xix. alone

Sakura frowned as she watched Syaoran across the breakfast table, wringing her hands in her lap below the table so he couldn't see.

"I've felt you staring at me all morning, you know," Syaoran said. He kept his eyes trained on his phone, spooning soup into his mouth, but his lips quirked up.

"Oh!" Sakura flushed. "I'm just... Is this about last night? You clearing your schedule for the day? Because it was nothing, and I don't want to cause any problems—"

Syaoran sighed and stood. The chair scraped loudly against the floor, and then he crossed the length of the breakfast table between them and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"It's fine, Sakura," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I just haven't spent any time with you lately. And I could really use a breather. Matsura thought it'd be good for me to take a day."

Sakura glanced up at him, dubious. "Really?"

Syaoran's eyes, soft and brilliant in the morning light, bore into hers. "Really."

Sakura felt her shoulders relax a little. "Okay, then… what did you have in mind?"

Syaoran pressed another kiss against her cheek, and then another at her jawline. "I could think of a few things," he said against her neck, causing shivers to roll down her spine.

Sakura bit her lower lip and smiled, doing her best to appear unaffected. "Hmm. Tempting. But I haven't finished my breakfast yet, so—"

Sakura shrieked with laughter as Syaoran pulled her out of her chair before scooping her up and leading her back to the bedroom.

Guilty as she felt about her sudden, unexplained outburst of tears the night before and Syaoran's subsequent announcement that he was spending his entire next day with her, Sakura couldn't say that she was unhappy about the end result. After breakfast, they'd spent the better part of the morning in bed, and now, she was staring up into his eyes with barely concealed wonder as he hovered over her, leaning on one elbow and planting kisses along her hairline every so often. She felt like she was pulled back into that world they'd created in London, just the two of them, his focus on her all-encompassing. It had only been a couple of months since he'd begun preparing so rigorously for his comeback that she hadn't spent much time with him, but it felt like eons.

She was stupidly in love with this man, she thought as he smiled down at her, and in the moment, it made all the sacrifice she'd cried over the night before feel worth it.

"So," Syaoran said, "how do you feel about taking a walk to grab some lunch? And then maybe we could see a movie or something."

Sakura raised her eyebrows. "To where? Don't you think we'd get caught this time of day?"

"Well, after the last time Meiling yelled at us, I thought I should invest in some more convincing wigs."

Sakura burst into laughter. "You did not."

"Oh, you bet I did," Syaoran said with a grin. "Now we just need to come up with some interesting alter egos. Wigs this good need a backstory to go with them."

"I have to say, you're pulling off that black hair way better than I thought you would," Syaoran whispered, eyes crinkling above his mask in a way that indicated a smile.

Sakura whacked his bicep playfully before readjusting the wig beneath her baseball cap. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He leaned in closely so that she could see the vibrant gold flecks in his irises magnified beneath his wire-rimmed lenses, even in the dim lights of the empty movie theater. He raised his eyebrows. "It means that I knew you'd look pretty with it, but I had no idea you'd be so stunning."

Sakura rolled her eyes, but she was grateful for the darkness, which covered the blush creeping up her neck. "I know we said your character should be a shameless flirt, but no one's around to watch right now."

"Who said I was in character?" Syaoran laughed and unhooked the mask from one ear so she could finally see his grin, and her heart did a backflip. In his own permed, bleach-blond mop and wire frames, Syaoran looked every bit like a high-profile pop star, which seemed to detract a bit from the point of the disguises they'd donned. Thankfully, though, this was a look that every college student in the country seemed to have adopted lately, so he fit right in.

Still, that hadn't stopped the attendant handing them their tickets at the theater from staring at him with hearts in her eyes—or writing her number on the back of his ticket. Sakura had laughed when she'd seen this, but Syaoran had been indignant.

"I am clearly here with you," he'd whispered fiercely as they'd walked down the corridor and into their designated screening room. "Does she want me to cheat on you?"

The move had been a bit shameless, but Sakura didn't necessarily blame the attendant, as Syaoran looked gorgeous in his disguise. Deciding that his ego didn't need any feeding, though, Sakura had held this thought back and merely patted him on the arm in consolation.

The day had gone by quickly. Syaoran and Sakura had gotten ready and traded silly backstories for themselves—Syaoran was supposed to be a lovesick, flirtatious first-year university student head over heels for Sakura, his aloof biology tutor who'd initially found him cute but too immature, until she'd finally agreed to give him a chance and go on a date with him. Surprisingly, they hadn't gotten that many stray glances in public, and taking full advantage, they'd gone to lunch at a café, traipsed around a shopping center, and ended the day at the movie theater, agreeing to do dinner at home.

The final preview played out before them, and Syaoran re-hooked his mask and adjusted so that he could put an arm around Sakura's shoulders.

"So you worked with the director of this movie previously?" Sakura whispered.

"Mhm," Syaoran nodded. "Probably one of the nicest people I've ever met in the industry. Brilliant mind and doesn't have a big head about it at all. There aren't a lot of people like him. I'm glad this film is doing so well."

Sakura smiled. "Do you still talk to him, ever?"

Syaoran shook his head. "Not really. He sends me a card every year on my birthday, which is really thoughtful. Meiling always makes sure to send him good luck snacks on Chinese New Year. Why?"

"I don't know," Sakura said, shrugging. "I just thought, since you said he's so nice… It's important to keep people who will have your back and build you up in your life, you know?"

Syaoran's eyes crinkled at her above his mask again. "Yeah."

The room dimmed further, and Sakura leaned her head against Syaoran's shoulder, relishing the peace of the day.

