Yuuko lifted her pipe with a graceful, pale hand, wisps of smoke curling around her thin face. The weather outside was quite nice, which was a surprise considering the time of year; tomorrow, she'd have to remember to get Watanuki to make her some snacks to eat if she decided to sit outside. Silly boy, she thought with a small mental giggle. The moon illuminating her off-white dress, she propped her chin up on her hand. Reminiscing was not something she tended to do, what with all the bad memories she carried, like Atlas carrying the burden of the world on his back. They left deep scars, some that would look healed but in all actuality, they carved themselves deeper and deeper into the darker recesses of the mind.

Shaking her head to clear it, she noted to herself that she was looking too deep into these things. Those kinds of thoughts were best saved for Watanuki's little… lessons. A small frown worked its way onto her thin lips as she thought of the blue eyed boy. The completely oblivious blue eyed boy.

Watching the smoke waltz gently up into the ceiling of her dusty old shop, she took the ornate pipe out of her mouth, deciding that no, it was not a good idea to be smoking at that moment. Sighing quietly- Mokona was asleep, and he tended to get very cranky if woken up- she settled for slipping out of the door, grabbing an umbrella on the way. It was going to rain later.

Outside, the night was warm, humid. There were no brightened windows in the houses, all the shops were closed, and surprisingly, the streets were empty. Her own shop was no exception. It was as if the entire city had decided to quiet, just this once, so that they could give its inhabitants a small window of time to mourn. Mourn for what they have lost, mourn for what they will lose, and mourn for what they never had.

Circling the little triangle she made of the area, she noticed that the stars were hiding tonight. Hiding, but from what? Not the moon, the moon shone with unconditional love for all those it graced with its beauty. Not the sky, the sky was their blanket through the harsh night. Not the clouds, clouds were friends who played hide-and-seek through the days, when the stars were always hiding and the clouds were always seeking. Humans, they knew that those tiny, insignificant beings could not even hope to touch them. So, what were they hiding from?

Trying to forget it for the time being, Yuuko gave a final glance to the sleeping trees, the dozing grass, and slumbering blossoms of pale pink and lavender. A small, satisfied smile fixed on her face, the door swung open with a tiny twinkle of silver bells. She had gotten them last Christmas, a gift from Himawari, the sweet girl. Along with a new bottle of sake from the two boys. It really was a good Christmas. Especially with all the hints she'd been dropping.

Sighing, she let her umbrella drop to the floor. It made a small clatter, not loud enough to wake anybody, but still enough to fill the odd silence. A figure turned.

Cold eyes met Yuuko's ancient ones, a careless silhouette on the wall. He was a little taller than before, his hair a little longer, but otherwise, nothing had changed. Eight years had done little to transform him. Yuuko frowned once more, not quite knowing what he, of all people, was doing in her shop. He had never needed it before, not counting the time when he exchanged his blood for Watanuki's life. He had lived a good life, but what could he possibly. . .

Oh.

"We'll discuss this outside," Yuuko offered. He merely nodded, hands in pockets. He was still wearing his school uniform, she noted. "But isn't it late for you to be out here?" His head turned to the clock that hung from the wall. It was a new one, Mokona's Christmas gift. How the little fuzzball managed to get something like that, Yuuko would probably never find out.

"No later than usual," he replied. "Besides, you don't seem to be asleep."

She nodded. "True. Now, come with me." She held out a hand, but he merely brushed past it, heading towards the front lawn. Yuuko closed her eyes for a second or so, taking a deep breath. This problem was a complicated one, that was for sure. Especially since Watanuki, the foolish boy, and Himawari. . . When she reached the lawn, he was already sitting down, eyes hollow and blank. It did not suit him.

"What happened?" They both could hear the wind whispering the quiet continuation, "What happened while I was gone?" They both ignored the young breeze, instead preferring to look at the grass or endless, innocent sky. The moon gifted the two of them with a pale bath of silver, the grass with a cool blanket of soft.

"That would require a lot of explanation," Yuuko replied, purposefully dodging the question. She did not want to be the bearer of bad news again, she did not want to be the shot messenger. It was not fair, that she knew, it was not fair that she had to do it. But still, she gave them the news, still she caused so much pain. No amount of wishes- with prices or no- could make up for it.

"What happened?" It wasn't very often he let anger seep into his deep voice, unless he was shouting at Watanuki after he managed to get himself almost killed, but this was one of those times. The dark stain spreading across the perfectly white cloth that was his voice-

-the voice that so lovingly comforted Watanuki, the voice that whispered tales of love under demands for food, the voice that should have stayed strong, so loyal, firm, unbroken-

-was completely wrong. He wasn't supposed to sound like that.

