radio star

xix. hope

Syaoran stared, speechless, as he met Mizuki's eyes. She looked quite beautiful, he thought, in a blue strapless dress whose skirt billowed out in cascading satin ruffles and pooled around her feet along the steps, her silvery hair piled atop her head and crowned with a jeweled headband. Like this, she appeared ethereal beneath the flashes of the photographers, who had not stopped clicking their cameras since he had laid eyes on her. He had expected her to be here, but he had not expected to encounter her in such a public fashion. And more than that, he had certainly not expected to feel as though he'd had the wind knocked out of him—not again. He'd thought himself more prepared than this. He swallowed, but he did not open his mouth.

Mizuki's expression, stuck for the last few seconds in one of surprise equal to Syaoran's, changed as her eyes searched his. Her brows tilted slightly upward toward each other, and her pink lips, which had been parted in her shock, suddenly pressed together. She blinked once, twice, but did not move. From his years of dating her and his even longer years of being friends with her, Syaoran knew what even the subtlest shift in her expression meant. He could thus detect every one of the myriad emotions that appeared on her face at that moment—joy, fear, regret, and most of all, a kind of pleading. Please say something. Say anything. She looked as though she might cry.

He steeled himself, clenching a fist in his pocket, and focused on the door. Ever so slightly, so only Mizuki could see, he shook his head. Without looking up to see her reaction, he pushed himself forward, past the cameras and the reporters and the beautiful girl watching him, and made his way into the museum through one of the smaller doors, just beside the main entrance.

Sakura heard her phone ring over the hiss of the frying pan and ran out of her kitchen to pick it up. "Hi, Syaoran."

"Why do you sound so out of breath?" he asked, voice tinted with mild amusement. "That excited to hear from me?"

"Shut up," Sakura muttered, holding the phone between her left ear and shoulder while she headed back to her stove to continue cooking. Still, she felt her face grow hot. "I was making dinner and my phone was in the living room."

"What are you making?"

"Just omelette rice."

Syaoran hummed in appreciation. "Sounds good."

"If I don't burn it... I have a tendency to leave it on the stove for too long," Sakura laughed. "What are you doing?"

"I just left a radio show. They interviewed me and then I sang a song off of my upcoming album."

"Oh, I wish I'd known! Was it live?"

"Yeah, but you can catch it online if you look for it," Syaoran responded. "I don't think you'll find it very interesting, though."

"How do you know?" Sakura frowned.

"Just a guess. You're not very into pop culture, right?"

"Well, yeah, but..." Sakura's frown grew deeper. Did he really not know?

"But what?"

Sakura felt her palms tingle as the words tumbled out of her mouth, the frying pan momentarily forgotten as she turned around and leaned against her countertop. "But it's about you. So... Of course I'd find it interesting."

Syaoran was silent, and Sakura chewed the inside of her lower lip, wondering if she'd said too much.

Her eyes widened when she heard an angry sizzle and a bitter smell filled her nostrils. She turned around quickly to see that her omelette was blackening along its edges and cursed loudly.

"Everything all right?" Syaoran asked.

"I've gotta go. I'll call you back!"

"You burned the omelette, didn't you?"

Sakura narrowed her eyes, although she knew he couldn't see. "I'll call you back," she repeated through gritted teeth. In the brief second before she hung up, she heard Syaoran laughing on the other end of the line.

She felt a smile bloom on her lips even as she pulled the smoking pan off of the stove.

"Hey! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Syaoran turned around to see Meiling hurrying towards him, a smile on her face.

"You look nice," he commented.

"Thanks." She grinned. "So do you. I knew Tom Ford was a good idea."

Syaoran nodded absently.

Meiling's smile faded slowly as she examined his face more carefully. He looked weary. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," he sighed.

"You saw Mizuki." Her eyes flashed in concern.

Syaoran responded by taking a long sip from his glass—not champagne, but a whiskey on the rocks from the bar.

"What happened?"

He shook his head as he swallowed the bitter liquid. "Nothing. We made eye contact, and then I walked in ahead of her."

