Chapter One-Hundred-Eleven

Battle drums pounded in Kurogane's head. Have to get back to the castle, he thought, his hand reaching out in search of his sword. Aches and pains resonated throughout his body, and he concluded he must have been knocked off his horse. And if he'd fallen unconscious, that meant demons could be attacking Shirasagi Castle. Kurogane rolled, forcing his eyes open as a wave of pain made his vision go spotty.

"Not a chance," said a familiar voice. Kurogane looked up and saw three hazy figures looming over him. "You've had a serious accident. There will be absolutely no moving around until I say so."

The three indistinct figures resolved into one solid image: an older woman with black hair and appraising eyes. She looked familiar, but he couldn't recognize her. Must have hit my head when I fell off my horse, he thought, annoyed."Where am I?"

"Shirasagi Castle. The medical ward, specifically."

"What happened?"

"A roof fell on your head."

Kurogane blinked, not getting it. Obviously it was a joke—earthquakes happened in Nihon, and they could topple buildings, but Shirasagi Castle had been built to stand up to all but the most impressive quakes. The roof might have needed replacing afterward, but he doubted like hell that it would've collapsed onto his head without warning. "I don't get it."

"Can you tell me your name?" she asked.

"Aren't you supposed to know shit like that?"

"Please answer the question."

"My name is Kurogane, of Suwa. I'm one of Tomoyo's personal warriors; I protect her from demons and assassins."

"Basic memories appear to be in tact," the woman muttered, marking it down on a scroll. "What about more recent memories? Can you tell me what happened before the accident?"

"Why? Do I sound like I have brain damage?"

"Kurogane-sama, if you'd please recount your most recent memories so I can add those to the record."

He opened his mouth to tell her that he'd been out slaying demons when something stirred in his peripheral vision. He reached for his sword, growling when he found it missing, and focused on the figure as it leaned forward. "Can we give him a few minutes?" the boy asked, crouching over him. "I think he just needs a couple minutes to sort things out."

The woman eyed the boy for several seconds, then shrugged. "I do have other patients. I'll be back in fifteen minutes." Without another word, the woman departed, closing the door behind her.

"Who was she?" Kurogane asked, suddenly unsure whether his initial assumptions about what had happened were accurate.

"That's Hinata-sensei," the boy said, the hope in his eyes dimming. After a moment, he looked down, his face falling as if someone had informed him of the death of a loved one. "Do you . . . Do you know who I am?"

The kid did look familiar. Kurogane frowned, trying to reorder his jumbled thoughts. Snippets of memory flickered through his mind, starting as early as his childhood and rapidly progressing through adolescence, through the tragedy at Suwa, through his years of service under Tomoyo. And then beyond, to a more recent time. Being sent away; traveling to worlds so foreign that he'd stopped experiencing culture shock in favor of calm, if occasionally baffled, acceptance; visiting places as cheerful as Piffle world, where another version of Tomoyo lived, and as dreadful as Tokyo—Tokyo, that horrible, broken world with acid rain and no water, and the mage with one eye calling him by name, which somehow seemed so fucking weird, and the princess with hair the color of a sunset, and a brown-haired boy bearing a striking resemblance to the boy in front of him except for his mismatched eyes and cold, cold expression, and an egg-shaped, talking meat bun with floppy ears . . .

As the memories flooded back into his mind, he acquired a context for the boy's question, remembered a rainy day in a place called the Hanshin Republic when the princess had asked the boy—the other boy, not this one, even though they looked the same—who he was because she'd lost her memories of him forever.

But this boy—this boy he remembered clearly. This boy, who had always looked so sad and haunted that Kurogane had struggled not to pity him. This boy, who had thrown everything into chaos with a single kiss, who had allowed himself to be vulnerable under Kurogane's hands, who had loved Kurogane even when he'd failed to protect him, even when he'd injured the boy himself. This boy, who he loved, who he'd hurt, who by some miracle was sitting at his bedside.

