Chapter Text
You spent all your love when you were young
Faceless and running from the sun
Cigarette smoke and paper bullets
A drive down the highway feels so numb
Even when keeping a polite distance, Fai is prone to affection. Perhaps it has something to do with spending so many years in isolation, and the only subsequent form of tenderness eventually giving way to bloodied hands in need of stilling. Perhaps it was the open culture of Celes, which encouraged warm hugs even between strangers—and the sight of said warmth slipping from cold bodies buried in snow.
Either way, it’s something that Fai covets. He knows the man from the portal expects him to take or destroy the lives of his travel companions, but he sees the kindness in their hearts almost immediately, so he craves their honest affection in spite of his better judgement.
It starts with Mokona, who is all too ready to throw themself at their newfound friends, showering them with little kisses and snuggling up inside their coats. While Sakura and Syaoran don’t turn down Mokona’s friendly advances, Fai is quite eager to indulge in Mokona’s need for cuddles and smooches.
Fai may keep himself carefully guarded from opening up to others, but Mokona always feels safe to engage with. Mokona doesn’t have any desire to dig up their friend’s potential pain—Fai wonders if such an innocent little thing even has a concept of pain beyond Kurogane’s occasional rough housing, or bemoaning when they do a head count and find even just one team member has left for a brief errand. Mokona simply wants everyone to be together all the time, and to always be happy. All Mokona asks of Fai is to bask in the joys of the present, as if the past does not exist. Fai welcomes the escapism.
Over the course of their travels, Fai develops a tic for calling over Mokona. A simple tap on his own cheek, which Mokona quickly follows by bouncing over to his shoulder and planting a big peck to where Fai’s finger is pointed. Fai would look all too pleased with himself afterwards, grinning wide enough to fool even Kurogane for a moment.
Sakura is quick to pick up on the gesture and finds herself giving Fai the occasional requested quick peck on the cheek as they bake cakes for guests in the Cat’s Eye kitchen. In response to a particularly large swell of pride at the results of her baking efforts, Sakura would even tap her own cheek, and Fai would chase the subsequent kiss with a song of praise for her hard work. Fai has a particularly heart-stopping moment burned into his memory, when she clapped her hands excitedly at his words of affirmation before sweeping her small arms around his waist in a tight hug.
In the valley beneath the tower, the man in the portal told Fai that he would one day go on an adventure with a desert princess. While he knew she would not be his savior, he couldn't help but imagine running off to a warm land and finally having a friend of his own. Fairytale fantasies of far-off worlds and a hand to hold chased his loneliness away and gave him the hope he needed to survive.
With Sakura in his arms, Fai can't help but feel a sense of safety that he could only dream of as a child.
Escapism is turning into something else, and as much as that terrifies Fai, he can’t find the willpower to put a stop to it, either. The more he pushes away his burgeoning affection for these kids, the more they reach out to him, in need of some form of nurturing from someone, and he’s already reaching back before he can think any better of it.
Fai attempts this cheek tapping motion with Syaoran at one point, but the poor boy only stares confused for a moment, before asking if there was something on his own face. Judging by the pink that dusts over his ears when he says it, however, Fai determines that while Syaoran actually does understand his request, he is simply too shy to go along with it.
Syaoran is a lonely boy; Fai can recognize that in his eyes. Fai recalls when he arrived in Celes, and couldn’t trust Ashura’s open arms at first. While his frail, starved body couldn’t help but melt into that first embrace, it set alarms off in his head, anyhow. This is too good to be true, he thought. This must be a trick, an illusion, another method of torture in return for each misfortune he exhales into the world. Fai rolled the dice, allowing himself to believe there were other possibilities, then landed on the third all the same.
To Fai, happiness is bait for suffering, and he falls for it every time.
But unlike him, Syaoran is a good kid, and Fai can be the one to give him the unconditional companionship he craves. Whatever it takes to earn Syaoran’s trust, to convince him that he deserves love and care, Fai will do it.
The man in the portal would be proud of Fai’s tenacity in manipulating vulnerability out of his enemies.
That’s a thought for another day.
So, Fai is patient, and seeks other ways to express his affection for Syaoran. Praise goes a little better, but still puts Syaoran in a state of unease. It doesn’t repel him, but he can’t seem to believe Fai’s words, either. Sakura’s compliments are a particular nightmare, as they almost always render the lovesick kid useless and frozen with shock for the rest of the day.
Fai soon finds that simple, steadfast support does wonders for Syaoran. Fai attempted to mask his own cleverness with an air of empty headed curiosity, at first. It’s an effective method in drawing information out of others, when one asks questions with an innocent facade. Syaoran, while trusting, is also clever on his own. Most of all, he is determined. So when Fai finds Syaoran particularly puzzled with a problem, he can’t help himself. He reveals the true sharpness of his own mind, for the boy’s sake. He wants Syaoran to succeed , and besides—helping the kid collect Sakura’s feathers is his current intended role. So what if his own personal interests happen to line up?
