CULTURAL NOTES: Due to certain very successful marketing efforts, most people in Japan eat a bucket of KFC (yes, seriously) and a "Christmas Cake" decorated with whipped frosting and strawberries on Christmas Eve. Beethoven's Ninth Symphony is also heavily associated with the holiday. See Christmas lights is also a common practice.

Christmas in Japan is mostly secular. Christmas Eve is regarded as a time for lovers, rather than a time for family togetherness (because that's what New Year's is for in Japan). It's like December Valentine's Day but with chicken, cake and Colonel Sanders. And I might be a vegetarian, but that sounds nice to me!

A Very Keirama Christmas

Part 2:

"Keiko Claus"

The bustle of the Christmas market surpassed Kurama's grandest expectations.

Although it was technically Christmas Eve, it was just the morning thereof when he met Kei at her home and then travelled with her to a local Christmas market. Given the hour, Kurama had not thought the market would be particularly crowded—but he was wrong, and then some. People were out in droves, filling the outdoor market to the gills with puffy coats, woolen scarves and excited chatter. String lights hung from poles above the market's stalls and the heads of the thick crowd, arcing through the air like the flight paths of glimmering doves. Sunlight caught the crystalline bulbs, refracting small pinpricks of illumination onto the crowd below, and although the lights had been turned off in the daytime, many signs promised the lights would turn back on as soon as twilight fell… and yet, the lack of lights apparently proved no deterrent to the Christmas shoppers that congested the narrow avenues between vendors' labyrinth of stalls. Patrons crowded about the stalls to ooh and ahh over their wares, sipping hot drinks at standing tables and eating seasonal treats with smiles on their faces.

Hundreds of eager humans shared the marketplace, by Kurama's estimates. Christmas markets were common this time of year, but Kurama had not attended one in a long time. He recalled his father and mother taking him to a few when he was a small child, but although his memory of these trips was mostly clear, he could not seem to recall if the markets had been this packed back then. But perhaps it wasn't a failing of his, to not remember. He hadn't been to a market in years, and the experience wasn't important enough to merit further commitment to memory.

Or at least it wasn't important enough for him to remember. To Kei, her memories of the market were clear, indeed.

The cold winter air nipped at Kurama's cheeks, turning his breath to cloudy vapor as he followed Kei into the throng of people milling about the Christmas market. She darted out ahead of him as they passed through the market's light-festooned front gates, spinning in place with arms outstretched, scarf fluttering around her shoulders.

"This market is my favorite," she said, practically beaming at him. "There are, like, five in town, but this one is the best. The food vendors, the merch hawkers, the crowds… it's all just top notch, and trust me, I've been to all the markets, so I would know." She pointed upward, one mitten-clad hand reaching skyward toward the lights. "At night it all lights up, too, and it has the best lights of them all, so my parents and I always go on Christmas Eve to take it in. It's an experience." She pronounced the word with undisguised relish, looking at him with expectation. "Cool, huh?"

"I suppose," Kurama said.

Kei didn't notice his mild tone, already turning back around to place her hands on her hips, surveying the market from a distance. "OK," she said, mostly to herself. "So we're looking for something for your mom. Mission objective confirmed." Turning back to Kurama again, she asked, "Do you put up a tree during Christmastime?"

"A tree?"

"I'll take that as a 'no.'" Again she muttered to herself, mitten cupping her chin in thought. "So no ornaments, then. But there are tons of other décor options we can look at, and they even have some non-Christmas stuff if we don't want a themed gift…"

Kei radiated enthusiasm like a lantern emitting light, warm and invigorating. The cold had placed spots of color in her cheeks, a spring in her step and a hum spilling from her grinning mouth. Her mittened hand curled around Kurama's wrist to pull him after her into the maze of market stalls and vendor booths, her eagle eyes searching for a gift amid the glut of items on display. She peppered Kurama with questions as they perused the nearest section of booths, asking him about Shiori's favorite colors and hobbies, listening intently before making suggestions (and asking about price points; ever practical, his Kei). With every bit of feedback Kei received, she adjusted her suggestions, coming closer and closer to hitting the mark each time she held up an item for his consideration.

Kurama could tell that Kei was doing her level best to listen to and subsequently apply his feedback, on the hunt for something perfect, not settling for "close" or "good enough." Her dedication to his mother's gift was oddly flattering. First her handmade planter, and now this…

After they surveyed a booth of nutcrackers painted to look like Santa and Kurama quickly rejected the dolls with their eerily hinged jaws, Kei smiled and asked, "Oh, I have an idea! Does your mother like coffee?"

"She prefers tea, I believe."

"Even better." Kei headed purposefully away from the nutcracker booth, pointing off to their left. "There's a booth that sets up on the north side each year that sells coffee spoons and honey spoons for tea."

Kurama followed her, of course, noting that they were heading away from the merchandise vendors and closer to those serving food, who had been lined up around the market's perimeter. "What is a coffee spoon?" he asked, eyes intent on the spot between her shoulders lest he lose her in the crowd.

"It's a spoon they cover in chocolate and marshmallows and things like that," Kei explained. "You stir your coffee with it and the chocolate melts and flavors the coffee. A honey spoon works the same way, but it's for tea, instead." She paused, looking left and right and standing on her toes to see above the crowd. "Now let's see… I think it should be right over…" Kei flung out her hand. "There it is!"

"You really know your stuff, Kei," Kurama said as they started in the direction she'd indicated. "You're a Christmas market encyclopedia."

"I've been coming here since I was a kid, so I'd better be!" She let out a merry laugh. "A lot of the vendors are old friends, too. We network with them for restaurant supplies and things, so…"

"Yukimura-san!"

The crowd parted, revealing a booth draped with evergreen garland and curling red ribbons. A middle-aged woman wearing a Santa hat and a green apron waved from behind the counter, tips of her gloved fingers almost brushing the stall's wooden roof. The roof had been gilded in fake snow, giving the impression of a cozy woodland cottage transported into the heart of the lively marketplace. More fake snow dusted the counter itself, silver spoons wrapped in golden cellophane strewn artfully among the drifts beside heaped pinecones and Christmas ornaments. Several tiered serving platters displayed yet more spoons, several unwrapped so interested customers could see the sprinkles, marshmallows, and other treats molded in the chocolate embracing the end of each utensil.

