Letters
a Yu Yu Hakusho
fanfic by Aly Zeitler
Chapter 1
She stepped out from the shadows, and quietly crept up behind him.
"Happy Birthday." She whispered in his ear, startling him, thrusting a wrapped parcel into his hands before she darted back into the darkness, the small sounds of tree branches rustling in her wake as she disappeared
"Chioni—" He called, but she was already gone. The snow fell mutely as he looked at the package, turning it over and over. He didn't want to open it yet—just wanted to soak in the beauty of the simple abstract dark blues and greens of the paper she had used. A small envelope dropped as he turned it over again, and he quickly snatched it before the whiteness of it was eaten by the purity of the snow. He glanced at it for a moment, puzzled, then cautiously set about opening it. He stared at her handwriting, amazed at its neatness, then began to read.
"Dear Hiei," it opened with. "I wanted first of all to wish you a very happy birthday. I didn't stay—I was too embarrassed. You'll forgive me for that, won't you? I wish I had the courage to tell you this in person—I think I like you—a lot. If that was too strange—my apologies." He nearly fell off the pine tree branch he was perched on, knocking the envelope to the snow. He let it lie there, his face red. "You don't have to do anything more than to finish reading this letter. I'll see you again later tonight at Master Genkai's temple, I hope, for the Christmas Eve Party. No one else knows what tomorrow is, except for Kurama.
—Kyoshi Chioni
P.S. You can open your present now, if you'd like." He stared at the gift like it was a foreign thing, then carefully, slowly, began to tear open one side, going about it with the delicacy of a small child bringing a captured butterfly to their parent. He worked it open until the red fabric spilled out like blood; thick, heavy, and warm. When the red fabric was no longer imprisoned, he held it out, examining it. It was, when held fingertip to fingertip, nearly twice the length of his arm span; when held with his palm stretched open over it, nearly the same width. The crimson of the fabric was hand-knitted, there were dark blue snowflakes embroidered in varying sizes and designs all down the length of it, and there were four sets of fringe at each end. He immediately wrapped the scarf around his neck when her soft cherry-blossom scent reached his nose. He sat on his branch, absent-mindedly fingering the fringe, oblivious to when the snow began to flurry. His thoughts were elsewhere. He blushes, when her face comes to mind.