"Tea?" Syaoran stood before Sakura with two steaming mugs already in his hands.

Sakura glanced up from her phone. "You know, if you're still trying to woo your biology tutor, I'd say you already won her over when you made out with her in the theater."

Syaoran threw his head back and laughed, placing the mugs down on the coffee table and sitting beside her on the couch. He kissed her temple. "Don't worry. This is all Syaoran, none of that playboy college student."

Sakura giggled. "Good. Thanks for the tea, then." She picked up her mug and took a sip.

"Stick with me, and there's plenty more where that came from," Sayroan said, grinning.

Sakura snorted into her mug, and Syaoran let out another chuckle.

"So, you enjoyed today?" he asked, picking up his own mug.

"Of course I did! How is that even a question?"

"Good. Me, too." And then, Syaoran lifted his cup to his lips, but not in time to hide the way his smile very suddenly disappeared.

Sakura felt like a stone had sunk in her stomach. The feeling that had been nagging at the back of her head all day came roaring back. Despite the loveliness of the day, at times where his guard was down, Syaoran had seemed restless—anxious, almost, especially when they'd come home after the movie—and in the briefest moment just now, Sakura had seen it peek out in his eyes, the set of his lips.

"Syaoran? You okay?"

Syaoran set his cup back down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He reached for one of her hands, tickling her knuckles with the calluses on his fingertips. "How would you feel," he said slowly, "if I told you we could keep doing this? Things like this, every day."

"Of course, I'd love that, but..." Sakura looked at him carefully. Her fingers squeezed his in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. "How? You can't play hooky forever."

"I've been thinking a lot about it." Syaoran's eyes remained on the floor as he spoke his next words. "I think I'm going to pull back from the music industry for a while."

Sakura tilted her head. "What do you mean? When?"

"I mean, I think I should cancel the comeback. Just take time to live life. And as for when," he said softly, pausing for only a moment, "maybe starting today."

All the blood rushed out of Sakura's head. So many questions flooded her brain in that moment that they seemed to bottleneck before they could exit her mouth. She sputtered for a second before managing a half-whispered, "Wh-what?"

"Nothing permanent," he said quickly, his voice a touch too casual. "At least, I don't think. I just don't think it's a good time to be promoting and out in the spotlight. It'd be good to take a break."

It made no sense at all. Syaoran had been killing himself for this comeback, recording and sitting in meetings with producers until all hours of the night, writing and playing his guitar every spare chance he got, obediently attending photo shoot after photo shoot and interview after interview every week. And all the while, beneath the exhaustion, his love for the music and his excitement at sharing something new with his fans couldn't have been clearer.

"S-Syaoran... where is this coming from? You've been working so hard, and your comeback is in just a month!"

"That's okay. I can sort that all out." Syaoran's calm demeanor only confused Sakura more.

"No," she tried again, forcing herself to speak slowly, "that doesn't make any sense. You can't afford to put it off again!"

"Sakura—"

"And Matsura is going to be furious—your career—"

"Do you want me to stay in the music industry?" Syaoran asked, his voice half-incredulous.

Sakura's brows furrowed. Now she was thoroughly confused. "What? Syaoran, I want you to do what makes you happy, and for you, that's being onstage, it's your music."

"It doesn't matter—"

"What do you mean it doesn't matter? It's everything to you!"

"No, Sakura, it's not!" Syaoran shouted.

Sakura flinched, only just barely, but Syaoran had noticed, and his eyes widened with the realization before he hung his head.

He cursed and ran a hand through his hair. "God. I'm so sorry."

Sakura bit her lip. Tentatively, she reached over and took his hand again.

Syaoran looked at her, squeezing her hand back, and she recalled immediately the last time she'd seen that glowing ache in his eyes, exquisite and so, so painful to take in, when he'd shown up at her hotel room door upon his return from New York. It took her breath away.

"I shouldn't have yelled," he whispered.

"Forget that," Sakura said, shaking her head. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. But I need you to know—the music, my career... it's not everything to me. Sakura. You are."

Sakura gaped at him, stunned into silence. She knew then what he would say next.

Syaoran held her hand in both of his, playing idly with her fingers as he stared down at them. "This life... Temporary as I want this phase to be, I can't stand making you stay in a cage all day. You can't do anything you want to do or go anywhere you want to go. You hardly get to see the people you love. You have people attacking you on a daily basis, all because of me. You had a career and dreams you were pursuing before you met me, and you... You put it all on hold so I could have another chance. I can't tell you—I can't tell you how much I love you for that... And also how much it eats me up inside." His voice faltered, and when he looked back up at her, there were tears in his eyes.

Sakura's vision blurred immediately with tears of her own. Syaoran smiled at her ruefully, and when he reached over and brushed them away from her cheeks, Sakura felt like he might as well have stabbed her in the chest.

"The point is," he continued, drawing in a deep breath, "maybe, if I quit and disappear for a while, you can get all of that back. Because this isn't a second chance for me, Sakura. It's, like, the fourth chance. But you never even got your first chance before it all went to hell because of me."

"Syaoran," Sakura whispered, finally finding her voice, but only barely, "n-no, that's not—"

"I really have thought it over," he insisted. "I want to see you happy, more than anything. So, please. Hear me out. Let's give this a try. Let me talk to Matsura and Meiling. I promise things will get better. And I promise I can handle whatever comes out of this."

The longing in his voice could have killed her. Sakura shook her head. "You know that's not how I want this to be. I don't want you to quit music. I don't want you to deny who you really are, what makes you happy."

"Well, what about you? Isn't that what you've been doing, all for me?"

