Chapter One-Hundred-Ten

A massive crash reverberated through the air, loud enough, Syaoran thought, to shake the earth itself. The eaves struck the floor like a massive hammer, annihilating everything they touched. The floor folded in on itself, breaking under the sudden weight, but even as Syaoran felt himself falling, one of the boards holding the roof up slammed into the back of Kurogane's head with a sickening thud. Syaoran slid downward, his body pressing into the fractured floor as Kurogane went limp, unconscious.

As suddenly as the noise had begun, it grew quiet.

"Kurogane-san?" His voice trembled. When he lifted his hand to touch the ninja's cheek, his fingers shook. Blood dripped down his arm, and he saw that there was a splinter sticking out of the back of his hand. He refocused on Kurogane's face. He protected me. "K-Kurogane-san . . . Please . . ." Syaoran closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. He could not say what he begged for, could not organize his thoughts well enough to say anything more complicated. "Please . . ."

His bloody hand—the other had been pinned by the rubble—found the ninja's jaw. Kurogane's skin felt cold, as if all the blood had seeped away from his face. As his hand moved up to probe the man's scalp, his fingers encountered an alarming wet spot at the back of his head. His breathing hitched, and he pressed his hands against the wetness as if he could push the blood back into place. A sob broke in the back of his throat. "I'm s-sorry. I'm so sorry. I d-didn't mean to say such horrible things. I still love you. I'm sorry." He closed his eyes, tears running hot down his cheeks. "I'm sorry . . ."

Kurogane didn't stir. If anything, his body grew more still as the rubble settled around them.

"Over here," a voice said, barely audible in the distance. Syaoran turned his head, then went still as the movement pushed several splinters into his face.

More voices followed the first, the words tangling together to form a din. Weakly, Syaoran started calling for help. When someone tried to open the door, however, the debris held it shut. Syaoran stared at the shaking door for a long moment, the edges of his vision fuzzing. "Help . . ." he said, his voice barely audible to his own ears. The fuzziness bordering his field of vision spread to cover everything. After a few seconds, Syaoran closed his eyes and let unconsciousness take him.

He woke, dazed, a few hours later. At once, a hand folded around his palm. Syaoran opened his eyes, but it took several seconds for his vision to come into focus. Aches and pains pulsed all over his body, and bandages chafed at his arms and legs. "What? Where . . ."

"You're in the infirmary." Only when a single, bright-blue eye entered his field of vision did Syaoran recognize the voice. "You were sitting on one of the patios and the roof collapsed."

"Fai-san?"

"You're all right, though. The worst should heal up within the week. How do you feel? I can ask Hinata-san to bring you something for the pain."

"I'm fine," he said, more out of habit than anything else.

Fai smiled, but a wrinkle of worry formed on his forehead. "I think you might want to take some painkillers anyway. I'll be right back, so stay here, okay?"

Syaoran said nothing, watching him go. Seconds (Minutes? Hours?) later, Fai returned with a steaming cup of tea. "This is willow-bark tea. Hinata-san says it should clear up the pain. Can you sit up?"

Gingerly, Syaoran braced his left hand—bruised, but not bandaged like his right—against the floor and rose into a sitting position. The movement intensified the aches in his body, but for having a roof collapse on him, he felt decent. He took the cup of tea and downed half of it. "It tastes like mint," he said, surprised.

"I think Hinata-san does that to disguise the medicinal flavors."

As Syaoran downed the rest of the drink, something occurred to him. His heart jumped. "You haven't said anything about Kurogane-san."

Fai hesitated just long enough for Syaoran to cringe in anticipation. No. No, he would have told me if . . . "He took a hard hit to the back of the head. No doubt he'll have a concussion," Fai said, his face blank. "We don't know when he'll wake up."

"But he will wake up." Won't he?

"In all likelihood, yes. Syaoran-kun . . ." The magician glanced away for a moment, a shadow falling across his face.

