Chapter One-Hundred-Fourteen

The boy unscrewed the cap of the tube, being careful not to spill the liquid within. Neither of them knew why the mechanical arm had been suspended in the odd-smelling fluid, but Kurogane had assumed it involved some sort of preservation process, and it relieved him to see the kid taking care not to let it spill. "Ready?" the kid asked timidly, tipping the tube toward Kurogane. He nodded, dipping his hand into the liquid and pulling the prosthetic arm out. He eyed the dripping limb for a moment, then sloughed off his tunic.

"Help me make sure it stays in place. If it's out of alignment, it's going to hurt like hell."

The boy nodded, crouching beside him as Kurogane guided the shoulder joint of the arm to his damaged flesh. As soon as he did, a cluster of tiny tubes reached out from the metal plate at the top of the arm, probing at his skin. Kurogane resisted the urge to squirm—the tubes felt like little bugs poking at his skin, searching for some point of entry, and once they found a place, they stuck to him like they had glue coming out the bottom. Numbness spread through the flesh around the probes, but he could still sense them invading his skin and anchoring themselves deeper into his shoulder. He grit his teeth. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it was an alien feeling, outside the realm of his experience, and that alone was enough to make him uneasy.

Probes in place, the arm shifted, the metal shoulder joint somehow changing shape to fit around the bone and tissue that had been left behind. More tubes reached out from the sides of it, wrapping around what was left of his real shoulder and burying themselves under his skin just as the first set had. Kurogane grimaced, watching the raised trails settle as the tubes readjusted under his skin.

"Is it over?" Syaoran asked, his voice small. He looked a little pale.

"Yeah, I think so." Cautiously, he tried to flex his arm. The elbow joint responded a quarter of a second slower than his normal arm did, and he could see the muscles—fibrous cords of some synthetic material—bunch up whenever he moved the arm. It felt heavier than his other arm, although that might have been because he hadn't been exercising the left side of his body much since Ceres. He curled his fingers, watching the muscles along his forearm tense.

"How does it feel?" the boy asked, staring at his arm.

"Strange." He could feel where his arm and all of its components were, just as he'd been able to feel where his real arm had been. With the numbness in his shoulder wearing off, he could feel a slight ache, which was a hell of a lot better than the lancing pain he'd expected, given all the probes that had burrowed into his flesh. "But not bad."

"That's . . . That's good." The kid leaned forward, reaching toward the arm. His hand hovered over Kurogane's palm for a moment, and he looked up as if searching for permission. Kurogane rotated his hand—that felt weird—and brushed his fingertips across the back of the boy's hand. A shiver ran up his spine at the sensation. He could feel the texture of the kid's skin, could feel the delicate bones in his hand, could even feel the slight bumps of the most prominent veins. But, most shocking of all, he could feel the warmth of his body, an alarming contrast to the coolness of his own arm.

Syaoran looked up when he tensed, then froze, eyes widening. A flurry of emotion crossed his face, bouncing from alarm to relief to sadness and then cycling through a series of other emotions, too fast for Kurogane to identify. At the end, he looked away, withdrawing his hand and folding it in his lap.

"You don't like it," Kurogane guessed, surprised by the surge of disappointment he felt.

"I like it," the boy said, almost by reflex. When Kurogane gave him a flat stare, he elaborated. "It's . . . It's a little . . . discomfiting." He looked away, swallowing thickly.

"I see." Kurogane sat back, crossing his arms—and that, at least, felt natural.

"I'm sorry." The boy wrapped his arms around his chest, still averting his eyes. Kurogane reached out with his right arm—the real one—and ran his thumb across the kid's cheek. Neither of them spoke, but after a few minutes, Syaoran crawled into his lap and rested his head against his collarbone. "You're not upset?"

"Of course I'm upset. But that's not your problem."

The boy winced, then hesitantly reached out to touch the corded muscles of the mechanical arm. "It's not so bad. I'm sure . . . I could get used to it."

Kurogane lifted his new hand and let it trail down the boy's arm, watching his face for any signs of discomfort. When the kid remained still, he spoke. "How does this feel?"

"Fine."

"And this?" He wrapped his fingers around the boy's upper arm.

"That's fine."

"Not too tight?"

"No."

"Good." He moved his hand upward, tracing a line along the boy's clavicle before pressing his palm against the boy's neck, where the pulse was strongest. "And this?"

Syaoran shivered, leaning forward. With effort, he said, "That's fine, but . . ."

Kurogane removed his hand. "But?"