"Of course I remember you," Kurogane said, eyebrows slanting. "I love you."

Relief flickered across the boy's face, and the tension went out of his body. Jeez, how hard did I hit my head? he wondered. Hard enough to jumble his thoughts for a while, sure, but permanently? The kid had been worried about him having permanent brain damage?

The boy's look of relief disappeared, swallowed up by guilt. "How much do you remember?"

"Everything," he said, then grimaced. "I think. Why?"

"You . . . When the roof fell on us, one of the beams hit your head and knocked you out. I was worried that you . . . wouldn't be the same when you woke up."

Cloudy as his mind was, it took him a moment for the words to register. "Us? The roof fell on both of us?"

Syaoran nodded, rolling up his sleeves. Bandages concealed one of his hands, and the other had several purple bruises. Kurogane stared, swallowing thickly. "I don't remember that part."

"The healers said that's normal. Memory loss leading up to the head injury, I mean. They say it happens almost every time someone gets a concussion, and that it's nothing to worry about. You . . . You saved me. If you hadn't covered me like you did, I'd have been hurt a lot worse."

That must be why he looks so guilty, Kurogane thought, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. He probably blames himself because I got hurt protecting him. "Hey."

The boy flinched and lifted his head. Kurogane ran his hand along the kid's shoulder, fingers tracing his neck before coming to rest on his cheek.

"Stop feeling guilty," he ordered. "It was my choice to cover you, even if I can't remember doing it, so it's not something you need to worry about."

Syaoran stared at him for several seconds, then hung his head. "That's not what I . . ." He paused to take a breath. "Before the roof collapsed, I said some awful things. Really awful. And then suddenly the overhang was falling apart, and you were there protecting me, and I couldn't believe . . . I just didn't want those to be the last words I ever said to you. I didn't mean them. I was just so . . . I'm sorry."

Kurogane arched an eyebrow, unable to make any sense of the explanation. "What exactly did you say that was so awful?"

The kid winced, falling silent. He drew back, away from Kurogane's hand, and curled up against the wall, staring at the floor. Frowning, Kurogane rolled toward him. A wave of vertigo followed the shift, and the pounding in his head intensified. Where are the healers when you need them? he wondered, reaching out to grab the kid's hand, holding it gingerly so as not to irritate the wounds under the bandages. "Tell me."

Syaoran met his eyes, then looked away again. "I . . . I said that I loved you. That I loved the way you looked at me when we were alone, and the way you said my name, and how you would hold me in your arms . . . arm. That I loved . . ." His voice began to tremble. "That I loved the f-fact that you could say you loved me and mean it. I . . . I'm sorry."

Kurogane blinked. "How is any of that awful?"

"Because I said it to hurt you." Syaoran's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I made it sound like I didn't love you anymore because I wanted to make you feel the same things I felt after our night at the festival. But I didn't mean any of it! I still love you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, and I'll never say anything like that again, so please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad," Kurogane said, squeezing the boy's hand. "I'm . . . relieved. I'm glad you finally lashed out at me for what I did." It felt strange to speak so openly about his feelings, but he figured that avoiding miscommunications took priority over avoiding awkwardness. "I just wish I could remember."

The boy shook his head. "I wish I could forget."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Kurogane spoke. "Can we call it even?"

For a moment, Syaoran stilled. Without a word, he laid down next to Kurogane, pressing his face into his chest. "Yes," Syaoran finally mumbled. "We can call it even."

"Good." Kurogane pulled him close, feeling as if the world had suddenly regained balance after being off-kilter for days. Ignoring the sparks of pain and dizziness the movement brought, he tilted his head down to press his lips against the boy's scalp.

Syaoran shuddered, but rather than pulling away, he leaned in, wrapping his arms around Kurogane's shoulders. "I love you."

Kurogane ran a hand down the kid's back. "Yeah. Love you, too."