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 3:

"Kurama Claus"

Kurama was not accustomed to feeling clumsy, but as he stood outside his front door juggling a container of fried chicken, a box of Christmas cake, and the gift for his mother, he thought he finally understood what being clumsy must feel like. Unlocking and opening his front door with one hand while not crushing the cake, upsetting the chicken or creasing the beautiful, shiny paper in which Kei had wrapped his mother's gift was not a simple feat. And yet, it was a feat he had managed quite well on his journey home—a journey his watch told him he had completed right on time. Kurama congratulated himself on a successful trip as he went inside to toe off his shoes in the ganken. When he scanned the living room, however, Kurama did not spot his mother, whom he had assumed would greet him at the door.

"Mother?" he called, shifting the cake box into his now free hand. "I'm home."

"Shuichi!" Shiori replied from across the house. Soon enough she exited the hallway that led to the home's master suite, rushing toward him—and he could not help but notice that she wasn't dressed appropriately for her date, wearing a simple sweater and pants instead of the dress he knew she'd chosen for her outing with Hatanaka. "You're home later than expected."

"Apologies, Mother." He held the cake box up a little higher. "But Kei insisted on cake and chicken."

"Chicken?" Shiori said. "But KFC must be a madhouse at this hour."

"It most likely is, but we didn't get KFC," he said. "Kei cooked."

"She did?" Shiori eyed the unmarked packages in his arms with new understanding, a smile curling her mouth. "That was sweet of her."

"Would you like to share a slice of cake before your date tonight?" When Shiori did not immediately reply, Kurama added, "Just a small one, of course. I know you'll be getting dinner with Hatanaka-san later."

Still, Shiori did not respond. She looked at Kurama with hesitation written across her face, an uncertainty that had Kurama's hackles rising in subdued alarm. Paired with her strange manner of dress, and now this, he had to wonder—

"I'm not going out tonight, Shuichi," Shiori admitted, confirming his suspicions. She braved a smile, though it did not touch her eyes. "Looks like I'll be joining you for Christmas Eve. If you don't mind sharing your time with your old mother, that is."

"You're not old," Kurama said, half scolding and half comforting. "And of course I don't mind." It was his turn to hesitate, but his concern for his mother eventually won out. "May I ask what happened?"

Shiori swallowed, eyes downcast. "Hatanaka-san cancelled. A work matter came up." A bitter laugh, one Kurama did not enjoy hearing from his mother in the slightest. "One always seems to, doesn't it?"

In spite of his best intentions, Kurama's eyes widened. "Mother…?"

As she took the cake in its white cardboard box from him, he could not help but note her slumped posture, her downtrodden expression, the way she sighed as she moved out of the ganken and toward the kitchen. It was not like her to be so—so wry. And she had avoided eye contact, too, clearly upset by the cancellation of her plans. Kurama's first instinct was to mend the matter somehow on her behalf, but as he watched his mother walk away, he found he had no idea how he could accomplish such a task. Obviously he would have to give Hatanaka a stern taking-to the next time he saw him. Cancelling at the last minute had broken his mother's heart. And obviously Kurama would also have to—

Kei's voice echoed in Kurama's head: "Be a kid, for once." But despite her strict orders, here he was, acting like a parent—a parent to his own mother, no less. An albatross shading a chick beneath his wings. As Shiori slipped around the corner into the kitchen and out of sight, Kurama wondered if the shelter of his wings was even what she needed just then. She certainly hadn't asked for that form of protection.

And he had a hunch that if he asked Kei for her opinion, she'd tell him to sing like a songbird, instead.