Kei barely paid attention to these things, however. Upon skipping over to the booth, she leaned across the counter to bow at the woman in the hat, pretty face alight with an enormous, friendly smile.

"Hi!" Kei said, enthusiasm evident. "It's good to see you, Okami-san!"

So they knew one another by name, then? Kurama knew Kei visited this market each year, but he hadn't quite been expecting her to know the vendors within by name. As he watched Kei and Okami chat and catch up, Kurama hung back to observe in silence. It was interesting to see Kei so in her element, in a place he has never seen her before. It was clear she enjoyed this market and its regulars, although he still was not certain why.

After a few minutes' talk, Okami noticed Kurama at last, eyes skimming up and down his frame in a surprised sweep. A smile crept across her mouth soon after; Kurama had a hunch he knew what she'd say even before she turned that devilish expression toward Kei.

"So, Yukimura…" Okami winked. "Is this your boyfriend? Eh? Eh?"

Kei just laughed, swatting at Okami's arm. "Oh, no, stop it!" she said—but her eyes darted to the side, perhaps gauging Kurama's reaction. "This is Minamino, one of my classmates, and we're here to get a gift for his mom."

"Just a classmate? Are you sure?" said Okami with another grin. "Because you two make a cute couple!"

Kei groaned and hung her head. "Okami-san…"

Kurama hummed, nudging Kei's side with his elbow. "You aren't the first to say that, though," he said to Okami. "Is she, Kei?"

Kei glowered at him. "I wouldn't know."

Okami laughed at their bickering, reaching under the counter to pull forth a small gift bag with a puff of tissue paper rising from its throat. "Well, either way, I want you to have these," she said, passing the bag to Kei. "Go get some coffee and warm up, kids. On the house."

Kei beamed. "Thank you so much, Okami-san!"

Luckily for them, a booth selling coffee and hot apple cider occupied a plot only a few spaces away from the coffee spoon dispensary, where Kurama bought them each a cup of coffee ("Consider it payment for my excellent tour guide," he said with Kei protested). One they acquired a small table in front of the booth at which to stand with other patrons, he mimicked Kei as she unwrapped one of the spoons Okami had gifted them and used it to stir her drink. Marshmallows detached and floated to the top of her cup as the chocolate ensconcing them melted into the coffee, transforming the bitter drink into a rich, nearly cocoa-like beverage. It was slightly too sweet for Kurama's tastes, so he did not let his spoon melt entirely. Kei, however, melted hers down to the last drop of chocolate, blowing on her cup before taking a long sip.

"Damn, that's good." She stripped off her mittens, curling cold-reddened fingers around the cup for warmth. The coffee emitted steam, billowing over her pink cheeks as she lifted it to her lips. "I used to be allergic to coffee, you know."

Kurama set down his cup. "Really?"

"Yeah. Made me break out in hives." She took another sip, humming in pleasure. "I love it now, though."

Kurama stared into his drink, counting the marshmallows drifting across its surface. "I enjoy it as well." After a moment's recollection, he added, "I admit I never tried it before coming to Human World, however."

Kei set down her cup, too. "Oh. Wow." Wheels turned behind her bright eyes, ones she trained intently on Kurama's face. "So there's no coffee in Demon World at all, then?"

"Not in the areas I travelled. But then again, Demon World is depthless. Perhaps coffee and I merely never crossed paths." Kurama frowned, eyeing Kei with skepticism. "Why are you smiling?"

She had started smiling almost as soon as he began to speak. It was an odd smile, Kurama thought. Small and soft, the smile manifested as a subtle quirk of her lips that brought a pleased wrinkle to the corner of her eye. Did he read affection in her scrutiny? Before he could truly parse the emotions in her glimmering gaze, she looked away, cheeks flushing with pink heat—and not because of her coffee, which she had not sipped in some time.

Interesting. But what had prompted that reaction?

"It's just…" Kei shrugged, answering his unspoken question. "You're pretty mysterious, you know?"

"Oh?" Kurama said, not sure what she was thinking (and not sure if that intrigued him or made him the slightest bit uncomfortable).

Kei shrugged again. "You lived this crazy life completely outside my realm of experience. A demon, running around in another world, a legendary thief… I can hardly imagine any of it." Her blush deepened. "And asking about it is embarrassing."

"You know you can ask me anything, don't you?" said Kurama, voice musical and soft.

"I do," Kei assured him at once, "but… I dunno." She shrugged a third time, this gesture more helpless than the last. "I don't want to pry. You're a private person. And every time I ask, it shows how much I don't know. How much I haven't seen. Sometimes it makes me wonder if I'm kind of…"

Kei trailed off, taking a sip of coffee as she stared at the tabletop between them. She traced her fingertips up and down the sides of her coffee cup, the sound of their travel inaudible beneath the bombinating crowd swirling past their booth like a cold winter wind. He felt the urge to reach out and cover her hand with his, chafe warmth back into her skin—but the whim subsided, an ephemeral velleity the origin of which Kurama did not quite understand.

"Kind of what?" was all he said, instead, hands lying inert on the tabletop.

Kei hesitated. She stared at her coffee before looking up at him, then away again just as quickly.

"… boring," she admitted after a time. "I'm afraid you'll think I'm boring."

Kurama said nothing. He simply… stared. He watched as Kei cleared her throat and drained the rest of her coffee, fishing the half-melted marshmallows from the bottom of the cup with her now bare coffee spoon. Truly, Kurama had no idea how Kei had come to that particular conclusion. Her, boring? That simply wasn't true. Since coming into his life, all she'd brought with her was excitement—something his human life had sorely lacked before her auspicious arrival within it. Kei was the exact opposite of boring, at least in Kurama's eyes.

But Kei did not appear to know that. In silence she stared into the remains of her coffee, tracing unnamable patterns through the drags—and when she smiled, the look tasted bitter, like the coffee before the introduction of the coffee spoon.