Syaoran fidgeted, leaning forward. "What is it?"

"Do you remember anything that happened before the roof collapsed on you? Anything that could have caused it?"

He frowned, puzzled by Fai's line of questioning and guilty for what had led to the disaster. "I pushed him into one of the support pillars. We both heard the crack, but I was so upset that I didn't think of going anywhere. I yelled at him."

"Over what?"

"He . . . He told me he'd rather run his sword through his chest than hurt me again. I hated the idea of him . . . sacrificing himself for me that way, so I started yelling, and . . ." His vision blurred with tears. "Where is he? Can I see him?"

Fai hesitated, then shook his head. "He's in another room, but you shouldn't be walking around just yet. Wait for the tea to kick in, at least."

Syaoran set his empty teacup down and started to stand despite the magician's suggestions. Fai's hand circled his arm, pushing him back onto the bedroll.

"I have to see him," Syaoran said, tugging his arm from the magician's grasp. Fai released him, frowning as Syaoran pushed himself to his feet. Pain radiated down his body, but he remained steady, shuffling toward the door and pulling it open. Fai followed him out, offering his arm for support. Syaoran took it. "Thank you."

A brittle smile appeared on Fai's face. "Take it easy now. We may not know when he'll wake, but it certainly won't be for a few more hours at least."

"I have to see him." The words echoed in his mind, over and over. He had to see Kurogane. He had to see. He'd shoved the man into one of the pillars holding up the roof. He'd spent those last minutes on the porch shouting at the ninja, expelling all his pain and frustration while the roof sagged above them. How could I put us at risk like that? He forced his feet to move forward despite the sudden pain in his chest. How could I have said such horrible things when all he wanted was to make things right again? How could I be such a monster?

"Here," Fai said, opening one of the doors. Syaoran stared through the doorway for a moment, eyes resting on the figure on the bedroll. A bandage wound around Kurogane's head, allowing only a few patches of spiky, black hair to stick through, and his face looked as pale as it had when he'd been brought here after their visit to Ceres.

Fai walked him into the room. Syaoran hoped the magician couldn't feel him shaking. When they reached the ninja's bedside, Syaoran sunk to his knees. His vision blurred with fresh tears; he couldn't remember ever crying so much in one day. I could have destroyed everything between us, he realized. Maybe I have.

What if he doesn't wake up? The possibility haunted him. He took Kurogane's hand, lifting it to his face. What if I've already said the last thing I'll ever say to him?

"I'll leave you two alone," Fai said, ghosting through the doorway. Syaoran didn't even glance up, and a moment later, the door slid shut. Alone, he pressed his forehead to the ninja's chest, mumbling apologies. Seared into his mind, his own words loomed over him in silent accusation. He could remember every sentence, could even recall which words he'd emphasized in his outburst, and that meant he could feel a stab of guilt for everything he'd said. He wanted to tell Kurogane that he hadn't meant for his words to come out as daggers, that he hadn't meant to make him feel hated or abandoned or unloved. But the truth—cold and cruel and awful—was that he had meant it that way. He'd wanted Kurogane to feel what he'd felt that night after the festival, and even though he regretted the words now, he couldn't change the fact that he'd gone out of his way to make them hurt.

So instead, he kept apologizing, kept begging for forgiveness despite the fact that Kurogane couldn't hear him. He apologized until his voice grew hoarse and his throat became dry, and then he curled up next to the ninja, shivering. Now and then, one of the healers would stop by to check on Kurogane's condition, but none of them tried to make him leave. In fact, they seemed unnaturally silent, as if they, too, blamed him for what had happened.

When night fell, Fai brought him a bundle of blankets and a bowl of soup. He said nothing as he dropped them off, but Syaoran could hardly mistake his intention. He ate, the soup sliding down his throat like oil. When he finished, he made a nest for himself next to Kurogane's bedroll and closed his eyes. Sleep eluded him for hours afterward.