Kurama followed Shiori into the kitchen and set the box containing the fried chicken on the counter. "Kei said this chicken recipe is her father's favorite," he said, affecting a sunny smile for his mother's sake. "He worked on it for months to get the spice balance right." Only once Shiori looked at him, curious, did he continue to speak. "Today, we…"

Kurama told his mother about his day—first in halting terms, unused to such blatant exposition regarding his personal life, but then with ease as he became accustomed to the practice. He told her about the vendors, about the market, about Kei secretly making cookies for the entire grade. About the coffee spoons they tasted and the shops they visited. About the decorations and the crowds, the cold air and the scents of cedar and apples and cinnamon on the air. Shiori relaxed more and more as he spoke, soon asking questions and laughing, eagerly engaging with her son as he told his tale of decorating cakes with strawberries, whipped icing and chocolate. Soon they heated the chicken in the oven and then ate together, watching a Christmas variety show when Kurama ran dry of tales to tell. Shiori's laughter turned to joy when he presented her with her gift. She unwrapped it with slow, hesitant hands, crying out with delight at the feel of the soft scarf and the sparkle of the matching brooch.

"Shuichi—" Her eyes brimmed with tears and affection alike as she reached out to squeeze his hand. "You didn't have to—"

"I did, though," said Kurama, softly. "You deserve to be treated well, Mother."

But that was the wrong thing to say. Shiori looked away, hand withdrawing to toy with the edges of the fringed scarf. No doubt he had reminded her of Hatanaka, and for this oversight, Kurama cursed himself. But he thought there was one thing he could say to right that wrong. One thing he could do, prescribed to him by Kei, that could make this better.

"We don't have a family tradition at this time of year, apart from visiting the temple on New Year's," he said, choosing each word with care. "Perhaps it's time we made one. Starting with a son giving his mother a gift on Christmas Eve."

Kurama thought this proposal would make Shiori happy.

To his horror, his words had the opposite effect.

It was not often Kurama saw his mother cry, but in that moment, her eyes filled with tears—tears of sadness, which she buried in her hands so he could not see.

It was not often he felt clumsy, he thought. But in that moment, he felt as ungainly as a nutcracker carved inelegantly in brittle wood.

Shiori did not blubber, however. She was far too dignified for such a thing. She sobbed only once, a broken sound, before lowering her hands and straightening her back. She stared at the floor with jaw set firm, eyes wet and red above her trembling mouth.

"Your father and I…" Shiori took a deep breath, one that shook but nevertheless appeared to steady her. "We had a tradition, the two of us. You're too young to remember Daichi, your father, but…"

She trailed off, and to himself Kurama thought that she would surely be surprised to know just how well he remembered Daichi, his human father. He remembered everything from his human childhood. But he let Shiori tell the story anyway.

It was not often she talked about his father. She hardly ever spoke his name.

"We would hire a babysitter. Okura-san from up the road," Shiori said, eyes distant as she stared into the past. "Her grandchildren were all grown up and her husband had died, and she loved watching you." Affection tinted her gaze with warmth. "You were so polite, she said, and there was no one she'd rather spend her Christmas Eve with. Your father would go pick up KFC and a cake, and we'd all eat it together around the kotatsu and decorate—"

"That tree." It turns out Kurama had not remembered everything, after all, memory sparking anew at his mother's recollections. "That small, artificial tree he brought home from a market. It was only as tall as I was."

"He said it was a Western tradition, to decorate a tree," Shiori said—but though she had beamed at Kurama's memory, sadness filled her eyes once more. "He was a quarter American, you know. It's where you get your eyes. His grandmother decorated a tree with Daichi for many years, so he wanted to do it with you, too. Together we'd make popcorn and string it, put up tinsel and candy canes…" A smile haunted the corner of her mouth. "And then we'd tuck you into bed and let Okura-san watch the house, make sure you slept and didn't wait up for us. Because Santa-san would come in the night, but only if you slept."

"I didn't dare utter a peep with her watching." Kurama had to chuckle, both at the memory of Okura-san and at the way he'd pretended to be an ordinary child. "I'd lie there in the moonlight, still smelling of popcorn, until I fell asleep." Because he thought Shiori might like to hear it, Kurama added, "Dreaming of Santa-san and reindeer."

"Yes, that's right," said Shiori. Another smile, this one genuine, touched her face at last. "In the morning your hair always smelled like popcorn and evergreen. And your father…"

The smile faded. Shiori dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. Kurama averted his gaze, allowing her to compose herself without audience. When she spoke again, her voice held firm.

"I'm shocked you remember all of that," Shiori said. "It was so long ago."