"You didn't say anything?" Meiling asked.

"No," he responded, staring down at his glass. "I couldn't bring myself to. I was good otherwise, though," he added with a soft smirk.

Meiling smiled. "I'm sure you were. Thanks for making my job a little easier."

Syaoran said nothing, sipping quietly on his drink. His shoulders were practically up to his ears, he seemed so tense, Meiling thought.

"You saw each other on the red carpet?" she asked tentatively.

"Yeah. Right before the entrance."

"So the reporters saw?"

"Yes."

Meiling pursed her lips. "I see." That wasn't good. She didn't say so, but she knew that he knew this, too.

Syaoran took another swig from his glass and was quiet for a moment, staring out at the crowd, before he looked at her with tired eyes—but there was something kind, reassuring in them. Meiling felt unsettled, perhaps because she felt that she needed to be the one reassuring him, not the other way around.

"Look," he began slowly. "Don't worry about it. All they could do is speculate that there was probably some kind of animosity between us, backed up by some 'anonymous sources' saying we're not on speaking terms or some other nonsense. But honestly, it's not that far from the truth."

Meiling swallowed a lump in her throat as she watched him speak, the way his brows slightly furrowed together and how his eyes shifted from the mass of people to the ground and back.

"And either way...I just can't get myself to give a fuck anymore," he muttered. He turned towards her, grim resolution set in his lips. "I don't care if the press thinks we're friends or if we're lovers or if we're enemies. We're not anything anymore, so why does it matter? They'll get over it eventually. They'll find someone else to make hell for."

"Syaoran..."

"I'll be fine," he said, anticipating the pity in her eyes. "I need to get over this already. It's been going on for too long, don't you think? I'm the one who's helping those reporters drag it out."

Meiling scrambled for something to say. "You've got to give yourself time—these things are complicated, and your situation especially—"

"Yeah, well... No one's really waiting patiently for me to untangle the knots," he said in a quiet voice, smiling ruefully.

Meiling felt a pang in her chest. She wished more than ever that she could give him what he needed—time, reassurance, a plan, a promise that everything would work out. His words were tough, but he suddenly looked extremely worn down.

"I'll be all right," he said more firmly. "I don't have a choice."

Meiling stared at him, feeling utterly helpless.

"Don't look at me like that," he laughed suddenly.

"Like what?"

"Like I just broke your heart."

He smiled tenderly at her. Somehow, it only made her feel worse.

"Well, you did, a little. You can't just say stuff like that, you know. It makes me sad," she responded softly. She tried to smile. "Syaoran... We'll figure it out—one thing at a time—"

"It's a party, Meiling. We should enjoy ourselves tonight."

She watched him for a moment longer, saw the determination in his face. Not here. Neither of us can lose it here. She nodded. "Right," she said softly. "We'll talk more tomorrow, then. You should go mingle. And behave yourself."

"You, too," Syaoran chuckled.

Meiling caught the burning in his eyes just before he turned away. She tried to ignore the way the image stabbed at her heart. Putting on a smile, she headed over to greet some of her former clients nearby.

Sakura rolled over onto her right shoulder, letting out a frustrated exhale. No matter how long she lay in bed, sleep would simply not come.

With a groan, she sat up. Reaching down onto the floor beside her bed, she pulled her laptop up onto her legs and opened it. She squinted against the brightness of the screen for a moment before her eyes adjusted. Pulling up her Internet browser, she searched Syaoran's radio interview and immediately found several links to it.

She clicked on the first link and hit the play button.

"And we're back at 108.3, Miyo's Starlight Radio Show! Our special guest today is Syaoran Li, who has promised us an exciting special performance of an as-of-yet unheard song from his new album. Syaoran, would you like to introduce yourself to our listeners?"

"Hi, everyone, Syaoran here with Starlight Radio. I hope you're all doing well today."

Sakura leaned back into her pillow. Syaoran's voice was calm and cool, but a certain warmth under the collectedness made him very pleasant to listen to. She imagined any fan listening in would have felt quite soothed hearing his voice.

