Title: The Wolf at the Door
Prompt:#095 New Year
Characters: Lightly Urahara/Mayuri
Notes: I meant to release this with the new year, but I missed both of them because I moved across the country. Oops. Anyhow, it seems I'm able to write again, so here goes!


Urahara raised his hand. The snowflakes fell on the palm, quickly liquefying, their branches melting while still retaining that same hexagonal shape for as long as they could. He stuck out his tongue, happily catching a few more. These ones were bigger, fluffier.

"Must we stand out here in this cold?"

"It's a new year, Mayuri-san."

"And?" Mayuri rubbed his arms.

"It's tradition."

"I don't care if it's tradition."

"Then why have you come with me for the past nine years?"

Mayuri said nothing.

They stood at the fountain, each taking a stick-mounted cup, filling it and pouring it, letting the sacred water roll and bead over the backs of their hands. Then, there was a sip to purify their worldly mouths.

"Even you want a prosperous new year, full of fruitful projects, lots of funding, insightful collaborations…"

"But this is silly," Mayuri spat. He gestured to a group of school children who were buying charms associated with luck on examinations. "No amount of prayer will turn an oaf into a genius, no matter what he wishes."

Urahara laughed. "That may be true, but it gives them hope. That's a gift in itself."

"Not when it comes crashing down around their ears! Though, perhaps that is fine justice."

Urahara smiled and shook his head. "Come on, let's buy some omamori!"

Urahara had already grabbed his sleeve and had pulled him to a booth where charms of every color and purpose hung haphazardly over pegboards and in small wooden baskets. Urahara then paid the monk who sat behind the counter and tucked a charm into the inside of Mayuri's haori.

"For protection against misfortune," he said.

"I don't need it."

Urahara squinted as he looked into Mayuri's eyes. "Something tells me that you might."

Mayuri took it out of the small pocket and put it back in Urahara's hands. "You take it. You're the one who's a disaster."

Urahara pushed it back. "No, that's okay."

"Fine."

Now they stood before the shrine. It was old, the mirrors inside a bit tarnished, the finish on the wooden railing faded from age.

"Now, now," Urahara clucked his tongue. "Let's go up."

He grabbed the rope and rang the bell, clapping his hands and bowing before throwing in his offering. The coins clinked as they joined the others. The geta clopped on the stone as he walked down the short stairway to the ground below.

Mayuri felt the eyes upon him, those waiting to go after him, tourists staring, eyes both imagined and real. This was always awkward. He needed no gods and if he did, he was sure that the gods helped those who helped themselves. Even the statues of the jizou seemed to stare. That was right; he was a god, too, inside and out.

He rang the bell with a dark booming sound, clapped and bowed deeply.

He wished that man wasn't there, that man who made him feel things he didn't want to feel even though secretly he did. He wished to be alone, for peace, to be far away from this rickety shrine.

He blinked as he tossed in the coin. Just as he thought, he felt no different.

It wasn't until few months later, pondering the charm in his hands in Urahara's vacant office, that that he realized how much everything about him had changed.