"I was just a human, before now," Kei eventually admitted to her coffee cup. "And I'm still just a human today. There's nothing really exciting about me at all. So taking you here, dragging you around… I was wondering if you were having a good time. If this could measure up to anything from your past." At last she lifted her eyes to his, smile a little sweeter than before. "But when you said you'd never had coffee, I thought—well. That's a new experience. Your old life didn't show you all the worlds have to offer." A final shrug, one that spoke of acceptance rather than helpless defeat. "And that made me happy, I guess."

Kurama did not say anything. Neither did Kei, after she finished speaking. Together they stood in silence, watching the crowd eddy and swirl around their table, two motionless trees encircled by a falling snow. When Kurama finished his coffee, he took his cup and Kei's—Kei giving him a smile of wordless thanks—and disposed of them in the trash provided by the coffee vendor.

"That was nice," Kei said when he returned. She was tugging on her mittens, slender hands hidden by warm wool. "There's still a lot more market to see, so why don't we get moving."

"Sure." A beat. "Kei?"

Her eyes lifted to his. "Yes?"

"You could never bore me." He stepped toward her, moving around the table. "You know that, don't you?"

Kei didn't reply. She just looked at him, and he looked at her in return. Eventually her chin ducked, a smile stealing its way across her lips.

"Yeah. I know," she said—shaking her head the whole time, disbelief and acceptance waging war in her expression. Nevertheless, she reached for Kurama's hand, soft mittens curling around his cold fingertips. "Now c'mon. We've got a gift to find."

The pair wandered for some time, perusing booths and stalls at a leisurely pace—remaining hand in hand for far longer than Kurama had expected when Kei first took his hand into her own. Neither of them spoke much. They walked together and then parted, only to fall back into step at each other's side to tell the other about something they had found to potentially gift Shiori. Every now and then Kei would catch each Kurama's eye from afar and lift up an item for him to see, and without words they would communicate their opinions with subtle nods or shakes of their head. They exchanged a hasty smile here or there, pulling faces at something odd or comical they'd spotted.

Even from meters off, Kei could make him laugh without saying a word. Kurama had long been amazed by the effectiveness of their nonverbal communication, marveling at the speed with which Kei had learned his mannerisms and moods. Was her acuity entirely because of the legend in which they had each played a part? For a time he had wondered if this were the case, but in the end—no. He could not blame the legend alone for their connection. Upon meeting Kei for the first time, he had resisted all her attempts to know and understand him, pulling away whenever she made an overture of friendship… and yet, Kei had slithered past his defenses every time.

To term her actions as such sounded unflattering, but Kurama did not think of her that way. He simply wasn't sure how to else to put his feelings into words. He had not wanted a friend when Kei emerged from the ether to stand at his side. Now, though, he could hardly imagine his life without her. How colorless that life would feel, he though. How boring. How dull.

How ironic, considering she seemed to think the exact opposite…

From a distance Kurama watched Kei as she wandered through the Christmas market. They walked down the opposite sides of a long row of vendors, separated by distance and the river of people running between them. Kei walked with her head down, fingers deft as they skimmed over tables of wares, shrewd eyes missing nothing. She could have been a hunter in her past life, with eyes and intensity like that. When her gaze alit on some new quarry, she darted forward and dodged around a strolling couple, nimbly maneuvering past their bulk and toward another market stall. She did not notice Kurama watching as she tugged off her mitten and reached out for a crochet throw, lifting it up to trace the woven strands with her eyes. Her thumb caressed the blanket's edge in a circle, testing the wool, feeling for—

"H-hey!"

A voice at his elbow drew Kurama's eye reluctantly away from Kei and toward a trio of girls his age. They stood only a meter away, taking up positions between him and the flowing crowd—and between him and Kei, more importantly still. One led the way while the other two hung back, giggling behind their hands as the one out front stared him down through nervous eyes. She shifted from foot to foot, painted nails toying with the hem of her jacket, peering up at him from beneath lowered lashes clumped with thick mascara.

Even before she started talking, Kurama knew precisely what she'd say.

"I'm Kaoru." The girl bowed, shallow and sharp. "It's n-nice to meet you."

The girls behind Kaoru giggled, staring at Kurama with unabashed curiosity. Kurama did not reply or react to any of them. Kaoru had been fishing for his name by giving him her own, suspecting he would do the polite thing and reply with an introduction, but he was not interested in giving out his name—and yet she kept speaking before he could've replied, anyway. Something told him she'd been rehearsing her words from afar. He'd been too focused on Kei to notice, and these girls were too weak, too powerless, too ordinary to tip his psychic alarms.

He would have to recalibrate said alarms at the earliest opportunity.

"Me and my friends were just—well, you're really cute!" Kaoru flushed crimson as her friends loosed a chorus of giggles. "Do you want to come hang out with us?"

Just as Kaoru had been rehearsing her script, so too had Kurama been rehearsing a script of his own. Pasting on the mildest, blandest smile he could muster, he told her in even tones, "I'm sorry, but I—"

"We go to Kaisei High, the all-girls school," Kaoru blurted, cutting him off before he could finish—or, judging by the panic in her eyes, to keep him from rejecting her. "But we—"

A warm arm looped through Kurama's, catching him off-guard. A whiff of lavender and sugar and shea wafted through the air as a familiar face installed herself at his side, bare fingers lacing through his, palm to palm, skin to skin, pulse to pulse, pressing tight but gentle.

"I'm so sorry, ladies," said Kei. "Can I talk to my boyfriend for just a sec?"

If Kurama hadn't been so distracted by the words he had just heard fly from Kei's smiling mouth, he would have found the looks on the faces of Kaoru and her friends quiet humorous, indeed. As it stood, he barely registered their shock and disdain, Kaoru looking over Kei's simple clothes and lack of makeup with contempt. Kei ignored Kaoru too, though. She just squeezed Kurama's hand and smiled up at him, brushing a lock of hair out of his face with a single, gentle caress, fingertips indescribably soft against his cheek.

It was an intimate gesture, that touch. This he understood in his bones.

"Hey, honey," she said—a pet name, another intimacy, falling from her lips. "I found something I really think your mom will love. It's back that way, if you want to just—"

Kaoru butted in, taking a quick step toward them. "You're dating him?" she asked of Kei, lip curling back off her teeth. "Really?"