Whenever Fai steers Syaoran towards a solution, the boy’s face lights up brighter than any sunrise in any world that Fai has ever set foot in. It’s too much, and he’d give anything to see that bright fire ignite in the kid’s eyes again and again. Fai has even caught on to a slight twitch in Syaoran’s arms, pausing with a rushed “thank you” before dashing off to the next step of his ongoing obstacles. Fai knows that reflex all too well—the desire to embrace in unbridled gratitude, held back by plaguing uncertainty.
Fai will not ask for Syaoran to reach out to him, not when he is this terrified to do so.
Instead, Fai offers a tap to Syaoran’s cheek as they sit next to each other in a pile of books, researching the complexities of their current world. Syaoran is quiet for a while, and Fai waits. Syaoran relaxes his shoulders, then slowly nods. Fai gives Syaoran’s cheek the softest peck, and Syaoran’s brown eyes melt into honey. Gravity seems to tilt Syaoran’s head into Fai’s chest, and Fai reaches an arm around his shoulder to balance him. Syaoran leans into the warmth of Fai’s embrace, and allows exhaustion and trust to sink his weight into Fai as far as it will go.
For the first time in many many years, Fai feels hope burn in his chest.
It is absolutely impossible for this Syaoran to not have grown a heart of his own by now, to let a man as pitiful as Fai in.
Maybe, when the chips are down, Syaoran’s heart would be big enough to save them both.
It isn’t.
Once again, Fai’s suffering is a self-fulfilling prophecy.
His boy is gone.
His princess needs him, but he poses the greatest danger to her of all.
This new Syaoran is a stranger to him—that same heart returned to his body serving only as a cruel reminder that—
His boy is gone.
Fai knew this was coming. Like a fool, he set the blade of hope between his ribs, cold steel pointed directly at his heart.
The blade remains, but he swears to be tactical, this time. This is a promise of sacrifice. He’ll remove his future from the equation, so he does not sully the safety of his princess with rotten luck.
Kurogane, of all people, is the one to rip the sacrificial blade from his hands and send it scattering.
The one subject of desire Fai never allowed himself to pursue, to even consider beyond fantasy, because there wasn’t ever an ounce of Kurogane that needed him.
Kurogane seems to be under the sick, misguided notion that he needs Fai alive, all the same. Needs it so badly he was willing to turn Fai into a monster against his will. (Not that it makes much of a difference, at this point. Fai already feels like a parasite.)
The thought of Kurogane needing him disgusts Fai—it has to—because if he allows himself to slip for a moment, to think for a second that a man as good as Kurogane could undo the impossible and stand at his side, then he will give in. Fai will give in to happiness, and Kurogane won’t survive.
Shutting Kurogane out isn’t easy to do, but it is necessary.
At the beginning, Fai was so ready to dismiss Kurogane, a man Fai was intended to face off against and kill the second he got in his way. An orchestrated tragedy groomed this man as an attack dog, only cut from Fei Wang Reed’s direct control due to the witch’s intervention. Surely nothing could have completely sated the blind bloodlust he was driven to at such a young age. His death didn’t have to be a guilt on Fai’s conscience.
But, oh, the Kurogane in Fai’s head was not the man he met.
Kurogane is blunt to such a delicious fault; something that can only come from an achingly honest heart.
When Fai tests Kurogane’s rage, the befuddled ninja meets him with flustered shouts that may drip with threats of violence, but there is no bite to them. Not to Fai, not to the kids. Not to the people that Kurogane truly believes don’t deserve it. Even with Mokona, he only takes to tossing the creature around like a rag doll after realizing they are practically indestructible and often gives a toddler-like screech of terrified joy when chucked across a room.
Perhaps Kurogane was guarded at first, but it was never anything personal against the strangers he was saddled with, just a matter of priority. He simply wanted to go home, and said so time and time again, in the plainest of words.
When Kurogane speaks, he is so simple. There is no dance to it, no game of misdirection. Only blatant shyness could ever disguise his truth, and even then, it only makes his earnest moments all the sweeter.
Fai is addicted to it. He never has to guess if Kurogane distrusts him, because Kurogane tells him exactly that, and exactly why. It’s such a relief to feel the dissenting voices warning him of inevitable hatred quiet completely when Fai drives Kurogane to a rant about all of the precise things he already hates about him.
Fai grows to crave Kurogane’s presence, as he does the others’. The frustrating thing about Kurogane, however, is that there is no room for escapism with him. The silly nicknames are a source of amusement, but Kurogane makes no pretense about how much he dislikes them, and adamantly refuses to play along with Fai’s game of house.