"But you're making me feel . . ." He trailed off, and Kurogane wondered how he'd been planning on finishing that sentence. A few words came to mind: uncomfortable, scared, uneasy, disgusted. His heart thumped, and he stared at one of the tree roots so he wouldn't have to look the kid in the eye.

"Just say it. Whatever it is, I can take it."

"You're making me . . . want you."

His head snapped up, pride blazing in his chest. "Really?"

The kid nodded. "But I don't want to do anything here. Not with . . ." He glanced up, his face vibrant red, and suddenly Kurogane remembered that they weren't sitting under just any tree—they were sitting under the tree where the princess slept, soulless and unable to wake.

"Right. Got it." He paused. "Do you want to go inside, or . . ."

"I'd like that. Do I still get to be on top?"

Kurogane blanched; he couldn't help it. He supposed he could pretend he'd forgotten that part of their conversation on the steps, given that he'd been knocked out shortly thereafter, but that would mean going back on his word. You agreed to this, he reminded himself. No getting out of it now. "Sure. Whatever you want."

Syaoran smiled, leaning forward until their lips met. Kurogane kissed him back, wrapping both arms around the boy's chest. He felt lightheaded, and he wondered if he was still suffering the effects of having a roof collapse on his head, or if it was from the way his heart raced at the brief contact. Gods, he'd missed this. The kiss deepened, his grip tightening. "Too tight," Syaoran said, breaking away. Kurogane frowned, then let his arms drop when he realized his mechanical arm had been digging into the kid's back.

"Shit. You okay?"

"I'm fine. Just . . . please be careful."

Kurogane nodded, running his thumb over the boy's temple. "We should go inside."

"Right." They stood, starting for the castle. After a few steps, the boy took his mechanical hand, running his thumb over the rough material. "Do you think Fuuma-san knows anything about how we're supposed to care for this?"

"Why would he? He just delivered the thing."

"I know, but . . . But is it safe to put lotion on it, or are we supposed to use something else? And how do you wash it?"

Kurogane rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure the other Tomoyo wouldn't send me an arm that would short-circuit in the bathtub. It's an arm. They'll have worked that out. Quit worrying," he added when the kid frowned. "If we have to, we'll call the witch."

"Really?"

Kurogane raised an eyebrow. "Who else would we ask? Can't exactly call the other Tomoyo, now that Nihon's Tomoyo can't dreamwalk anymore." Too many Tomoyos. This is going to get confusing.

"Wait," the boy said, dropping his hand and hurrying ahead of him. Kurogane stopped halfway across the bridge. "What do you mean she can't dreamwalk anymore?"

He doesn't know, Kurogane realized. Another part of his mind said, Of course he doesn't know. Who would have told him? "She gave up being a yumemi to help us get out of the mage's world."

"But . . ." Syaoran glanced around, lowering his voice. "Doesn't that put all of us in danger? If she can't see what's going to happen next, we could be walking straight into danger."

"Wouldn't be the first time. We got along fine without it. Besides, Tomoyo still has her other magic. She can handle herself."

"Oh." The kid looked away. "But she still gave up some of her power to save us, and we're mostly strangers."

"No one Tomoyo meets is a stranger. Even without her powers, she knows practically everything." Between rumors and eavesdropping, I'll be in trouble all the fucking time.

They reached the castle. The others had all gathered together in the foyer, chatting amongst themselves. Fuuma stood in the center, recalling a trip to a world covered in neon-colored sand. As they entered, Fai broke away from the group to greet them. "How is it?"

The chatter cut off, everyone turning toward him. Kurogane lifted his mechanical arm, surprised at how quickly he was adapting to it. Already, his reaction time felt faster, and the limb moved with barely a thought, as responsive as his old arm had been. "It's weird," he said. "But not bad at all."

"That's a relief." The mage beamed at him, then turned to the kid. "What about you, Syaoran-kun. Do you like it?"

The boy sputtered, turning red. Kurogane let the arm in question wrap around the kid's shoulders. "We're still getting used to it," he said, hugging the kid closer to his chest. Shock flickered across each of the faces in the group. Tomoyo even gasped. But when he sensed something behind him, Kurogane turned. A circle of light had appeared just outside the doors, five meters wide and inscribed with dozens of familiar symbols. A moment later, the air warped above the circle, a formless black liquid spilling into the air from nowhere. As the substance retracted, all the lightheartedness drained out of the group.

"Seishirou-san," the kid whispered.

Kurogane stepped forward, wishing he had his sword. He glanced once more at the boy, his expression grim. "Looks like we might be busy for a while."