Kurama said, "I would never forget."

And his words appeared to soothe her, because once again she smiled, a beatific look of contentment that made Shiori appear to glow. "I'm glad," she said, reaching once again for her son's hand. "I'm glad that you remember him. That you remember what our family was like before Daichi…"

She trailed off, unable to speak the horror of losing her husband aloud. But she soldiered on, Shiori's inner strength carrying her through.

"What you didn't know, Shuichi," she said, "is that your father and I would go out to look at Christmas lights every Christmas Eve once you went to bed. We'd walk through a market and drink hot cider and hold each other's hand, feeling like we were young again, watching the teenage couples wander…"

She could no longer hold back tears, a single crystalline drop slipping down the plane of her cheek. Kurama held her hand tighter, carefully observing the faraway cast to her dark eyes—an expression of unfathomable longing and melancholy-tinged nostalgia, one that looked achingly familiar.

Kurama had only just seen the same expression in someone else's eyes, after all. But he had not told his mother about that part of his afternoon with Kei.

"I miss him, Shuichi," Shiori whispered, fiddling with the ring she still wore on her left hand—the one she only took off before a date with Hatanaka. "I miss him every day. I know we don't talk about him often, especially now that I've started dating again, and not after things are—were getting serious with Hatanaka-san…" She shook her head. "But I still think about him every day, and…"

"I know, Mother," said Kurama—and he noted, though he did not point out, her sudden change in verb tense.

"I don't want to pretend he doesn't exist, that he never existed," Shiori continued, plaintive eyes trained on her son's listening face. "But reliving the past… it's painful, in some ways. More bitter than sweet, though there is still sweetness there." Her hand gripped Kurama's a little tighter. "But I don't want you to forget your father, Shuichi. Perhaps we should have continued to decorate that tree without him. I don't know even know where it is, if I made the right choice to hide it away somewhere." Another of her bitterest smiles, coffee without a coffee spoon, turned the edges of her mouth. "Daichi didn't have any family by the time we met. The tradition died with him. But sometimes I wish we still…"

Shiori did not need to continue speaking for Kurama to understand her. The dejected angle of her spine, the curving slope of her neck, the downcast way she eyed the tabletop between them told Kurama everything he needed to know, and more besides. His mother stood torn between her old life and the new, the desire to honor the past and the need to embrace the future—another struggle Kurama found so achingly familiar. But what, if anything, could he do to ameliorate the hurt bared like a raw nerve behind mother's eyes?

Like a ghost in the dark, Kei's voice sounded in his head.

"… Mother?" Kurama said, watching her intently.

Shiori roused from her torpor. "Yes, Shuichi?" she said, as if waking from a deep sleep. "What is it?"

"If we can't reclaim the tradition of the tree," he said, voicing each word with care, "maybe we can reclaim another. For him."

Shiori looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"I know where we can find the best light show in town." Kurama smiled while his mother's lips parted in surprise. "I have it on good authority that it's a sight to behold."

"Really, Shuichi?" she asked after a moment's hesitation, at a loss for words—but warmth and excitement had already begun to shine, chasing away the pall of sadness like sun chasing away storm clouds. "You'd do that with me?"

"I would," Kurama assured her. "But I need to make a phone call first."

"I'll get my coat," Shiori said.

When she rose from the table, Kurama noted with contentment the way she held her head up higher than before. Kurama was well aware that his relationship with Shiori was not typical. She was young enough to be his daughter, granddaughter, great granddaughter—but right then, he felt entirely like her son.

Yet against all expectations, it was a feeling he enjoyed.

Once Shiori vanished into her bedroom to collect her things, Kurama ventured upstairs to make a phone call. When he hung up, he stood in his room for a moment in silence—and on a whim, he reached for one of the flower pots sitting on his windowsill.

Kurama needed one last thing before they left for the evening.

He did not know if he would be able to use it, necessarily.

But just in case, it never hurt to be prepared.

The Christmas market looked completely different at night, and when Kurama and Shiori approached the market's gates, Shiori breathed an audible gasp.