"Syaoran, tell us a bit about your new album. What kind of approach did you take to it this time around?"

"Hm... Well, as you know, things have been a little messy for me this last year," he began.

"Right, right."

"So the album plays out a bit like a storybook."

"A storybook? How so?"

"The way we're trying to arrange the songs—well, I've written all sorts of songs in the last year. Songs about love, songs about heartbreak, songs about betrayal and the weight of the world and feeling crushed underneath it. A few songs about moving on, and a couple about finding hope. They're all from personal experience. And the way we tried to arrange them was kind of in a storybook manner—beginning with contentedness, leading into pain and struggle and fighting it, and ending in hope. So you could say it's the most scattered album I've ever written, or the most cohesive, depending on how you look at it."

"Wow, that's very interesting," the radio host responded enthusiastically. "It sounds like it will be quite the emotional roller coaster."

"I'd say so," Syaoran responded, a slight hint of a laugh permeating his words. "I can only hope listeners are invested enough to take the ride with me."

"I'm sure they will be. But, Syaoran, I have a question about your explanation of the album."

"Sure."

"You said you wrote a couple of songs about... About finding hope. What do you mean by that?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean?"

"Well, could you be more specific? What brought about that hope? I hope you don't mind my saying this, but we know you went through a bit of a rough patch both romantically and professionally earlier this year, so—does this mean you've met someone who gave you a renewed sense of hope?"

There was a long silence.

"It appears I've asked Syaoran Li a question too difficult to answer," the DJ said, laughing.

Syaoran chuckled. "I'm just trying to find the right way to answer it."

"Well, take your time."

"Hm... I wouldn't say it's just about having met someone. We can find hope in ourselves, too."

"But you sound as though you had someone help you find it?"

Syaoran paused before answering. "Sure. I did."

"Mind if I ask who?"

"I can't say. But that person gave me something priceless. It led me to find that hope in myself."

"What was that?"

"Well, I didn't know how badly I needed it until it was given to me, but around that person, I feel like I'm real."

Tomoyo peered around the museum's ballroom over the rim of her champagne flute. The liquid pleasantly fizzed at her upper lip as she sipped it down.

She could scarcely believe the sight before her. In the midst of a grandly decorated ballroom stood a crowd of virtually every famous singer, actor, and designer of whom she had ever known, all dressed in finery and chattering with each other as if today were just any other day. To them, she supposed it was. She smiled to herself. She did wish Sakura were here to see this; even though she knew her friend was not the type to become starstruck, it was still a sight to see.

"Miss?"

Tomoyo turned with raised brows to meet the dark blue eyes of a man who, much to her shock, she felt she had seen before—and not in a music video or on a movie screen or even in the pages of a magazine. She was surprised; aside from the people from her work, who were mingling out in the crowd, she knew no one here. "Yes?"

The man smiled. The slight buzz in Tomoyo's head alerted her that he was very attractive, sapphire hair accentuating his grey, well-tailored suit quite nicely. Then again, who here isn't incredibly attractive?

Still, she mused, there was something about him that set him apart. And just why did he look so very familiar to her?

"Ah, I'm probably coming off a little weird here," the man muttered, seemingly to himself, before turning his pleasant gaze back to her. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Tomoyo bit her lip, but she found herself smiling through it as she shook her head. "I'm sorry," she laughed. "If it helps, I'm terrible with names and faces, but you look incredibly familiar to me."

"That's all right," the man smiled. He extended a hand. "My name is Eriol Hiiragizawa. I was one of your interviewers for your junior designer position at MIA."

"Ah," Tomoyo nodded. Her head dipped forward into a bow as she shook his hand. "I'm Tomoyo Daidouji. I'm so sorry—how unprofessional of me to forget—"

"Nonsense," Eriol laughed. "I hardly spoke a word the entire time. I was too impressed—so I remembered your interview quite well."

Tomoyo smiled. "Well, thank you. That's very kind of you to say." She paused. "Hiiragizawa—as in, Hiiragizawa publications?"