Sakura opened her mouth to say no, but she found that the word couldn't quite come out. Instead, she said, "You make me happy."

"But I shouldn't be the only thing. It's not fair to you. You're not living, Sakura. You're fading, and it's killing me, too," he whispered. "Please."

Sakura bit the inside of her lip so hard that she tasted blood in her mouth. She looked back at Syaoran. His eyes shone with yearning. And so, even though the words made her feel wretched, she found herself whispering back, "If... if you think this is what you want, let's give it a try."

"So," Syaoran said, settling into bed beside Sakura. He lay on his stomach and turned his head toward her. "I want to ask you something."

Sakura glanced over at him warily. If he wanted to ask her more about his decision to go on hiatus, she was dreading it. Their earlier conversation had ended in a way that had left her uneasy, and if he asked her opinion again, she wasn't sure she was going to be able to reconfirm her support for his plan.

But to her surprise, that wasn't what Syaoran wanted to talk about at all—rather, he asked, with startling earnestness, "What do you think you'd do right now with your life, if you weren't in this situation?"

"Probably struggling to think of appropriate captions for photos of some celebrity I don't really recognize," Sakura said with a snort.

"No, like, if you could dream up anything. No limits," Syaoran responded, adjusting his pillow.

Sakura turned onto her side and blinked at him, taking a moment to consider. "Well… I guess I'd be a journalist, right?"

Syaoran smiled, the lamplight casting a dreamy, blurry glow in his eyes. "We're talking about a situation where there's no limit to what you could do, and you would still want to be a journalist?"

"Is that silly?" Sakura frowned.

"No." Syaoran shook his head, solemn now. "I think it's admirable."

Sakura blushed. "It's just... That's the truth."

"I know," Syaoran said, his voice hushed. "Who would you want to write for?"

"Oh, so many publications," Sakura sighed. "I guess if I went back to my college dream, I'd love to cover international politics for Jikan."

Syaoran lifted his head from his pillow, eyes lighting up in excitement. "Hey! That magazine is under Eriol's company, isn't it? I—"

"Don't even think about it. Do not breathe a word of this to Eriol!"

"Why not?" Syaoran looked utterly put out, and Sakura had to hold back a laugh.

"I would want to work my way up like anyone else! Print is a dying art these days, and jobs at publications are harder and harder to come by. I'd hate to take a spot from someone deserving because I have a connection. Just because this is a dream scenario doesn't mean we can bend the way reality works."

Syaoran raised a brow. "Doesn't that ruin the point of it being a dream scenario?"

Sakura giggled. "Dream scenario or not, I don't think I could stomach the guilt. In any case... because print is dying, I'd like to explore other mediums and try to adapt. I don't know, maybe a podcast?"

"Oh?" Syaoran scooted himself closer to her, leaning up on his elbow. "About what?"

"Hmm... I don't know. I've thought about it some, but not too much. It would help to have an expertise, or a niche topic of interest, or access to really interesting interviewees. I don't really have any of those—" she paused, smiling apologetically at him— "and you don't count, not when you're my boyfriend."

Syaoran laughed softly. "Fair enough."

"But maybe... I don't know, small, local stories to start? Things around the city that people could be paying attention to, but aren't. Of course, that wouldn't get a lot of subscribers. But if this is a dream world, then maybe it would."

"You know something, Sakura?" he said softly, and there was so much love and adoration in his eyes then that Sakura felt like she couldn't hold his gaze.

"W-what?"

"I don't think you need a dream scenario to achieve these things. Hearing you talk about it… I really believe you can do it."

Sakura smiled and leaned her head in closer, brushing her lips against his. "Thank you. That matters more than you know."

Sakura awoke before Syaoran the next morning—a rare occurrence these days, as he'd taken to normally waking up at six to go to the gym while getting ready for his comeback. They'd stayed up late into the night talking, some more about the future and mostly about nothing of importance, until Sakura had fallen asleep to Syaoran whispering to her not to worry.

But of course, now that she was awake, regardless of Syaoran's insistence, the worry settled like a lead weight in her stomach. She tried to see it from Syaoran's perspective; although she'd never been a celebrity before, if she were in his shoes, she was certain she'd do the same thing. After all, there was very little she wouldn't do to see him happy, and that was part of the reason she was so miserable this morning, wasn't it? He was about to put his life on pause and potentially commit career suicide for her. And if the gamble didn't pay off—if Matsura, and more importantly, the public, were not receptive, where would it leave him?

Sakura studied the edges of Syaoran's angular face, softened by sleep, and lifted a finger to trace the line of his brow. She took the time to ponder the wild chain of events that had led her here, beginning with the first time she'd set foot in Yamazaki's office at Glimmer. Where would Syaoran be right now, she wondered, if they had never met? Would he be enjoying a career resurgence unmarred by any further scandal? It hurt to think about a life without him, a life where he didn't know who she was—but then again, it also hurt to think about a life where he gave up doing what he loved for her benefit.

Sakura let out a soft sigh, and Syaoran stirred before readjusting, still fast asleep. Either path would be painful, she thought, but she just wanted him to choose whichever would give him peace—whichever one would let him rest at ease, just like this, every day. And as much as she tried to bury it, she couldn't ignore the horribly persistent feeling that the path Syaoran was pursuing was not it.

"Absolutely not."

Syaoran clenched his fists, which remained in his lap, and willed himself to keep his head down. He was afraid if he met Matsura's eyes, he would, as Meiling had cautioned, "do something stupid and fuck it all up." He could feel the tension radiating off of Meiling beside him.