"Yes." Kei tore her eyes from Kurama's with overt reluctance, making it clear she did not enjoy having her attention taken from her 'boyfriend' in the slightest. "Is there a problem?"

Kaoru put a hand on her hip and sneered. "He's just kind of out of your league, is all."

"And he's in yours?"

Kei uttered her retort in the sweet, syrupy voice she typically reserved for the teachers who annoyed her the most, ire disguised by only the thinnest of smiles that did nothing whatsoever to reach her eyes. Kurama nearly laughed aloud at her tone, the tired and annoyed look on her face, the way the girls had bristled at her clever badinage. The trio clearly didn't like Kei poaching their prey like this—but Kei, ever the superior hunter, did not balk at their territorial display. Instead she countered with a tactic they had not anticipated in the slightest.

To their credit, Kurama didn't see it coming, either. Or at least he didn't until Kei caught his eye for a fraction of a section, a fleeting look of apology crossing her features before she put a hand on his shoulder and leaned forward and up, rocking onto her toes. He wasn't sure what she was doing at first—but then her lips pressed against his cheek, a deliberate and unmistakable kiss that caught the breath as it trickled down his throat, holding it there in electric surprise that Kurama felt in his fingertips, toes, chest, soul.

Kei's lips were warm, a whisper of hot velvet against his skin. She smelled like sugar cookies and coffee, ginger snaps and chocolate spoons, shea and paper, lavender and honeyed tea. A complicated medley of scents as intricate as she was, flooding his senses so completely, the sounds of the market faded. The smoke and cider on the air disappeared. Nothing existed, for that single fraction of a moment, but for Kei's lips on his cheek and the heat of her hand against his.

But then, she pulled away, and the sights and sounds and scents flooded back in, the warmth of her mouth leaving his cheek all the colder for its absence. Kei smiled at him, not paying the girls—who had all stepped back with a defeated gasp—another look.

"C'mon, babe." Her arm loops back through his again. "Let's go."

Without another word, she tugged him into the crush of people rushing past, warm against his side and more bracing than his earlier cup of coffee. When they made it a few booths away and Kaoru vanished into the crowd, however, she pulled away. Kurama almost reached for her, to keep her at his side, but at the last second he managed to hold himself back. Kei smoothed her skirt down against her woolen leggings, face flushed as she cleared her throat, mouth buried in the loops of her scarf as she stared in embarrassed silence at the flagstone ground.

"I am so sorry!" she said, able to meet his eyes for only a second before her blush deepened all the more. "I know that was probably too much, was totally overkill, but that kiss was the only thing I could think of—"

Kurama said, "It wasn't—"

"—to get them to leave you alone, when really they should've just respected the look of 'noooo' on your face instead of me having to act like I have some sort of claim on you—"

"You aren't—"

"—which obviously I don't have because you're your own person and I could never, ever dream of, like, owning you or whatever, and you're free to do whatever you'd like with whomever you'd like, and—"

"Kei."

She stopped babbling at the way he said her name—with purpose, and affection, and surprise. In silence she stared, waiting for him to continue. Although it took a moment, Kurama gathered himself and smiled at her—another gesture loaded with purpose, and affection, and still that lingering surprise he could not help but shake.

"I didn't mind," he said.

Kei said nothing. She just stared.

"Feel free to do that again, in fact," said Kurama. "Any time you'd like."

He wasn't sure what prompted him to say that. An effort to tease her? To ease the tension so evident in her bright gaze? A legitimate invitation, one she could make of what she would? Perhaps he intended all of these things. This was not the first time Kei had snarled his emotions, tangling them into an indiscernible bramble that pricked at his pride and self-awareness—but like so many times before, Kurama found that he did not mind this uncharacteristic lack of control and the sting of those sharp thorns. He only knew that he enjoyed the way she flushed, swallowed, fidgeted, looked anywhere but at him as her eyes roved across the marketplace.

Or perhaps Kurama didn't like that last part. He much preferred when Kei's attention remained focused on him…

But Kei was privy to none of this. She continued to fidget until she took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of her skirt again, mitten dangling haphazardly from her fist.

"Oh. OK. Well." She saluted (like a dork, as she would've no doubt said, a thought at which he had to smile). "Dually noted, Ghostrider."

Kurama frowned. "Ghost-what?"

"Nothing. Um. Anyway. Well." Kei loosed a nervous laugh, eyes still roving. "I actually didn't just drag you over here to get you away from your fangirls, so… what do you think of this?" She gestured toward the booth by which they stood. "I thought something from here might make a good gift for your mom."

The booth beside them displayed an array of cashmere scarves, neatly folded into squares with their fringed ends arranged with grace on top of the rest of the bolts of cloth. Between the scarves sat small jewelry boxes, lids removed to display various pins and brooches that sparkled in the wintry midday sun. Kei specifically pointed at a chocolate brown scarf presented on a mannequin set at the edge of the booth's counter. It lay draped in an artful fall of cloth around the mannequin's neck, secured in place by a beautiful pin in the shape of a magnolia blossom. Magnolia—natural beauty. A meaning that suited Shiori's understated sense of style perfectly. He reached out to touch the petals of the pin with a fingertip, cold enamel burning beneath his touch.

"I thought the colors might look good on her." Kei watched his reaction closely, eyes missing nothing. "The scarf and pin look great together, so…"

"It's perfect, Kei. Thank you."

She startled, stepping back half a pace. "So this is a winner?"

"It is."

"Damn, I'm good." Kei leaned with lazy confidence against the edge of the booth, grinning as the vendor approached to ask if they needed assistance. "Keiko Claus strikes again!"

Kei's pride faded not a bit as Kurama paid for the item and had it wrapped in a silver gift bag tied with a gold ribbon. Her pleasure didn't dwindle when they at last left the market, either, walking with a spring in her step back toward the front gates. Surely she wasn't this happy over something as simple as a Christmas gift, he thought—but as they passed beneath that light-hung archway to journey home, Kurama realized that a larger question had been left unanswered. A question just as important to him as getting his mother the perfect gift.