Eriol nodded. "My father's company. I'm the VP there at the moment."

"And that would explain why I haven't seen you around the MIA building," Tomoyo said. "You were a guest interviewer?"

"I owed the head designer a favor. She called me in to evaluate your work ethic."

Tomoyo laughed. "How was it?"

"I thought you'd do a splendid job, so I said yes."

"You're too kind," Tomoyo laughed. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Same to you. So, what are you doing here in the corner by yourself?" Eriol asked, amusement evident in his voice. He reached behind him and picked up a champagne flute.

"I probably look pretty weird, don't I?"

"Nah," Eriol responded lightly. He paused. "Maybe a little."

Tomoyo shook her head and laughed again. "I figured as much. It's my first time at an event like this, and I figured I should admire the view. It's a beautiful room. Beautiful dresses. Beautiful people, too," she added.

Eriol smiled. "Indeed." He found himself just as charmed by her as he'd been the first time he met her. "Have you been enjoying the job, then?"

"I really have. It can be stressful, but mostly, it's like I'm living in a dream."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. It sounds like you were incredibly qualified for it."

"You really don't have to flatter me so much, Eriol. I'm pretty easygoing as it is." She turned violet eyes on him, and again, she appeared as though she were in on a secret that he didn't know.

He chuckled. "I mean all of it. I wouldn't call it flattery."

"Well, then, thank you," she responded, a hint of a smile ever-present on her lips. "How did you know I got the job?"

"I figured you would," he shrugged.

Tomoyo hid her surprise behind her champagne flute. The previous compliments had seemed almost too nice, perhaps with a hint of calculation to them, to really affect her, but somehow, she found herself relishing this particular offhanded comment of his. "Thank you," she repeated softly, turning towards him fully for the first time since he'd come up to her.

At that moment, Tomoyo's eyes widened to see Syaoran Li, unmistakable in the air of charisma about him and impeccably dressed, walking towards them. She noticed several head sin the room turn towards them as he approached, but apparently all too used to the attention, Syaoran managed to completely ignore it. He was looking directly at them, and Tomoyo wondered if he remembered her or if he just happened to be friends with Eriol.

"Eriol, there you are," Syaoran said, and his tone sounded oddly relieved.

Tomoyo smiled knowingly to herself. Of course he was friends with Eriol. He had only met her briefly, and it had been pitch-black when they had met each other, anyway.

"Syaoran," Eriol said jovially, clapping him on the back. "Good to see you made it in here alive."

Syaoran scoffed. "Barely," he muttered, looking mildly uncomfortable. "Tomoyo," he nodded to her. "Good to see you."

So he knew Eriol, and he remembered her. She was impressed. "You, too," she responded, smiling at him. "You clean up nicely," she laughed.

Eriol's brows rose. "You two know each other?"

"We met a couple of weeks ago," Syaoran said, the corners of his lips tilting up. "She's a friend of Sakura's."

It was Tomoyo's turn to be surprised. "You know Sakura, Eriol?"

"Only through stories," Eriol said, and with a grin, he put an arm around Syaoran's shoulders. "Syaoran here gossips to me like a little girl."

Tomoyo arched a brow and laughed. "Oh, really?"

"I don't gossip," Syaoran grumbled, shrugging Eriol's arm off, although his expression wasn't entirely unamused. "So, wait—how do you guys know each other, then?"

Tomoyo explained Eriol's stint as a guest judge for her interview, and Syaoran nodded with familiarity. She observed him as he spoke to Eriol, how he made an effort to include her in their conversation, and how surprisingly down to earth both of them were for people of their stature. As Syaoran muttered something about having promised his manager that he'd go do some "mandatory mingling" with the other guests, he bid her farewell and told Eriol he'd see him later. Tomoyo he decided that she quite liked Syaoran Li both as a person and as a match for Sakura.