"Syaoran, I'm not trying to be unfair here. But do you know how much you'd be throwing away by quitting now? I can't even begin to describe the amount of time and money the label has poured into this comeback effort. That, plus all your album delays—"

"I know," Syaoran said, keeping his head bowed. "I completely understand. I know this is reckless and from all professional respects, a bad choice. But I'll—I can pay the company back, I'll do whatever it takes."

Matsura crossed his arms and sat on his desk, sighing. He was silent for a long moment, regarding Syaoran wordlessly before saying, "Because this time, it's not about you. It's hard on Sakura, is that right?"

Syaoran nodded.

"But this is why I asked you—the both of you," Matsura said, his voice almost pleading. "I was serious, Syaoran, when I said that I genuinely didn't know if you could have both personal happiness and professional success. But you said—"

"I know what I said, and we tried, and I was wrong," Syaoran said pointedly. He finally looked up at Matsura, whose lips were pressed together in a measured, neutral line. "I have no problem admitting it. I was wrong. I can't have it all, at least not right now. And my personal happiness hinges on Sakura's—and with how miserable she is, I can't..."

"I know, and I don't envy her position. But do you really think a simple hiatus will fix things? What would you even do? Do you have a plan?" Matsura asked. His voice was not unkind, but Syaoran had a feeling he already knew where this was going.

"Syaoran and I have talked about it at length," Meiling cut in. "He and Sakura could go to the United States to be with Sakura's brother for a little while and lie low. We thought maybe that Syaoran could fulfill some of his contractual duties while overseas by producing and writing for your other artists."

"You know it's not nearly that simple, right?"

Meiling nodded. "Of course. But that's why we're trying to talk to you about it, Matsura. It's clearly important to Syaoran—so maybe we can meet at a middle ground—"

"I'm sorry," Matsura said, shaking his head. "I just can't accept this. There is no middle ground for me. You're either with me or you aren't."

"Matsura—" Meiling tried, but Matsura continued on.

"When I told you that I was thinking of cutting you from the label, Syaoran, I meant it. It's been a hell of a year, and as your friend and mentor, I feel for you. But this is a business. We can't just keep taking hit after hit. Even if you paid us back, the lasting effects of this botched comeback would continue to haunt us. And that's why I asked you in all seriousness if you thought you could handle continuing on with the label. You said yes, and I relied on you."

Syaoran felt his heart sink. Matsura was right, and this was not unexpected. He'd known going in that this appeal to Matsura would be a long shot, but regardless, he'd managed to let his hopes up without even realizing it.

"Just give it a year," Matsura said, his voice gentler now. "One year. Promote the album, go on tour. Wrap things up, and then take your hiatus. Go off the grid for as long as you want, and I'll be waiting when you're ready to come back. You guys can get through a year. I know you can."

Syaoran saw in his mind's eye, clear as day, Sakura's face as she'd tried all those nights to hide her unhappiness, and her crumpling into tears when she finally broke. A whole year of this. Syaoran didn't want to begin to think about what Sakura's mental state would be like by then.

Upon seeing Syaoran's hesitation, Matsura sighed and walked up to Syaoran. He put a hand on his shoulder and met his eyes through his glasses. "It's a lot shorter than it sounds, Syaoran. I promise."

Syaoran couldn't hold Matsura's gaze and found himself lowering his eyes. "Yeah. I guess so."

"I can do it."

It was a sign, Sakura decided. She'd told herself that morning that if Syaoran somehow managed to come home from his meeting with Matsura's blessing to take his sudden hiatus, then it was meant to be. But if not—which was the outcome she expected—then she would accept whatever would come their way. So when Syaoran had walked in and mumbled defeatedly that Matsura wanted him to wait a year, she'd been ready. Syaoran, however, seemed to expect her to demand a different outcome—something she could not bring herself to do.

"Sakura," Syaoran said, his voice half-exasperated. "Seriously."

"I can," Sakura insisted, staring down at her hands before looking back up at him. "It's just a year, right?"

Syaoran let a long breath out of his nose. "Just a year? Are you joking?"

Sakura frowned and stood up so she could be closer to eye-level with him. "What am I supposed to do? Tell you that you need to quit now, against your boss's wishes, to the total detriment of your career and your future?"

"Yes!" Syaoran burst out. "Yes, absolutely, because you've been miserable! You are wasting away here all by yourself. This is no way for you to live!"

Sakura bit down on the inside of her lower lip to stop it from trembling. Syaoran looked so upset that she could hardly bear it, and she wished then that she'd never let herself break down in front of him. "Syaoran. Listen. To me, this is just one short year in our lifetimes. But for you, sticking it out for this year is your life. You have no other plan if you burn this bridge. You could get labeled as difficult, airheaded, flaky—all the things they were saying about you when people found out about me, but worse. You could get blacklisted from the industry. "

"I can have other jobs," Syaoran said, shaking his head. "I can rework my career even if Matsura doesn't take me back—hell, I could go work for my family's company—why are you so worried about—"

"Because none of that would make you happy," Sakura said, trying not to let her frustration permeate her voice. "You love your music, you love Matsura, and if you lose this job and that relationship with him, you'd be losing the opportunity to do what makes you happy. I can't let myself be the cause of that."

Sakura watched as Syaoran's brows rose and then fell and then knitted together. His expression nearly broke all her resolve. He'd been looking so sad all the time these days, she thought. How was it that when she tried to help, he just seemed to become even sadder? It made her feel so hopeless.

"I—" he whispered, and then he cut himself off before pressing his lips together. He leaned his forehead down to touch hers. "I know—I love you, and I... I'm so grateful you care so much about my career. But I want to be with you, and I can't stand to see you in pain because of me. Taking care of that is the first priority for me. Do you understand?"