Kurama had found a gift for his mother, this was true.

He had not, however, found anything to give to Kei.

Kurama considered his predicament as he walked with Kei to the train station. He toyed with the idea of returning to the market to purchase something for her, but he hadn't seen anything that he thought she might like despite her apparent love of the Christmas holiday. She had expressly told Kurama not to buy anything for her, but he did not feel particularly inclined to obey this command. She had purchased something for him, and she had spent the better portion of her Saturday helping him find the perfect gift for his mother. She at the very least deserved compensation for that effort, did she not?

Kurama was still ruminating by the time they arrived in front of Kei's family's flagship ramen shop, the doors of which bore a large CLOSED sign in honor of Christmas Eve. Kei turned to Kurama and bowed, smiling as she straightened up and fished her keys out of her jacket pocket.

"Well, I don't know about you," she said as she fit the key into the door's lock, "but I certainly had a good time."

"As did I." Kurama bowed back. "Thank you again for accompanying me."

"Of course. Anything for a Christmas market." The door unlocked with a click; Kei, with hand on the push-bar, shot him a contented smile. "Well. I guess you're about head home, huh? Eat that Christmas KFC and stuff?"

"Not this year." Kurama spoke offhand, still preoccupied. "But yes, I am headed home. I'll let you know what my mother thinks of—"

But Kei stared at him with wide eyes. "No KFC?" she asked, voice small and plaintive.

"No," said Kurama. "Is that a problem?"

Kei's breath puffed in a cotton cloud as her hand fell from the door. "What about a Christmas cake?" she asked, voice a little stronger this time.

"I'm afraid not."

"But—but it's Christmas." She spoke the word with a gravitas Kurama did not quite grasp, angling her body toward him inch by perturbed inch. "You have to have a cake. You have to. I'm pretty sure it's the law." When Kurama merely stared at her, perplexed, she said, "If you don't eat chicken tonight, Colonel Sanders will crawl down your chimney, Santa-style, with handcuffs or something, force-feed you a crispy bucket with an IV bag of all eleven secret herbs and spices!"

He had no idea what she was talking about when she referenced herbs and spices, but he was too busy trying to soothe her anxious eyes to wonder. "Then I suppose I'll be spending Christmas Eve incarcerated," he said, attempting a joke. "Since my mother will be busy with Hatanaka-san this year, we didn't order chicken or a cake." But the clouds in her eyes refused to clear, and he was forced to smile and add, "It's fine, Kei. Really."

"I mean… is it though?" Kei said, voice rising high with uncertainty. "You're supposed to eat KFC and cake on Christmas Eve, and you're not having either."

"Are you having both of those things?" Kurama asked.

"Yeah, of course!" Kei sputtered. "My parents ordered KFC and a cake for us, like, a month ago. And if they hadn't, I would've. That's how you're supposed to spend Christmas, after all."

Kurama didn't reply. He did not know how to. Kei's expression demanded a response, looking him with something akin to accusation writ across her face—but when he could think of no appropriate rejoinder, truly at a loss for words in the face of her frankly overblown reaction to his evening's lack of plans, she turned stiffly toward the restaurant's front door and set her hand upon the bar that would open it.

"OK, Keiko, think," she muttered—entirely to herself, Kurama inconsequential in the face of what appeared to be sheer panic. "The lines are way too long today to get KFC without waiting. His mom's date is at 7, so he needs to be home by then, if not sooner. It's only 2 PM, so there's time if we hustle and make some, bake first so it can cool before frosting, and I think we have all of the ingredients—"

"Kei." Kurama stepped in close, hand ghosting over her elbow. "What are you talking about?"

She started as if from a deep sleep, then loudly declared: "I'm gonna make you fried chicken and a Christmas cake, that's what! Now c'mon." She pushed the door open and marched through it. "Let's get moving."

"Wait." Kurama tried to reach for her, but she had already gone too far, hand snagging on empty air. "That's not necessary, truly, I—"

"Like hell it isn't!" Kei shot over her shoulder. "You're having cake and fried chicken with your mom tonight and I'm baking it and that's final!"

In the face of such fiery determination, Kurama could do little more than helplessly follow Kei indoors, watching in bemusement as she stomped through the restaurant floor toward the entrance to the kitchen. Kei's father poked his head out from behind the doors as they approached; he grinned once he spotted his daughter, broad brown face the portrait of paternal happiness.

"Keiko, honey, you're home earl—wait, Minamino?" Yukimura-san did a double-take. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going shopping."

"Change of plans, Dad," said Kei as she brushed past him. "How much chicken do we have in the fridge?"

"Plenty, but why—?"

"Minamino didn't order KFC or a cake this year at all."

Keiko's father had been holding a dish rag when he exited the kitchen. Upon hearing his daughter's dark growl, he dropped the dishtowel to the floor, hastily picking it up again when it hit the tiles with a smack.

"I know that look," he grumbled, voice rising when he called after his daughter. "The kitchen's all yours, Keiko! I gotta go pick up our dinner order, anyway. Even for reservations, the line at KFC is out the door…"

"Thanks, Dad!" Inside the kitchen and out of sight, Kurama heard a rattle, a clang and a curse. "Where's the dessert recipe book, huh?"

"Top shelf over the stove, last I check," said Yukimura-san—and he sidled up to Kurama to say in an urgent whisper, "Good luck, Minamino. Your best bet is to just stay out of her way. She takes Christmas very seriously."

Judging by the dire cast to Yukimura's eye, Kurama had no doubt the man spoke the truth. Thus, he nodded with solemn understanding and said, "I'll endeavor to keep out from underfoot."

"Good man." Yukimura clapped him on the arm. "And good luck. You'll need it!"

Yukimura left, shrugging into his coat, hat and scarf before braving the cold winter day. Kurama pulled a barstool from the restaurant's interior into the kitchen, where he saw Keiko standing on a counter as she rooted through an upper cabinet. She hopped down without looking his way once, hands clasped around a small red booklet Kurama could only presume contained recipes. Once he ensconced himself in a remote corner, Kurama watched as Kei assembled ingredients and tools, all the while muttering to herself—something about the order of prep, cooling times, and the finer points of keeping things 'sufficiently crispy' after travel. With impressive speed she whisked together a cake batter and lined tins with butter and parchment, preheating the oven and popping in the rounds of batter like a well-oiled machine. First task finished, Kei breathed a sigh of relief—but then she gasped in fright and ran to the fridge. Only after she cataloged what lay within did she relax, a hand pressed over her heart to steel her nerves.