She also decided that Eriol Hiiragizawa was far more interesting than she had initially thought. He was a good companion for Syaoran, whom he explained he had known his whole life; his easygoing, cheerful, yet collected nature perfectly balanced out Syaoran's cooler, subtler, more powerful one. And he appeared extremely intelligent and naturally well-read, ready to speak on any topic but not overbearing in his conversation. He seemed immune to the industry's haughtiness, making self-deprecatory jokes about the inevitable stuffiness that came with these kinds of events and the people who attended them. And most of all, she thought it endearing that he was surrounded by famous, wealthy, beautiful people to talk to all night, and for some reason, he was sticking around the corner of the room, just talking to her.

Tomoyo found herself having a very good time, swept up in his conversation and in the glasses of fizzy, crisp champagne, so much that she forgot about joining the crowd so she could secretly catch glimpses of favorite movie stars as she'd originally planned to do. So when Eriol asked her if she'd like to step outside into the courtyard, she smiled, cheeks rosy from the champagne, that she could not think of a better idea.

"Like you're real?" the DJ asked.

Sakura felt her heart thudding furiously in her chest. She remembered Syaoran's eyes glowing in the light as he had watched her that morning, standing in her doorway. The pained, vulnerable, beautiful expression on his face as he'd said...

"Yes. Like I'm a real person."

"Could you please explain further?"

"Sometimes, when life becomes difficult or something bad has happened, we let ourselves get swallowed up in it. The problem becomes us. We try so hard to fix it, to find a solution, that we lose ourselves in the process. Suddenly we're not ourselves, we're just... Whatever anyone else wants us to be, so long as it'll make the difficulty subside. And we forget what made us important to the people we love, we forget what made us important to ourselves. That happened to me, and I felt like a wisp of a human being."

"I see," the DJ responded solemnly. "I understand. That's a good way to put it. I believe I've felt this way before, too."

"I think a lot of people have," Syaoran responded, his voice warm. "It's a trial of life. Once you've been through it, you're automatically bonded to the others who have experienced it, too. Without even knowing them, you know their pain."

"But this person made you remember yourself?"

"Something like that. Just reminded me that I'm more than that wisp. That I'm real."

"That's very moving. Is it someone we know of?"

"I'm really not at liberty to say."

"I understand," the DJ said, laughing. "I won't push it. But is there anything else you'd like to add about any of that?"

"Well... Needless to say, that person is very important to me. And I hope I can only give back half as much as what that person has given me."

The party wore on, guests becoming progressively drunker and more sociable. The lights dimmed, the music turned up, and people began to dance.

Syaoran played his part well, socializing with old colleagues and fellow actors and singers he had met during his recent variety stints. In pretending like nothing was wrong, he found, it was actually quite easy to feel like he was having a good time.

The hours passed quickly, and he was enjoying himself all the more when he realized how much fun Meiling and Eriol seemed to be having as well. Meiling was hilariously drunk, something that happened only once every few months, her rigid sense of business finally leaving her and a permanent grin fixed on her lips as she danced wildly with Hiromu Mineki, a typically reserved actor whom she'd met at an event two years ago and initially despised for what she called his "stick-up-the-ass attitude." Eriol, by Syaoran's observation, had not left Tomoyo's side all night, and Syaoran wondered to himself where that relationship would go. They seemed absurdly well-matched, both pleasant and intelligent and sophisticated, but each very lively as well.

And although he'd occasionally catch a glimpse of Mizuki's blue ball gown or her silvery blonde hair, she'd be gone just as quickly, and it was not at all difficult to avoid her entirely.

And so when he finally stepped outside to leave, phoning his driver, Wei, to come meet him in the back lot exit area, and briefly mulling over the idea of calling Sakura to see if she was asleep, he found himself caught off guard to see that Mizuki was also outside, surrounded by paparazzi who were no doubt unauthorized to be on the premises. She struggled helplessly against the circle of photographers as the flashbulbs went off one after the other, her eyes squinting as she held up her arms to cover her face. Their shouts overpowered her own pleas for them to leave her alone.