"Shuichi, it's beautiful!" Shiori grabbed his arm for emphasis. "It's the most beautiful market I've ever seen!"

"Kei assured me it would be," Kurama said. "She said these are the best lights in the city."

Kei had not exaggerated that claim in the slightest. Kurama did not suspect she'd been exaggerating, of course, but he had expected to be underwhelmed by the thoroughly human display nevertheless—but about that he had been wrong. The strands of lights crisscrossing the market sparkled like stars fallen to earth, winking illumination as gentle as snowfall on the wind. The clock tower overlooking the market square dripped gleaming bulbs and shimmering curtains of light from its eaves; at its base someone had erected a massive tree more than fifteen meters tall, lights and ornaments drenching every bough, icicles made of crystal and glass and gleaming metal. Past it through another light-festooned gate stood a gigantic field of light installations depicting the imagery of the season, to which the crowds flocked in droves. The air smelled of hot cider, cinnamon and cranberry, and even more onlookers than in the afternoon swirled through the market's narrow aisles. The sound of Beethoven's Ninth played over hidden speakers, but even Kurama's keen ears could only hear the highest portion of the melody over the hum of the massive gathering.

And yet, the splendor of the market still paled in comparison to Shiori's brilliant smile, the woman happier than Kurama had seen her in some time. He found himself more drawn to her than to the lights, elated that his choice to bring her here had sparked joy, and not sorrow.

Gently, Kurama took his mother's hand and squeezed.

"Well, mother." His smile matched her own. "What would you like to do first?"

"Why, I don't know!" she said, sounding almost surprised. "There's just so much, and I haven't been here in years. It's almost overwhelming."

"Then let's start at the beginning and work our way through," Kurama suggested—and together they did just that.

Arm in arm, mother and son strolled through the market on the light-studded night of Christmas Eve. Shiori oohed and ahhed at the displays of goods and myriad food choices, eager to take a family photo with a man dressed as Santa before a backdrop of fake snow, a lit Christmas tree and green garland. Kurama showed her the coffee spoon stand, sharing with her a sweetened cup of green tea before they played a few festival-style games. Despite the cold of the night nipping at his cheeks, Kurama felt somehow cozy as they took in the labyrinthine light display below the clock tower. Shiori looked more and more at ease and happier with every step they took through the market, her happiness evident in the way she moved and laughed—but as they passed beneath the shadow of the clock tower at the base of the enormous Christmas tree, she glimpsed something through the crowd, and her smile faded.

At that sight, Kurama had to wonder if the final surprise he prepared for her that evening would bring her more happiness, or less.

When Shiori's erstwhile date, Hatanaka, emerged from the crowd, he wore a sheepish smile, hand raised in quiet greeting—and he shot Kurama a nervous glance in the process. Good, Kurama thought as he watched Hatanaka approach. He should be nervous, after what he did to Shiori. But it would be odd if Hatanaka did not feel at least unsettled to see Kurama standing at Shiori's side. The clipped way Kurama had spoken to him during their phone call would put the fear of god into anyone.

"I am taking my mother out this evening to see the Christmas lights," Kurama had said the moment Hatanaka picked up the phone, naming the marketplace where he'd bring her. "If you happen to be there whenever your very important work is complete—" here Kurama had not bothered to hide his acerbity "—I am sure she would still like to see you." A long pause. Then: "As would I, of course."

His not-so-veiled implication had been quite clear. Hatanaka had immediately stammered something about how he'd rush to finish his evening's work, but Kurama did not let him make excuses. He had hung up before Hatanaka got the chance. But it seemed for all of Kurama's ire, Hatanaka was brave enough to show his face, because he stood before Shiori with head bowed in obvious penitence.

This was just what Kurama had wanted for Hatanaka, of course: To prove he was not a coward, and to make things right… but how would Shiori react to this overture of apology?

With hesitance, was the initial answer. Shiori stepped forward after a moment of misplaced time, releasing Kurama's arm as she looked Hatanaka over in confusion.