Sakura closed her eyes. "We're saying the same things to each other, about each other... Don't you see?"

Syaoran huffed a quiet laugh. "We're idiots, is what you're saying."

Sakura smiled. "Maybe. Yes."

She raised her arms to encircle his waist and let her head drop against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, if not slightly elevated, against her ear.

"Would you be mad if I quit?" The deep rumble of Syaoran's words in his chest reverberated against Sakura's ear, but his voice sounded small then.

Sakura felt her heart drop, and she squeezed her arms around him more tightly. "No, silly. Of course not. It's not about you being a singer, Syaoran. It's about you feeling complete, fulfilled. Happy."

Syaoran pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Then, regardless of what Matsura says... I'll work with Meiling on how to announce it soon. And then we can go to D.C. for a while and figure this out together, okay?"

Sakura pressed her face into Syaoran's sternum, inhaling him and letting her tears fall into his sweater. She hoped he wouldn't notice. She wanted to tell him that she didn't feel like he'd heard her correctly, but her breath caught in her throat. So, instead, she whispered, "Okay."

"So, here's your setup," Meiling said, waving to a desk loaded down with a startling amount of technological equipment. "I think this should be enough to get you started."

"You think?" Sakura mumbled, eyes wide. "Syaoran got all of this? Yesterday?"

Meiling nodded. "He said you might be interested in trying to produce a podcast, right?"

"W-well, yes, but it was just an idea! I was just throwing thoughts out into the open since he asked me what I'd like to do long-term—"

"No time like the present." Meiling grinned.

"But this is all too much, I..." Sakura faltered, skimming her fingertips across the soundboard, the monitors, the high-end microphones. "I can't believe he'd spend this much on one of my whims. I hardly know anything right now."

Meiling snorted. "Please. If you wanted the moon, he'd find a way to get it for you, I bet."

Sakura blushed.

"So, anyway, this is a permanent setup. This room was a spare office that Syaoran never uses, so we thought it'd be best to put all of the equipment here. If you ever need anything else, though, we can always go to the studio and probably utilize the resources there."

Sakura shook her head. "I'm sure this will be more than enough."

"You look overwhelmed," Meiling commented, sitting down in one of the chairs.

"I am," Sakura admitted, sitting down as well. "I guess—I just don't even know what I want to say. Who am I, that anyone would want to listen to what I have to say?"

"Well, you don't have to be yourself, first of all," Meiling said. "You could always start off under an alias, which might be easiest for now, anyway, given the situation you're in. And you're plenty interesting, Sakura. I'd say at this point, you've lived a much more interesting life than most twenty-two year-olds, don't you think?"

Sakura smiled. "I guess. But I don't really want to spend any time on air talking about being a paparazzo."

"Then, what interests you? What would you want to hear about?"

"Well, I told Syaoran that it'd be neat to maybe start out with local stories that don't have a lot of traction or attention. But that would mean I need to get out and on the ground to interview people, and that's not really an option for me right now," Sakura said, frowning.

Meiling nodded. "You're right. At least for now, that probably isn't a viable option. But what about something less broad? Something you can observe without having to interview other people? Just as practice for now, since it'd be a while before you get a full-fledged podcast off the ground, anyway."

Sakura chewed on her lower lip. "I…" she sighed, her brow furrowing. She blinked down at her hands, realizing with a terrible sense of certainty that she couldn't put a single thing out in the world that would be useful or interesting. "I can't think of anything."

Meiling reached out and put a hand on Sakura's knee. Sakura looked up to see kind eyes and a Meiling's red lips tilting up into a gentle smile. "Hey. You have time. Just think about it. Play around with the tools, practice. No one's pressuring you to do anything. You have a voice, and you'll find it."

Sakura smiled back, letting out a long breath. "Thanks, Meiling."

Sakura found herself wishing more often than not these days that time would stop, or at least slow down. Over the days following their talk with Matsura, Syaoran and Meiling had determined that Syaoran would need to make a public announcement before it was too late—before Matsura could figure out what was happening and before such an announcement would cause even more damage to the label than was necessary. They had given themselves three weeks to plan and execute the move, which seemed to Sakura an awfully short amount of time to give oneself to torpedo one's career.

Syaoran was slated to appear on Iruno's Café, a popular daytime talk show, to promote the album and do an interview before performing his latest single. Sakura would head to D.C. to be with her brother that same day. Instead of performing, Syaoran would announce during the interview that he'd be taking an extended break, and before all hell could break loose, he'd follow Sakura overseas and deal with the fallout from D.C.

Every time Meiling and Syaoran iterated this plan to her, Sakura wanted to throw up.

Conversely, Syaoran had thrown himself into the plan, working through all the logistics with Meiling even as he continued to do promotional work for the album to keep up the ruse. And if Sakura didn't look carefully, if she hadn't known him so well, she would never have guessed he wasn't happy about it. He was almost jovial—not a term that she would ever really use to describe Syaoran—during the day, and whenever he was with Sakura, he would glance at her and smile in a way that was clearly meant to reassure her.

But when they turned the lights out and Syaoran thought she was asleep, she would feel him beside her, tossing and turning until he would roll out of bed and wander down to the studio, not returning for several hours at a time. Naturally, then, Sakura wouldn't fall asleep, either, anxiety gnawing at the pit of her stomach until she'd all but convinced herself to go follow him downstairs and talk him out of this insanity—and then Syaoran would come back up, and to prevent him from worrying about her, she would pretend to be asleep.

Finally, one night, when Syaoran had been gone long enough, Sakura worked up the nerve to make the trek down to the studio. Tiptoeing to the door, she found herself nervous for some reason, and she chewed on her lower lip before raising her hand to knock.