Syaoran felt his hand curl automatically into a fist as rage built inside his chest. And before he knew what he was doing, he was running down the steps two at a time, pushing through the wall of paparazzi, who became even more frenzied, and grabbing Mizuki's hand before pulling her out of the crowd.

Sakura's breath hitched. She clicked on the dial of the video and pushed it back a few seconds, trying to make sure she had heard right. Surely... Surely he wasn't talking about her.

"Well, I didn't know how badly I needed it until it was given to me, but around that person, I feel like I'm real."

She listened in a daze as the replay continued. Surely it wasn't about her, she thought again. But unless he ran around saying that to everyone...

"That person is very important to me."

Syaoran had told her she wouldn't be interested in this interview... Had he wanted her to listen, after all? She felt a burning sensation in her chest as she continued to wonder.

"Now, we're going to take a break from the interview so that Syaoran can give us an exclusive listen to one of his songs off of his upcoming album! Syaoran, tell us a bit about this song you're going to play."

"It's called 'Today.' It's a slow song, a little different from the usual," Syaoran said. "That person I mentioned—"

"The one who made you feel 'real,'" the DJ clarified.

"Yes. That person—told me, when I first played it, that it sounded 'special,'" he chuckled. "I kind of liked it, too. We're thinking about using it as a follow-up single for the album."

Sakura held her breath. It couldn't be, she thought.

But as the familiar chords of the piano began to spill out of her laptop's speakers and Syaoran's rough, soothing voice came in softly, she knew. This was the same song.

He had been talking about her.

For some reason, Sakura felt her eyes well up, and she smiled to herself as she closed her eyes.

Perhaps it didn't mean nearly as much as she hoped it did, but she didn't care. Syaoran had called her important, had said—on national radio—that she had given him something priceless. She had, in some small way, been able to make him happy, able to make him feel a little less broken. It was more than she could ever have asked for.

And she knew then, without question, that she was impossibly in love with Syaoran Li.

Syaoran knew that the paparazzi had captured photographs of every millisecond of the incident, but in the rush of the moment, he did not care. Mizuki stared at him with wide eyes, but she didn't question his actions. A black car sped up to the lot, and as he opened the door, they fell into the car. Syaoran shut the door before photographers could get any more pictures, and he shouted at Wei to drive fast.

As the car zoomed through the streets, Syaoran fell back against his seat, panting.

"Syaoran," Mizuki murmured. She struggled for words. "I—um... Thank you," she said sincerely.

He nodded, trying to catch his breath. "You okay?"

Mizuki nodded.

"Same address, right?"

Her brows rose. "Pardon?"

"I need to give your address to Wei. You live at the same place, still, don't you?"

"Ah," she said softly. "Yeah. I do."

Syaoran leaned up to the driver's seat and gave Wei the address with which he had been so familiar in the last two years. The significance of that did not escape Mizuki, whose gaze was suddenly torn.

Syaoran did not address the matter, and Mizuki apparently could not bring herself to speak. They were quiet the entire car ride, Syaoran's mind abuzz with the adrenaline of the moment and questions of the inevitable press fallout that would come. They reached the gated apartment complex relatively quickly, and still no words had been exchanged between them. Syaoran got out of the car to open Mizuki's door and helped her out, not meeting her eyes.

"Well... I'll see you," he said quietly.

"Syaoran... Can't we talk for just a minute?"

Syaoran swallowed before finally looking at her face, trying to ignore the concern in her eyes.

She moved up closer to him, heels clicking against the cobblestone ground, satin swishing against her legs. "Um... How are you?"

"I'm okay," he responded, his voice low. "I'm fine."

"I see," she answered, staring down at the ground. "Did you enjoy the party?"

"Yeah."

"Um... Really, thank you. I don't—I don't know what I would have done back there without—"

"It's nothing."

"Syaoran..."

He watched her face, emotions contorting her expression rapidly from confusion to sadness and back again. He sighed. "Mizuki, you looked like you were in trouble, so I helped you out. It didn't mean anything. Anyone would've done it."

"You can't tell me that and expect me to believe it," Mizuki cried.

He shook his head. "Mizuki... What are you doing?"