"Hatanaka-san… why are you here?" she said, voice as soft as snowfall. "I thought…"

"Shiori-san… I'm sorry." Hatanaka bowed low. "I let work get in the way, and…"

Kurama excused himself with a murmur, walking a few meters away toward the ring of booths forming a circle around the towering Christmas tree—but although he walked just out of what humans would consider earshot, he remained close enough keep a careful eye on his mother and Hatanaka, who stood in the center of the eddying crowd like a pair of stones on a mountainside. Kurama caught the majority of what Hatanaka said to Shiori despite the illusion of privacy he'd granted them, only dropping a few words here and there thanks to the murmur of the throng. Hatanaka was apologizing to Shiori for not managing his time better, for putting her off, for everything. To his credit, he didn't offer many excuses, merely explaining the situation and promising to do better next time. Shiori looked hesitant to accept his assurances, at first—but soon she reached for Hatanaka's hand. She was too shy to truly hold it in public, but she gave it a squeeze and smiled before releasing it again. Hatanaka smiled, too, relief breaking over his face like frost thawing under sunlight.

They painted a rather charming picture beneath the luminous Christmas lights, Kurama admitted. Shiori glowed as she laughed at something Hatanaka said… but her smile faded when she looked in Kurama's direction, saying something in a low voice to her Christmas Eve date. That part Kurama did not quite catch.

"Mother?" Kurama marched back toward her, alarmed. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, dear," she assured him. Taking a deep breath, Shiori said, "If you're open to it, Hatanaka-san… well, I'd like him to join us." Her cheeks flushed. "As we see the lights."

"If you'll have me, of course," Hatanaka added, giving Kurama an awkward bow.

Ah. That explained the reluctant look on Shiori's face, the way her eyes darted between Kurama and Hatanaka and back again. She didn't want her time with her son to end. They had only just started this new tradition of theirs, after all, but she did not want to turn away her date, either—not so soon after he arrived. Going on a date and bringing your son along for the duration, however, did not sound appropriate to Kurama. Much though he wished to spend time with Shiori, he felt no qualms in smiling and shaking his head, putting her happiness over his own without a second thought.

How unlike him, to do such a thing. When had putting Shiori first come so easily to him, after so many years doing the opposite? Kurama could not say. All he knew is that this instinct felt right, somehow. Like how family was supposed to feel.

"Mother, you and Hatanaka-san should see the lights together," he said. "I will head home from here."

Shiori reached for him. "But Shuichi—"

"It's no trouble," he said to quiet the protests brewing in her eyes. "I would like for the two of you to spend the evening together." Kurama smiled as genuinely as he could. "It is Christmas Eve, after all."

"But Shuichi, you came all this way," said Shiori, protesting anyway. "And we were having such a nice time—"

"I-I can go, if it's trouble." Hatanaka bowed again, and then again. "I apologize for—"

"No, Hatanaka-san." Shiori turned to him and placed a hand on his arm. "Please, I think it's best we—"

She stopped talking. Kurama was not sure why. He watched in silence as Shiori stared into the crowd, eyes narrowing in confusion—but then they opened wide, her face lighting up like the Christmas tree towering overhead. Kurama's eyes followed hers, tracking a path over the crowd, then through it, then—

And there she was.

Kei stood some meters away, a skewer of dango clutched in one mitten-clad hand. She wore the same tights, skirt and parka she'd donned earlier in the day, now with a beanie covering her short hair and a scarf wrapped tight around her neck to shield her from the cold. Breath frosted in front of her pink cheeks and reddened nose, brown eyes wide against the copper of her smooth skin. Somehow she looked as gobsmacked as Kurama felt, especially when—after many moments' silent staring—she raised her free hand to wave in his direction, face not budging a centimeter from its dazed comportment.

With commensurate deliberation, Kurama returned the gesture.

Kurama couldn't help but note the way Kei's parents stood a few paces behind her, the pair of them huddled together and whispering behind their gloved hands. Her father appeared to be… grinning? He was not sure why, but he was not left to ponder long. A hand brushed his elbow, Shiori slipping into place beside him.

"I think you should stay," she murmured, smiling. "But not with me."