There are times where Kurogane’s firm stance in reality pisses Fai off to no end, and the ear-to-ear grin he displays for him takes on a grit of annoyance as Kurogane sees right through it every damn time.
But just because Kurogane refuses to play along doesn’t mean that Fai can’t make a game of him. He simply has to rearrange the rules so that Kurogane’s rage at his antics was the goal all along. Kurogane is a walking comedy routine, only none of his bits are intentional, and that is one of the many beautiful things about him. Fai is having… fun, with Kurogane. Genuine fun with this ridiculous man. That is his brutal mistake, and his downfall.
Adoring Kurogane for who he is, flaws and all.
From the start.
Then, a little more each day.
More and more, until he is head over heels in love.
With the kids, Fai can close his eyes, hold them tight, and pretend to live in a world where he is truly their family, with no hidden knives held behind his back.
Fai does not have that luxury with Kurogane. With Kurogane, there is no physical affection he can bury his feelings into. Any attempt to drape himself against the warrior’s large, warm, sturdy frame is quickly shoved away.
Fai doesn’t even bother with the cheek tapping when it comes to Kurogane. He can only laugh when entertaining the thought of the ninja ever heading a request so… touchy. He’d probably roll his eyes, maybe even pinch Fai’s cheek in lieu of the kiss. Well… even that fantasy feels tempting. If there was any way he could get the man to put those large, calloused hands on him, Fai would seize the opportunity and never let go.
There is one form of intimacy that Fai feels comfortable in indulging in, with Kurogane. One that he is certain Kurogane wants as much as he does, and seeks with the same urgency.
Someone to talk to.
Not teasing, not bantering—actual talking.
It starts with simply explaining things to the poor, confused ninja as he wanders with an almost helpless expression through these strange new worlds. No, this is not anything like your world. Yes, some things are familiar, but some things are going to be incomprehensible, and that’s fine. Fai likes being helpful, it makes him forget about his misfortune, and pretend he can be a blessing to others. Kurogane would never admit it, but he has always been grateful for Fai’s patience with him, in return.
While Kurogane still doesn’t trust Fai, he does develop a strange ease around him, and finds himself going to Fai when his thoughts pile too high in his head. He complains to him about everything from the current world’s moon (Moons? What do you mean there can be more than one moon? That’s bullshit!) and back. Gripes about not understanding magic, or people. Waxes about the days he could just stick a sword in his problems and call it good. Philosophical debates are a particular favorite of Fai’s, and if the pair is not careful, they will dispute the mysteries of the cosmos until the sun (or suns) rise.
Fai can never stop running his mouth, of course. So, not only does he talk through each and everyone one of Kurogane’s issues with the universe, Fai ends up babbling about his own daily grievances, as well. They almost always have to do with the kids and their present situation. The past is completely off limits, even to himself, as much as he can help it. Fai takes quickly to Syaoran and Sakura, and it isn’t long before he’s airing almost every thought about them to the ninja.
Kurogane’s disinterest in the kids quickly becomes feigned, then ceases to exist altogether. The second they’re out of his sight, his quibbles turn to where they are and what they’re up to. Fai is often right there with them, and any assurances about their safety are just as much in service to himself as they are to Kurogane.
When they are truly separated from the kids, they are completely out of their depth. The lack of Mokona’s translation spell threatens to carve a chasm between them. With no words to fill the space, and no children to look after, what do they have left to keep them tied together?
Perhaps it is because they have nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. No one else to hope alongside with that maybe, some day, their children will return, and all will be well. It is this mutual determination that keeps them from falling apart. Fai blames Kurogane entirely for that. Fai did not need words to know that Kurogane would never give up, and simply took each new challenge in stride, dragging Fai along to face them as a team.
A new form of intimacy emerges. Glances, nods, a subtle movement of hands. Practice. Never ending practice, both in communication, and especially on the battlefield. They learn to know each other’s bodies better than they know themselves. Fighting is a dance, back to back, side to side. Ever wary of what the other does not see, steady and swift in each other’s blind spots.
Yama is where they become partners, or perhaps even friends.
It’s more than Fai could ever ask for, though his heart betrays him at night as he watches Kurogane breathe steadily on the opposite side of their shared tent.
There is an itch in Fai’s hands whenever Kurogane’s eyes slip open and their gazes meet.
If he were to tap his lips, or reach out his arms, what would Kurogane do?
Instead, Fai plasters on an assuring smile. Kurogane rolls his eyes with a scoff when it’s particularly fake, otherwise giving a simple grunt of acknowledgement before drifting back into sleep.
Things go on like this for six months. Half a year of fighting together in perfect synchronicity, and half a year of three careful feet of distance between Fai’s cot and Kurogane’s arms.