"Oh, thank my lucky stars," she breathed. "Looks like we have just enough strawberries. Now that the cake is in the oven, we can relax." (Kurama was quite relaxed, Kei the only one about to have a conniption fit over the act of cooking, but wisdom told him not to mention this out loud.) "Christmas cakes have whipped frosting, which will melt if you put it on warm sponge, so you have to cool the cakes completely before decorating and frosting them. I baked them in layers so they'll have a short cook-time, which means there will be plenty of time for cooling. We're in good shape. Now I can prep the batter for the chicken early so the flavors can meld together, but I won't want to fry it until the last minute so it'll be hot when Kurama gets home. Which means we have a bit of time to kill until the cakes come out. What to do, what to do… Oh, I know! Decorations!" She rummaged through another cupboard. "I think I still have some chocolate melts from Valentine's Day. Just hope they're still good…"

"This is turning into a far more elaborate production than I anticipated," Kurama observed.

Kei flinched, apparently having forgotten his presence, but she recovered in time to flash him a winning smile. "It always does with me," she said, tone somehow encompassing both embarrassment and satisfaction. "But Christmas cakes and fried chicken are no joke. You have to go all out for something like this. It's Christmas!"

Again she looked at Kurama like the name of the day should mean something important to him, though he could not fathom what. For all their ability to communicate without words, this was one concept he simply did not understand. Still, he watched in silence as Kei buzzed about the kitchen, assembling molds and chocolate with which she would presumably decorate his cake. She cobbled together a double boiler in short order, melting a few squares of white chocolate over low heat. It smelled like vanilla and butter, sweet and wholesome—and familiar. With a flex of lithe muscles, Kurama pushed himself off of his bar stool. He crossed the kitchen to stand near Kei, leaning back against the counter beside the stove.

"Kei?"

She looked up from the chocolate and back down again, hands busy stirring. "Yes?"

"Did you make those cookies for everyone in class?"

Kei's hands stilled. The melting chocolate in the bowl bubbled; with a curse she turned the heat of the burner down, licking the pad of her thumb where hot candy had landed. She resumed stirring at a sedate pace, whisk traversing the bowl in small arcs.

"Everyone in the grade, actually," she murmured. "Not just everyone in our class."

"I thought as much." He didn't allow himself to dwell on his satisfaction; Kei's downcast eyes did not please him, the slope of her neck too severe for happiness. Trying to catch her eye, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Kei shrugged. "Christmas is supposed to be magic. It's better if there's some mystery, and we're too old for Santa. So… I stepped in." A small smile, one marred by a darkness he did not understand. "Call me Santa Keiko, I guess."

"But… why?" It was all Kurama knew to ask. "You didn't make cookies for the grade on any other holiday. What is it about Christmas that prompted you to do such a thing?"

"I dunno." Another shrug, smaller than the one before. "I just wanted to be nice, I guess."

The chocolate had melted by then; with a spatula she transferred it into a piping bag, which she used to fill a few molds in the shape of wide ovals. With a different tip, she piped the words "Merry Christmas" onto parchment paper, setting it all aside to cure and cool. Then she swapped out the bowl on her double boiler and began to melt cubes of dark chocolate, deep brown color as rich as her still-downcast eyes.

Kei cooked in silence. Tense. Contemplative. A host of other emotions Kurama could not quite pinpoint. Bringing up the cookies had darkened her mood; he was not sure why. Likewise, her explanation for her actions did not make sense to him. She certainly seemed to care about this holiday more than any other, and he could see no reason for her preference for Christmas at all. She clearly held the traditions of eating Christmas cake and KFC in high regard. Kurama, meanwhile, did not care in the least if he ate these treats on this particular day. Christmas was just a day; he could eat fried chicken at any time of the year, Christmas or otherwise. Meanwhile, Kei had made it her personal mission to make sure he consumed both foods on Christmas Eve, just as she'd made it her mission to make him a gift by hand. To make sure his mother received a gift this evening. To bake hundreds of cookies for dozens of people, and to remain anonymous and unappreciated for her efforts.

But… why? What was it about Christmas that had Kei acting this way? Why did being discovered as 'Cookie Claus' displease her? Kei did not do things for no reason at all. Surely there was an explanation to be had for her behavior.

And yet, Kei did not give him one. She just melted the chocolate in silence, piping it out as she had the white chocolate before. Eventually frustration gnawed Kurama's heart, the feeling of being left in the dark not settling with ease against the topography of his pride.

"Nice isn't why you acquired that book, with what was no doubt considerable effort, for Kaito." He did not allow his voice to falter when Keiko winced, intent upon the matter at hand. "Nice isn't why you insisted I get my mother a gift, nor why you spent an entire day at the market with me. And nice is certainly not why you're frantically breaking your back to bake a cake at the last possible moment—a cake you won't even get to eat."

"Why can't I do those things just to be nice?" Kei muttered.

"Because you are more complicated than that." Kurama spoke simply, with unadorned honesty he knew Kei sensed when she turned to him, eyes downcast and melancholy. "I'm not criticizing you, Kei. I just want to know what you're thinking. You've been determined that I do certain things, have certain experiences. I'm just not sure why. Why is cake and fried chicken so important today?"

Still, Kei hesitated. Mild disappointment whispered through him when she did not tell him the truth—though whether he felt disappointed to be denied the truth, or whether he felt disappointed to not be allowed a window to Kei's thoughts, he could not say.

"Perhaps you just really love Christmas, then," Kurama said eventually.

But at that assertion, Kei's eyes flashed. "No," she said—with far more conviction than Kurama could have foreseen. "That's not it at all."