Why am I so scared?

Sakura's fist lingered in the air, and she let out a soft sigh before letting her hand drop and resting her head against the studio door, shutting her eyes. How did she expect this conversation to go, exactly? She would ask him not to quit, and then he would insist that he must because there was no way for her to be happy if she had to stay in hiding for the sake of this job...

And then, she wouldn't be able to deny it, but she also wouldn't ever be able to bring herself to tell him that he had to forsake his passion and livelihood for her.

So where did that leave them? If neither of them wanted to be selfish, what was the answer?

The door opened, and Sakura stumbled forward into something soft with a surprised oof.

"Sakura?" Syaoran grabbed Sakura's shoulders before she could fall backward and held her up. "Hey, what're you doing here? Are you okay?"

Sakura blinked up at him, momentarily stunned into silence at the glow in his eyes. "I—"

"Did I wake you?" he asked quietly, brows furrowing. "I'm sorry."

Sakura shook her head, and she moved forward to wrap her arms around his waist, burying her face into his shirt. "You didn't," she said, her voice muffled. "I couldn't sleep. I know you haven't been sleeping well these days... I end up missing you."

Syaoran let out a soft "oh" and pulled her more closely to him, resting his chin atop her head. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Sakura shook her head.

They stood like that for a long time, holding each other in the darkened hallway of Syaoran's condo, the gentle buzz of the heater turning on the only noise in the background.

Finally, Sakura mustered the courage to whisper, "Are you afraid?"

Syaoran's throat bobbed against the crown of her head as he swallowed. "A little," he whispered back.

Sakura squeezed him more tightly. Then don't do this, she wanted to say. But she couldn't find her voice, and instead, she stood in silence and self-hatred until Syaoran pulled away and took her by the hand and led her back to bed.

Syaoran fell asleep before Sakura that night, holding her like he'd never let go.

It felt like the day had come before Sakura could even blink. Somehow, her infinite number of chances to change Syaoran's mind had dwindled down to zero, and suddenly, Syaoran was seeing her off just outside the condo in the early hours of the morning, before the sun had risen, while Wei waited patiently in the car to drive Sakura to the airport so she could catch her flight to D.C.

Sakura couldn't stop crying. Over the last week, she'd come to acknowledge what had to happen. The happiness that each of them so badly wanted for the other was impossible to have like this. But to say it out loud and act on it would mean ending the relationship after fighting so hard to stay together, after loving Syaoran so fiercely that she lost her breath a little whenever she thought about it, and she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She'd never hated herself more, and when Syaoran leaned down and sweetly whispered to her that she didn't need to cry and that he'd see her again in just a day, she only broke into deeper sobs.

Syaoran held her until Sakura's fingers were numb with cold and Wei stepped out of the car and politely cleared his throat to warn that Sakura would miss her flight if they stayed here. With a promise that he'd call her after he made his announcement and catch up to her overseas, Syaoran kissed her hard and sent her off.

"Okay," Meiling breathed, pacing the room. "So, you're going to go onstage and get through the interview—"

"Should I even answer any questions?" Syaoran asked from his place at the dressing table. He wished his palms would stop sweating. "I almost wonder what the point is when I'm just going to tell the world that I'm quitting."

Meiling groaned, running a hand over her face. "You say it so casually, and yet, every time those words leave your mouth, I feel like I'm having a heart attack all over again."

Syaoran swallowed hard and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Sorry."

"I think you should answer any non-invasive personal questions, yes. How you've been doing, what you've been up to during your hiatus, those kinds of things. And then, when they ask you about your album, like we planned—"

"That's when I say it."

"Yes." Meiling nodded, coming to a stop in the middle of the room. She turned and faced Syaoran, totally still for the first time in what felt like days. "Are you ready to do this?"

Syaoran knew. He'd asked himself the same question over and over in the last week. Every time, no matter how much he thought about Matsura, his fans, the shows, his music, it all came down to a very simple answer. He'd miss it all, of course, but... "Yes."

Meiling sighed and walked over to him, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside him so she could look him in the eyes. He wasn't sure what to expect when he looked into them, and his throat closed up when he saw only tenderness.

"I'm... I should be pissed, honestly," Meiling said with a quiet huff.

"But you're not?" Syaoran asked, his voice more hesitant than he'd intended it.

Meiling shook her head. "No." Her lips curved up into a little smile. "I'm proud of you."

A knock came at the door. "Mr. Li, we'll be escorting you onstage in fifteen minutes."

"Thanks," he called, and he took in a deep breath, nerves suddenly fluttering to life in his stomach.

"You've got this," Meiling said, nodding to him. "We've been preparing every day for hours on end for weeks."

"Right," Syaoran breathed. "I just say..."

Meiling tilted her head, waiting for him to recite the lines he'd practiced so many times. He cleared his throat and looked her in the eyes. "To be truthful, I love my fans, and I love my music, both more than I could ever adequately convey. But there's a part of me that is missing in this career, and to be fully happy, I am sorry to say that I have to take some time away from the spotlight to secure that happiness. I hope you will all understand and be there when I return—but even if you aren't, I want to thank you so much for the immeasurable love and support you've shown me over the years."

Meiling smiled. "Pitch perfect."

Before Syaoran could try to swallow the sourness at the pit of his stomach, the door burst open, and he and Meiling both stood in surprise.

"Excuse me—" Meiling began to say, before she realized who'd run through the door.

Syaoran's eyes widened as Sakura tumbled into him, her chest knocking into his stomach, her arms squeezing his torso. She should have been on the plane by now, and he knew immediately that something had to be very wrong.