The relief that washes over Fai when he finally hears Kurogane’s Japanese break partway into Celesian is indescribable. Fai sees that same relief in Kurogane, when he hears Japanese fly from Fai’s lips in an ecstatic realization that their children have come home.
The two speak in rapid-fire urgency, stumbling over each other, formulating a plan to get their kids back. There’s a pause, gathering themselves. A laugh bursts from Fai’s chest. He looks up, and Fai has never seen Kurogane smile like this before. To make matters worse, laughter begins to rumble from Kurogane’s chest, as well, wrinkling his eyes.
Fai may have fallen in love with Kurogane, but it is their mutual love for the children that ultimately draws them together.
To see Kurogane so unguarded and happy to have them back—what else can Fai do, but be driven madder still with want?
This old comfort, at least, Fai can have back, alongside his children.
Fai has his talks with Kurogane, again.
Fai doesn’t consider how incriminating these talks could be, until it’s too late.
They are in Piffle, watching in awe as Sakura wins the race, and Syaoran comes rushing to greet her in victory, the utter love and adoration he has for this girl unbidden on his face. Sakura lights up as bright as they have ever seen her, and that smile isn’t to placate a damn thing for anyone else. Her joy is for herself and her own accomplishments alone, beaming with confidence and pride so pure, it’s blinding.
Fai’s heart swells at the sight, almost bringing tears to his eyes.
Words of affection and admiration for these darling children spill from his chest, completely reverent with how much they’ve grown and changed.
Fai can feel Kurogane’s eyes on him, and he knows he’s made a fatal mistake when Kurogane voices the most dangerous words he could hear, in this moment.
“You’ve changed, too.”
When Fai’s smile drops, his mask does not slip. It already did. Kurogane just saw him bare faced, heart beating soft and vulnerable in the open air.
Now, Fai feels confused. Empty. Lost.
Afraid.
Kurogane has turned his attention back to the kids, paying no mind to how Fai stares at him in terror and disbelief, mouth parted in an unspoken question.
Fai doesn’t know what Kurogane saw, but he remembers what he had just felt.
If Kurogane saw through him, to his very core, then what he saw in that moment was a man in love with his newfound family. He did not see the betrayer, he did not see the harbinger of misfortune. Kurogane could not truly see him, because he does not have the full picture.
No one can truly love Fai, if they do not have the full picture.
The full picture is precisely what makes him unlovable, so he settles on taking this half love while it is still his.
And, of course, it does not last even two worlds longer after that.
His boy is gone.
This new boy is not his.
His princess still needs him, and he cannot deny her.
And Kurogane, well. If Kurogane believes he needs Fai, then he is mistaken. Fai will make sure he understands that.
Fai will take their half love, and kill it with his own two hands.
What Fai does not realize is that Kurogane never loves in half measures.
Kurogane will either kill for you, or give you nothing at all.
The only reason he hasn’t killed for this family yet, is because Princess Tomoyo’s punishment had forced him to explore other paths.
Ashura’s death is worth it to Kurogane, regardless.
Fai is worth it, to him, in spite of everything.
All of Fai’s secrets are laid bare, all his suffering and all his mistakes are paraded before all that is left of his broken family.
This new Syaoran’s lack of judgment shouldn’t be too surprising—any version of him is far too painfully kind and forgiving to let even the darkest of deeds waver his unending gratitude to others. Perhaps, it is worth remembering this Syaoran knows exactly what it’s like to be trapped under Fei Wang Reed’s thumb. Perhaps Fai should have considered that a lot sooner.
Mokona is incapable of hatred, though the thought of them seeing even a minute of what it was like in the valley beneath the tower brings bile to Fai’s mouth.
As much as it tortures Fai that Sakura has reverted to an empty shell—because of him—he is nevertheless eternally grateful that she is spared from bearing witness to his tragedy.
Kurogane… in the thousands of iterations of this nightmare that have run through Fai’s head every day since he met the man, he never once imagined a version that did not end with either Kurogane, himself, or the both of them dead.
Every mile of distrust Kurogane has placed between them since he first laid eyes on him has been proven true, and Fai knows that Kurogane will make no hesitation in executing him as a threat. The more Kurogane fell in love with the kids, the more certain Fai became of this inevitability. Their conflict is no longer just a matter of self preservation, they both have something to protect.
What Fai miscalculates, is that he himself is under Kurogane’s protection.
Even now.
Ashura—his father, his mentor, his king, his tormentor—is slain, and put to rest.
The world caves in, and Fai is ready to let go.
Kurogane is not.
Kurogane does not love in half measures.
Fai can hardly register the sheer madness of the warrior’s sacrifice, before he finally knows what it is like to have that large, calloused hand grasp him, and pull.