Kei set aside her chocolate work, fetching strawberries and a few cartons of cream from the refrigerator in silence. Some of the darkness had faded from her eyes, but she remained introspective, her thoughts her own as she busied herself with the rest of the preparations for the Christmas cake. Kurama observed her in silence. An introspective Keiko was nothing new to him; she often withdrew when she needed the space to think. If she was to be honest with him, it would be because he respected that space, not because he pushed against it. This was their dynamic encapsulated, pushing one another to ask questions, which they would each answer in their own times, in their own ways, life improving by one query at a time.

She had done the same for him many times, after all. And as he watched her reflect, he sensed that whatever Kei's answer would be, it would satisfying her own curiosity as much as his own.

"I hated Christmas in my past life."

Kurama sensed in her frank verbiage an unmitigated honesty—and surprise that inferred she was as staggered to hear this as he was. Still, he stared at her as she assembled the ingredients for fried chicken, not quite comprehending what she had just told him.

"This… comes as a shock," he said at last, and because it was all he could say.

"Really?" Kei laughed under her breath. "The only Christmas movie I liked was the live action Grinch, but only the first half."

"I don't understand."

"Nothing." She waved a whisk through the air in his direction, eyes on the ingredients before her. "In the US, Christmas is a religious holiday." Her expression soured, like she'd tasted the juice of an unripe lime. "My parents always wanted to go to church."

"Did you go?" he asked.

"No. Found ways to weasel out. But the religious stuff was still hard to avoid." Kei heaved a sigh as she combined spices and herbs in a bowl. "Don't get me wrong, the secular aspects of Christmas in the States were huge, too. Commercialism, glitz, lights, an emphasis on material wealth… but I didn't like that, either." She set down her whisk and placed her hands on the counter, turning to Kurama with a fire in her gaze. "You know, there's something fundamentally fucked up about Santa. And not just because he spends Christmas Eve breaking and entering. He brings some kids Famicons and others socks. Parents want to show off to each other as much as to their kids, brag about how wealthy they are, but for parents who can't buy the latest gadgets? Kid shows up at school after the holidays, compare themselves to the kids who got ponies, and weep."

"So you find the holiday… shallow," Kurama said, reading between the lines with pleasant surprise—and finding his opinions mirrored Kei's completely.

"I do. I find it fundamentally shallow and vacuous." Her hands came up, waving as she adopted a look of sarcastic scorn. "People this time of year in the States preach all about loving your fellow man. Peace on earth and good will toward men; happy birthday, Jesus! But the rest of the year? They won't look at you sideways unless it's to tell you to move out of their way."

Kurama said nothing. Kei looked at him for a time, then slowly turned back to her work.

"Well. Not everyone's like that," she admitted. "But growing up, my mother would always pick the pettiest fights around Christmas. Having the perfection decorations, buying the perfect gifts, not looking cheap in front of family—family!" Her voice cracked, anger rippling through it sharp and hot. "The people who aren't supposed to care!"

Once again, Kurama said nothing. He did not know what he was supposed to say, what he could say. These facts about her past were not problems to solve—not anymore. They were merely memories, and thus he could give no advice at all.

"Anyway." Kei calmed after a few moments, running a hand through her short hair. "My mom got so stressed out about looking good, she'd yell at Dad for the tiniest things, and she would yell at me for just doing things kids do. And when she left the room, Dad would say the nastiest things behind her back. But all the while they'd both tell me how I should be good, how I wouldn't get presents if I talked back, how this was the season of love and light and togetherness, all while they—" She came up short and shook her head, laughter wry and understated. "I guess, in the end, Christmas was always a time for hypocrisy in my family. Just turned the whole thing sour."

"So what changed?" Kurama asked, because for all her talk of hating Christmas… "You seem to love it now."

Kei smiled. "I love it now because I didn't love it then."

"I don't understand."

Kei set down her cutlery a second time. She turned to Kurama, leaning her hip against the counter beside him, eyes lighting up from within like coals stoked by careful hand in the dark of night. He liked seeing her that way—warm and happy, the smallest of smiles decorating her lovely mouth.

"Mom always made me wear a Santa had in the family photo," she said, voice pitched low and soft and full of affection. "My Nana always made a prime rib with a black peppercorn crust and her homemade bread. My uncle Harris always got drunk off brandy and spilled pipe tobacco on the floor, and I'd stay up until the middle of the night watching anime with my cousin, AJ." Her smile deepened at that memory in particular, but she pressed on without pause. "Grandmother always baked her poppy seed rolls and cinnamon buns, and we'd make this huge container of limeade that the adults would spike with rum. One of my other uncles would sneak me glasses when my mom wasn't looking. That's how I got drunk for the first time." Kei looked mildly embarrassed at the memory, hiding her lips behind a hand. When the hand lowered, wistfulness to its place, warm and distant and full of yearning. "We'd pray once before the meal, but otherwise, we were just together. As a family. And when Mom and Dad fought, Nana and I would go on a walk, or I'd go watch TV with AJ, or just… go outside. In the cold, with a cup of hot chocolate, and just be alone." She drew in a deep breath, as though scenting that hot chocolate through the memory itself. "The air always smelled like smoke and mesquite chips, rosemary and cedar. I didn't even care about the presents. It was just good to be home."

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Kurama tried to picture it, this past of Kei's. But try though he might, he could not. All he could picture was the smiling face before him, which now looked sad—an unbearable nostalgia filling her eyes to the brim with tears.

Kurama reached for her hand. Took it in his, chafing warmth into her fingertips.

Kei told him, "There were a lot of things about Christmas I hated. But there were more that I loved." And she smiled the saddest smile of all. "And I didn't appreciate any of them until it was too late."

Again, neither of them spoke. They regarded one another in companionable silence, Kei's sadness filling the air with bitter salt. Kurama traced a lifetime of regrets in the lines around her mouth, in the darkness still lingering in her brown eyes. He wanted to ask about that darkness, to put a name to it so he could vanquish it on her behalf. He wanted to ask her to share it with him, so that he might shoulder that burden beside her, too. But Kei smiled before he could tell her so, grip tightening around his hand.