She looked up at him, eyes watery. From the way she was speaking, he knew she wasn't drunk, but he could tell that she had been drinking a bit.

"Why can't you just let it be?" he asked softly, his voice almost pleading.

She reached a hand up to his face, her palm against his cheek. He didn't lean into her touch, but he didn't move away. "I'm so sorry that I hurt you," she whispered.

"But why?" he asked, his voice rough. "Why now? After it's all been said and done—after all the shit I had to go through, Mizuki, why?"

She let out a sob. Her hand left his face to wipe her eyes. "I don't know," she gasped. "Because I don't like seeing you crucified, or crucifying yourself, and I never expected it to be so bad—"

"You didn't expect for it to—Mizuki, what did you think was going to happen?" he said, his voice rising. "That everyone would just accept things as they were, just let it go? You know better than that!" he shouted.

Mizuki covered her mouth with her hand, tears coursing down her face.

"And you know what?" he muttered. "None of it would have mattered. I wouldn't have given a fuck what anyone thought about me, what anyone thought I did, if you had just stayed. Because I only needed you to believe in me."

"I know, and I—I don't even know what I believed then, but there was just so much pressure... And I was only thinking about myself and my career, and I was being selfish, but—Syaoran, I'm so, so sorry," she sobbed. "You have to know that. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you like this."

Syaoran felt like he was being stabbed over and over, watching her like this. He shut his eyes, and in spite of himself, he reached out toward her face. At the last second, he stopped himself, sighing and letting his hand down.

"I'm not angry anymore," he said quietly. "If you're sorry, I'm not angry anymore."

She stared up at him through her tears, and he felt regret as soon as he saw the hope in her eyes.

He swallowed. "But things will never be the same between us... Mizuki, you can't be the one to put me back together again. It doesn't work that way."

Her brows furrowed and her lips pressed together, and he knew she was trying to hold back more tears.

His gaze softened. "Look," he said, his voice uneven. "I still care about you. I don't want to see you in pain. So, Mizuki, if you still love me... Don't. Please. Because that only means you'll keep hurting."

"Syaoran..." Mizuki let out a shaky exhale. She shook her head. "You don't love me anymore?"

Syaoran laughed mirthlessly. "That's a stupid question."

Mizuki glared up at him, but she felt a shock when his eyes met hers and she saw that his gaze was tender, dearly familiar.

"We went through a lot together," he said softly. "But I'm trying to let it go. If you care about me at all... Please don't stop me."

Mizuki nodded, face contorting with her tears. Mascara left faint black trails down either side of her cheeks.

With a sigh, Syaoran pulled her into a last hug. "I'll see you around," he murmured, and he let her go and headed back into the car. He watched her silhouette in the rearview mirror grow smaller and smaller, until they had passed a hill and she was gone for good.

That's it for chapter nineteen! Whew. What a whirlwind. I'm posting in a hurry per usual, so please let me know if you see any inconsistencies!

I know the formatting of this chapter was really weird, what with the flashbacks and all, but I kind of wanted to give a glimpse of what really sealed the deal for Sakura, for her to come to terms with her feelings the way she did in the last chapter. And also give a hint as to what Syaoran's feeling towards her. And, since she was pretty much asleep for most of the time the party was going on, this was a nice way to include her in the chapter, haha. I hope it wasn't too confusing! I know Syaoran did a lot of things here that we wouldn't want him to do out of loyalty to Sakura, but what can I say? He's a good guy, and Mizuki was his first love. It doesn't just go away so easily. But I hope the way the chapter ended was satisfactory!

Thank you guys, as always, for your reviews on the last chapter. You really are so good to me, too good to me. You never fail to make me want to keep improving my writing, but you also never fail to make me feel good about what I've written. I really appreciate that. In Syaoran's words, you guys have given me a priceless thing! And a special shout-out to myvroses and xxXandraaLingxxx, who review each chapter without fail and always leave me such wonderful comments. I always really look forward to your reviews!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you for reading, and please review!

Love,

boreum dal