The stage manager and a security guard ran up to the door, ready to pull Sakura out of the room, but Meiling held up a hand. "She's fine. She's authorized to be here. We should leave this room."

And before anyone could protest, Meiling had led them out of the room and shut the door behind her.

Now that they were safely alone, Syaoran held Sakura back by the shoulders and looked her over, checking for any physical signs of harm. "Sakura, what are you doing here? Are you all right?"

Sakura pressed her lips together and shook her head. "No."

Syaoran regarded her with such a sweet earnestness in his eyes that she could hardly bear to look at him. "What happened?" he said softly.

Sakura swallowed back tears. "N-nothing—I just—I can't let you go through with this, Syaoran… Please. Can you—can you just perform and then let's go home?"

Syaoran's jaw dropped a little, and the sudden, unbearably sad expression that came upon his face made Sakura want to burst into sobs. He swallowed once, and he leaned in to kiss her. "It'll all be fine, Sakura. I promise. Wait here—let me go get Meiling—and I'll be right back, okay?"

He began to turn away, and Sakura felt the hysteria she'd been fighting back erupt.

"No, Syaoran, please!" she pleaded, pulling on his hand. She could hear the desperation cracking her voice in such an ugly way, but she didn't care. After all, she was desperate. "Let's go home and we'll work out another way—I promise, Syaoran, I promise I'll be okay! You don't have to do this. So just finish your performance, and don't say anything about quitting, and then we'll—we'll get through the year. I promise. I can handle it. I promise. Please. Please."

Syaoran turned back to her, his brows knitted together. She could see him holding back tears, too, now, and it made the dam inside her break entirely, and she let out a gasping sob.

He reached one hand up toward her face, fingertips brushing aside stray hairs and the tears that had started rolling down her cheeks. "Hey, it's going to be okay. Please don't cry."

Sakura shook her head. "N-no, please—you can't do this, I can't let you—"

Syaoran placed both his hands on her cheeks and kissed her forehead. Even though the bustling voices working backstage beyond the door were loud, Syaoran's voice was soft and low, his eyes trained on hers, breath ghosting over her skin. "I'm going to be fine. I promise you. I just want you to be happy. We've tried it every other way. I know this is the right thing to do."

"But—not like this, I never wanted it like this! I know you love it so much," Sakura cried. "I would never want to take any of this from you, Syaoran. Please don't quit now!"

He shook his head. "You're not taking anything away from me. I love you more than all of that."

Sakura wailed into his chest, inhaling his scent even as she tried to push him away before giving up. He held her tightly to him, rocking her back and forth, making soothing noises. He wasn't going to back down, and she knew then that she'd have to do what she'd been avoiding so desperately for a month now. Everything hurt. When she could take normal breaths again, she pulled away, trying not to shiver with nerves.

Sakura drew in a shaking breath. "If you do this," she said, her voice so low and jagged that she hardly recognized it as her own, "I will never be able to forgive myself."

Syaoran's hands tightened on her shoulders. "Sakura," he said softly, "wh—"

Sakura looked up at him, blinking away more tears. "Do you think we can really be happy like this? Constantly pushing and pulling for each other?"

Syaoran suddenly looked so broken that Sakura had to close her eyes against the sight. She let out a quiet, strangled kind of noise, hand against her mouth, and she felt him pull her head back into him and stroke her hair, just as he had so many times in the last six months, but she knew with devastating clarity that this time would be the last.

"I don't know, Sakura… I feel like we can. I just think we have to keep trying," Syaoran whispered into her hair, but he sounded so defeated.

Sakura shook her head. She pulled away, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "We've been trying. You say I've been killing myself trying to make you happy, but Syaoran, you've been doing the same for me, too, over and over, and it—" Sakura's voice cracked. "God, it hurts so badly to watch you throw it all away for me. I can't let you do that. The pain you'd feel, the pain I'd feel from seeing you hurt... I could never, ever live with that."

Syaoran regarded her quietly. In heartbreakingly true fashion, he looked not angry or even upset, just so utterly in love with her that more tears welled up and spilled over her eyes. She pressed at them with the heels of her hands. He let out a soft sigh and reached his hands up to cup her face, fingers skimming over her temples, calluses brushing her cheekbones. He pressed his lips to her forehead once more, and against it, he whispered, "Then, what do you think we should do?"

Sakura reached up and held her hands over his. She felt, all of a sudden, like her heart was going to spill out of her mouth, and she had no idea how she was going to walk out the door after all this was over. She pulled one hand down and brought it to her lips. "I think you know the answer to that."

Syaoran's hands fell to her waist. Sakura felt the slightest movement at the small of her back, where Syaoran's hand pulled her closer to him almost imperceptibly. She wasn't sure if even he noticed he had done it. She looked up at him again. His eyes were lit like dying embers.

"Sakura, I…" He stopped, looked down for a moment and blinked twice before raising his eyes to hers again. "If you ever need me," he said softly, "just say the word. I'll come running."

Sakura felt as if he'd just reached into her chest and crushed her heart in his hand. It almost made her lose her breath.

"Oh, Syaoran," she sighed. Tears blurred her vision again, but she made herself look at him anyway, and she tried to smile. "That's the problem, isn't it? I think I'll always need you."

In his time as a figure in the public eye, Syaoran had dealt with his fair share of difficult interviews and performances. After all, he'd been in the spotlight for almost ten years now. There were interviews he'd given smack in the middle of near-crushing anxiety attacks, songs he'd performed on the heels of the death of a loved one where he couldn't afford to postpone, whole concerts he'd put on while so ill that he'd had to go to the hospital immediately after the final song after nearly collapsing.