"I know that your plan, originally, was to lie low until you could return to your life as a demon." The change in topic left Kurama momentarily reeling, but Kei continued to speak. "I know you wanted to bide your time. Lie in wait. Then go back to Demon World and leave this life behind. And I know your mother changed all of that for you. But…" The bitterness in her smile felt familiar, somehow. "Sometimes I worry you still look at things the way a demon would. Christmas traditions don't make you stronger, but they could make you happier, if you tried them."

"I don't understand," said Kurama, because he did not.

"You told me, once, that you wasted time during your childhood, ignoring your mother and waiting to become a demon again." Just as Kei always did, she struck right to the heart of a painful truth, not flinching from it in the slightest, and taking Kurama with her for that journey. "You didn't let yourself need her as a child, because you weren't a child. It broke her. And now you're trying to make it right. You're trying to be her son, these days."

Kei reached out with her free hand to trace the edges of the parchment on the counter, chocolate "Merry Christmas" glossy and sweet beneath the kitchen's overhead fluorescents. Kurama watched the movement with rapt attention, cataloging every motion, every touch, entranced without knowing why by the sight of that single fingertip.

"These traditions might not matter to you now, but someday… they could," Kei eventually murmured. "And I'm guessing they matter to Shiori, too." Here her smile just seemed sheepish, a shy blush coloring the tips of her ears. "I just don't want you to look back at your life as a human with regret, you know? To look back and think you missed out, because it all seemed… petty, at the time." Her eyes strayed to the chocolate, looking beyond it to worlds and times where Kurama could not reach her. "It's not petty, though. Not if you don't want it to be."

The air in the kitchen seemed too still, somehow. Like time had stopped, Kei and Kurama frozen along with it. He tried to read her gaze, to discern more truths that lay beneath—but before he could stare into Kei's eyes for longer than a moment's brief intensity, she withdrew her hand from his. Stepped back and grinned, hands clapping together in one sharp burst of sound.

"So!" Kei said. "I guess my thesis statement for the evening is that you should make memories while you still can. Take it from me. You never know when it'll be too late to appreciate a tradition, so live life to the fullest, Kurama." She leveled a finger at him, glaring—but playfully—down the length of her arm. "Eat the cake. Enjoy the chicken. Be a kid, for once." A wink, chipper and full of verve. "And give your mom that present before she goes on her date tonight, yeah?"

He laughed at the abrupt command, and Kei, satisfied, turn back to her culinary work with a smile on her face. A memory surfaced for Kurama as he watched her profile and the way her eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and delight. She had tried to inspire him to try something new, to have fun, to be a kid… but she wanted him to do these thing so he would be protected from regret. And that, Kurama thought, was Kei encapsulated, her very nature distilled into one short monologue and gentle smile.

"Why, Kei," Kurama said. "It seems as though you're doing double duty tonight."

She looked at him askance, confused.

"Both a canary and an albatross at once—reminding me to experience joy, but trying to take care of me at the same time." A low chuckle. "How very like you, to find so many uses for your wings."

Kei pushed away from the counter, head tipping back. "God, canaries and albatrosses!" she said, laughing, too. "We haven't talked about that in a long time."

"No, we haven't," said Kurama. "But I have not forgotten."

He waited until her hand was free to take it once again. Kurama hated to interrupt her work, but he needed her attention, which she gave him with a glance of confusion—but one tempered with affection, her fingers curling back around his without a second thought.

"I've never forgotten what you did for me back then," Kurama told her—and with one fingertip, he brushed a lock of hair from her face. "And I will not forget what you're trying to do for me now."

They looked at one another for a moment that stretched into two, then three. Kei's lips parted, the quietest of sighs escaping them as she turned her cheek toward his palm. Her breath misted over the pulse in his wrist, warm and soft—but then she seemed to remember herself, pulling away with a nervous chuckle.

"I'm glad." Kei's eyes closed, chin ducking as a hectic pink heat suffused her cheeks. "Though I think the bird we should focus on is the chicken!"

At both the terrible joke and Kei's flustered face, Kurama threw back his head and laughed—a laugh that cheered him more than anything he'd experienced that day, and one that lingered in his chest as he and Kei worked together to prepare Kei's gift of a Christmas Eve repast, talking and laughing all the while. Kurama had a wonderful time, spending the afternoon at Kei's side, taking in the sight of her smile and every word she uttered for him—for him, and for him alone. But although Kurama knew he would look back upon this memory with fondness, he more than once caught Kei staring into space, expression dark with emotions to which he could not place a name. And that made Kurama wonder.

Had Kei told him everything she was thinking, where this holiday was concerned? Her urge to protect and enliven him fit well within the confines of her character, but the urgent way she had insisted he experience Christmas gave him pause. Was her need to cook him this holiday meal truly all about Kurama? Or was Kei's instance upon experiencing Christmas more a reflection of herself—of her regrets, ones she tried to bury beneath new memories of glittering, appreciated Christmases in a life she would not allow herself to take for granted? And more than that, Kurama wondered what Kei needed tonight: a canary to brighten the pall hanging above her head, or the wide wings of an albatross to shield her.

Either way, Kurama thought he understood Christmas a little better now. At the very least, he would try to do so for Kei's sake—and, surprising even Kurama himself, for his own.

NOTES

Sorry about your dental bills after consuming this sugar-fest! I know writing it gave me a cavity or two, that's for sure. But I hope Keirama fans are happy, because there was both hand-holding AND a cheek kiss AND brief fake-dating AND hair-brushing-away-from-faces to be had in this chapter. ENJOY YOUR SMUT, YOU FILTHY REPROBATES! (That was a joke.)

The final installment of this story will come out tomorrow, on CHRISTMAS EVE! Yes, there will be more sugar and spice and every-shippy-thing nice. So be on the lookout for that, and consider it my winter holiday gift to you.

Today also happens to be LC's fourth birthday! I posted LC chapter 118 today to celebrate, and I hope you enjoy that as well.

Big thanks to all who supported the first chapter of this Keirama Christmas story! Your very kind words were a wonderful early holiday gift, and I thank you very much for taking the time to write them: ladyofchaos, C S Stars, Convoluted Compassion, RE Zera, EdenMae, Kaiya Azure, empressofthedead, AnimePleaseGood, Domitia Ivory and guests.