life. If you want me to beg, I'll beg."

"No," he whispered, moisture budding in the corners of his eyes. The worst days of his life? The worst? After everything that's been done to him? After everything he's lost? "No . . ."

"I'll run a sword through my heart before I hurt you like that again. I swear it on—"

"Stop!" Syaoran shot to his feet, tears trailing down his face. Kurogane lifted his head, eyes wide. "Enough! Stop . . ." Syaoran staggered backward until his shoulders hit one of the support pillars. "Stop."

Kurogane stood, his expression unreadable. I can't believe he'd say that, Syaoran thought, throat tightening."How could you?" he whispered, feet rooted in place. "How could you make a promise like that? How could you think that sticking a sword through your heart would be any better than hurting me again?" His tears spilled freely now, twelve days of emotion rushing out. "How could you think that would make it right?"

Kurogane opened his mouth, but instead of words, only a soft, uncertain noise escaped his throat. He floundered a moment longer, then closed his mouth again, hand tightening into a fist. Aghast, Syaoran turned away so he wouldn't have to see the shame etched onto the ninja's face. And in turning away, he rejected without words the only person who had outright admitted to loving him.

"Kid . . ."

"I want to be alone."

Footsteps sounded on the porch. "Kid—"

Syaoran whirled, raising his hands and shoving Kurogane's chest. The ninja staggered backward, his arm wheeling as if to recapture his balance. He ended up crashing into one of the pillars, making the wood splinter. The tiled rooftop above remained in place, but from the way the floor shuddered as the pillar buckled, Syaoran doubted it would hold long. He didn't care. "I loved you!" he shouted, watching the words tear into Kurogane. His own heart twisted in anguish. "I loved everything you were, everything we had together! I loved the way you looked at me when we were alone. I loved the way you said my name. I loved it when you held me in your arms. I loved the way you smelled. I loved it when you kissed me for no reason. I loved the fact that you could say you loved me back and mean it. I loved you!"

The overhang creaked every time Kurogane flinched, but Syaoran paid it no heed. It hurt to know that, after everything, Kurogane would think that sacrificing himself would be a better alternative than harming him. It hurt to feel so many emotions, so intensely, and it hurt worse to see it hurting someone he loved. But the words were out, laced with pain and accusation, and he couldn't take them back.

"You don't love me anymore," Kurogane said, his voice soft. "Do you?"

Syaoran opened his mouth, only to find that he had no words. His chest heaved, lungs convulsing in a sob. A damp spot formed between his shoulders as sweat seeped into his clothes. Belatedly, he realized how loudly he'd been shouting.

"Kid . . . Syaoran."

He flinched, guilt slicing through him like a knife. "Don't."

"Just listen." Kurogane straightened, stepping forward. As he took his weight off the cracked pillar behind him, the fissure widened, shooting up the length of the beam and into the ceiling. They both looked up, the sound of splintering wood growing louder and louder as the support beam gave way behind Kurogane. As the roof sagged, the noise reached a peak, the pillar snapping like a tree rotted from the inside out. The roof is going to fall, Syaoran realized, frozen where he stood. We're going to be crushed.

Another support beam further down the line cracked, giving way just like the first. Syaoran saw Kurogane's head whip around, his eyes widening as the same awful realization hit him. This is it? After surviving Tokyo, Infinity, Ceres . . . this is how it ends?

Something struck his side, throwing him to the floor. He gasped, the air rushing out of his lungs as, all at once, the roof over the porch shuddered. Splinters rained down on the floor where a fissure had split the floorboards like dozens of torn laces. The force that had knocked him to the side continued to propel him toward the crack in the floor, and something warm wrapped around him like restraints. When he instinctively struggled to free himself, Kurogane's voice sounded next to his ear. "Stay down. I'll cover you."

What? His response died in his throat as the words sunk in. Kurogane hadn't pushed him out of the way of the collapsing overhang—couldn't, because the railing was in the way. No, Kurogane meant to keep him from being crushed in the rubble by using his own body as a shield against the falling roof. "No," Syaoran whispered, looking into his eyes. "Please, no."

"It's going to be all right," Kurogane said. "I—"

The overhang collapsed.