"Everything has been going well," she started, slowly, as if unsure if the words she spoke were truth, and if the truth was actually right, just, "The spirits are not any more aggressive than usual, there have been no attacks by malicious demons." She paused to gauge his reaction. His face, should you have seen it, was a mask of bland disinterest. But to those who knew him, his eyes. They were far from the dark richness of chocolate and the ugliness of mud, dull brown yet storming, a shower of incandescent earth swirling in the wind, dancing to its melody. And Yuuko knew him. She stretched, a plastic smile gracing her features.

"And?" he prompted. Yuuko fought the urge to sigh and instead stood up, smoothing out imaginary creases in her dress. She carefully kept her eyes off of him as she did so; she did not want to see the look on his face, nor did she want him to see hers.

"This will require a lot of explanation," she repeated. Annoyance flickered on his face, and then it was gone.

"You already said that. I want to know what happened to him."

"Of course you do, of course." She gazed to the sky once more, asking for anybody to help her. Not many people would think of him as fragile. He was. He depended on others, but not in that sense. He needed to know that everything would be the same. He did not let go of those he loved easily. He had a hard time of letting anything, anyone, go. He clung to the familiar, and without it, he would go insane. But it wasn't as if he were weak. Oh no, he was strong, but everyone needed familiarity. Some more than others.

"Well?"

"Watanuki, he didn't take it well. Called you an idiot for leaving before he could get even with you." She suppressed a nostalgic smile. "Himawari cried for days, though I suppose that was to be expected." He gave a noncommittal grunt. "There isn't much else to say, so we'd better get going." She grinned widely, strangely, and turned back inside.

"Seven years is a long time." She stilled, though she did not look back.

"Eight."

"You cannot summarize eight years just like that," he amended. "What happened after that? I want to know." I need to know. Finally, she looked back. Her gaze was unmoving, hardened. His was dynamic, yet so dark and haunted. At last, she sighed, brushing a lock of raven out of her face.

"Watanuki. . ." She did not want to say it. She did not want to break him. But, a traitorous little voice at the back of her mind whispered, you have to. He wanted to know. So tell him. She closed her eyes, not screaming out loud no matter how much she wanted to. He merely raised an eyebrow, waiting. Not knowing how it would destroy him.

"He and-

-memories of summer, when everything was better, when Watanuki would call him a greedy idiot, when he would spit back a good-natured insult, when Himawari would just laugh, when Yuuko would smile and down another bottle of sake, when everyone else gave them this one afternoon together-

-Himawari. Last year, December-

-snowmen, snowrabbits, snowhorses, snowgods, snowrobots, snowothers, a warm dinner, laughter, family, friends, magicalenchantingwithwatanuki, so happy-

-they got married."

Shattered.

Yuuko did not look at his face. He did not look at hers. It was a dreadful silence, one that hovered just after realizing that your dear son whom you loved with all your heart has only three hours to live, and that you won't be able to say goodbye because he's too far away. Yuuko was definitely no mother, he was definitely no son, but it was close enough. Close enough had always been good enough for him.

"Oh," was all he said to break the silence. And he sat there, looking up at the sky. Brown eyes remained dry. He would not cry.

The sky cried for him.

As the first freshwater tears hit his pale face, he did not react. Yuuko did not react. As the grass bent to the Ame-Warashi, he did not react. Yuuko could only stare. As the screams of thunder echoed through the city, he did not react. Yuuko had already left. As he sat in the darkness of the night fading to dawn, as he drowned in tears not belonging to him, he did not react. Yuuko left him a white umbrella. It remained unopened.

At long last, he got up, touched his eye. A bitter smile, a bitter taste in his mouth, a bitter pain in his chest. And he was gone.

Later that day, Watanuki had rushed up to the witch, asking if he really came back. Yuuko had not smiled, Yuuko had not laughed. She had not teased him for caring. She had not answered.

Himawari had come by the day after, also asking if he had come. Yuuko's face was blank, expressionless, fixed. She said nothing, instead choosing to hand her a slip of paper and ushering her out of the shop. She read it later:

Your heart tells you it is wrong.

On both their hands, there rested a golden ring. On that ring, a glimmering diamond lay. Bright, seemingly perpetually shifting colors. A true beauty of a gem. If you looked close enough into the diamond, you would be able to see him. You would be able to see his empty eyes, his lost smile, his soul, so dark, so vulnerable. You would be able to see-

-hurt