In all, though, he thought it fair to say this interview would rank among the worst. By the time the stage manager and Meiling had returned to the room, Sakura had already left with a quick kiss and a low, murmured I love you, and Syaoran had sat alone, numb and eyes wide. In a brief moment alone with him, Meiling had assessed the situation, sighed grimly, and said, "Either you make the most of what just happened and you push forward with the performance like we never planned anything differently, or... you really give up and drop it here. What are you going to do?"

So, Syaoran had pulled himself together and walked out onstage and recited a few canned lines that he'd long since memorized in his time as a celebrity until the host had asked him, with some concern, if he was all right. He'd caught Meiling's gaze, then, from where she stood at the side of the stage, and after a deep breath, he'd recomposed himself into what he hoped seemed more alive than the shell of a human being that he felt like.

"Sorry," he'd said with a smile. "I'm a little out of practice after a few months away. Talk to me in two months and I'll be a bit more articulate."

The audience had laughed, and all Syaoran had been able to think about was where things would be with Sakura in two months—would she have forgotten about him? Would they still talk?

To his relief, the interview hadn't lasted as long as he'd expected, but now, he was back in his dressing room, waiting to go back onstage to perform his songs, and he knew this would be an entirely new challenge.

"You're doing great," Meiling said, handing him a bottle of water. "Just two songs. Two songs, seven minutes, and then you're done."

Syaoran wanted to vomit. "I don't—Meiling. I don't know if I can."

"You absolutely can," Meiling said firmly, leaning down so she could look into his eyes. "You hear me?"

Syaoran pressed his lips together. It felt like it had already been days since Sakura had left.

"Look. Syaoran." Meiling sighed. "I know—this has to be... I can't imagine how much pain you're in. But Sakura did what she did for a reason, and that reason is not so you could sit here and ruin your chances at a comeback."

The weight of Meiling's words sunk into Syaoran's chest, and his vision blurred with tears.

"I'm sorry," Meiling said more softly. "Maybe that was going too far, but—"

"No," Syaoran whispered, running the back of his hand over his eyes. "You're right. It'd be stupid to make it so all of that pain meant nothing."

"Syaoran…"

He sighed, standing up. "Let's go."

When Syaoran walked back onstage to the familiar sound of thunderous applause, he thought immediately about turning back around. But when he closed his eyes for a moment, he saw Sakura's teary ones as she begged him to keep doing what he loved, and he remembered, then, that he did love this, even if he loved her more. So he pushed on through the performance of his first single, which was an unfortunately upbeat rock track, with perfect precision, if not a certain lack of passion. And when he got to the second single—mercifully, a ballad about heartache—he finally, finally let himself shed tears.

The next day, the headlines were resoundingly positive: Syaoran Li was back, and although the critics couldn't quite figure out what had changed, he'd markedly improved as a performer and a musician.

Sleep had evaded Sakura for three nights in a row.

Tomoyo had been the most gracious host Sakura could ever have wanted or needed, but even in a beautifully appointed guest bedroom with a spacious bed and all manner of sleep aids, both medicinal and not—blackout curtains, a white noise machine, lavender-scented silk pillowcases—Sakura hadn't slept for more than an hour or two every night since she'd left Syaoran. Today, her things had been delivered to Tomoyo's after Meiling had very thoughtfully packed it all and sent it over, and with her bags, the moving company had also delivered boxes packed neatly with the podcast production materials Syaoran had bought her just a few weeks ago.

It had been like someone had reached into her chest and re-ripped a hole in her barely scabbed-over heart.

The rest of the day had been difficult, and Tomoyo had gone to bed at Sakura's insistence, and now it was almost four in the morning, and Sakura was so painfully lonely that she was holding her arms around her stomach in bed to soothe the ache.

Sakura's phone vibrated off to the side. She grabbed it from beside her pillow, holding it above her head and assuming, given the time, that it was Touya, checking in on her. Instead, what she saw made her heart jump into her throat.

Unknown number (3:58 AM): I can't sleep. I miss you.

She swallowed, reading the text over and over. Her fingers itched with the compulsion to respond. She felt so alone, and the same, and she knew it'd be easy to alleviate it just by sending back a simple "me, too. i'll come over."

She closed her eyes for a moment before reopening them and deleting the text. She blinked, and tears rolled down the sides of her face, past her temples and into her ears. Turning back onto her side, she cried softly into her pillow until she couldn't breathe. She got up and blew her nose, and when the tears started anew, she sat up and clutched her pillow to her chest, letting out whispered wails into the darkness and drawing in ugly, shuddering breaths as the word alone echoed in her head over and over. No matter how much she wished for sleep, it did not claim her until the sun had begun to peek over the horizon.

hi after a very long time, everyone, and thanks so much for reading! things have been crazy in the real world, and first and foremost, i hope all of you are doing okay. i apologize as usual for the long wait. this chapter was sad and therefore difficult to write, and the pacing drove me absolutely crazy (much thanks to annie for reading through for me and reassuring me!). and i apologize for the way it ended, too—i know that's not where people want the story to stop after such a long wait! but, as i promised, this story has a happy ending, and you'll see it in the next chapter (which will be the last real chapter before an epilogue). i've also written a lot of it, and i'll work hard to get it to you guys before too long.

thanks so much for all the kind words and sweet reviews and messages you've sent on tumblr with respect to this story and all my other writing. i still think about this fic daily after ten long years, so rest assured, even when i don't post for eight months, i am still always around! please drop a review on your way out and shoot me a message on tumblr if you'd like to ask questions!

love,

boreum dal