Kurama's eyes widened. "Mother…"

"Go, go!" She reached behind him to plant a hand between his shoulder blades, urging him forward with a laugh. "Have fun. You deserve it. We both do!"

Kurama hesitated. He wasn't sure if he should leave her—but the gleam in her eye, the rose in her cheeks, said Shiori meant every word. A smile stole across his mouth bit by bit, a warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of his mother's happiness.

"Thank you, Mother," he said. "Meet at the market gates at… 10? After the fireworks?"

"Yes, see you then." Shiori, moving quickly, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, letting go with a laugh. "And have fun, Shuichi. For me."

Kurama let Shiori nudge him forward a step, and when he at last looked toward Kei, he saw her parents shoving her forward, too. Kei stumbled a little in her boots, shooting her parents a look of supreme embarrassment before she heaved a sigh and trudged in his direction. Kurama wanted to laugh as they walked toward each other, the pair soon meeting in the middle of the crowd like eclipsing stars. Kei stared at the ground between them for a moment before looking him in the eye, a sheepish smile cresting across her mouth.

"Uh…" Kei held out the skewer in her hand. "Dango?"

"I'm fine," said Kurama, "but thank you."

"Suit yourself." She tugged one of the confections off the stick with her teeth, chewed, and swallowed. "So, uh…" Kei glanced over Kurama's shoulder. "Is that your mom and her date?"

"Yes. And your parents—?"

"Also kind of on a date." Kei looked particularly aggrieved then. "They're acting like teenagers."

Kurama, looking over her shoulder at them, murmured: "You have no idea."

Kei scowled. "Of course I have an idea; I've been with them all night, and—" She paused when she saw where he was looking. "Wait, what?"

The Yukimuras stood together like conspirators colluding, giggling to one another as their daughter turned to stare. When she lifted an eyebrow, they waved—and then they bolted into the night like teens caught trespassing, her father loosing a loud whoop of laughter before they disappeared into the crowd. Kei sputtered something about them being traitors and started after them, but Kurama caught her by the hand before she could take more than a step.

"I suspect," he said, "that they want you to stay."

Kei didn't speak. She just looked down at their joined hands, flames alighting in her cheeks before she averted her eyes and stared strictly forward. Kurama fought back a smile as she ate the last dango on the skewer, chomping with perhaps more aggression than was necessary for the sugary treat. She glanced behind him as she chewed, no doubt watching as Kurama's mother and Hatanaka likewise faded into the crowd. Soon her eyes flickered back to him, however, averting when he chanced an affectionate smile.

The blush on her cheeks warmed him to the core. But what she asked next surprised him, her insecurity as shocking as her sudden presence at the Christmas market. Head down and shoulders hunched, Kei kicked the toe of her boot at the pavement, eyes roving across the square.

"Do you want me to stay?" she asked—so quietly Kurama almost didn't hear her.

His hand tightened around Kei's.

"I think you know the answer to that question," he said, words nearly lost to the crowd, as well.

Some things are easier to say in public, where rejection can be tempered by the expectation of civility. But Kei didn't reject him, to Kurama's surprise. She just took a deep breath—and then her fingers curled around Kurama's in return, mitten warm against his skin.

"Well. OK then." She stuffed the empty dango skewer into her pocket. "So what are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were spending the night alone."

"My mother's date cancelled their outing."

"Ass."

"To put it mildly. But I called and convinced him to come, anyway."

Kei eyed him over. "Is 'convince' a euphemism?"

Kurama pretended innocence, asking "A euphemism? Whatever for, Kei?" with an expression of mild puzzlement.

She laughed. "So it was a euphemism."

"Who's to say, really?"

"Me. I do. I say it. I know you too well." Laughing, she stretched her free hand out toward the market, taking it all in with a sweep of her arm. "Well, anyway. We're both here now, for better or for worse. So what do you want to do first?"

"Cider, I think." He squeezed her hand, temperature apparent even through her mitten. "Your hand is freezing."

"And whose fault is that, Mister Ice Fingers?" Kei retorted as he tugged her after him toward a nearby cider vendor.

"Can you blame me?" said Kurama with good-natured humor. "I haven't had a hand to hold all evening."

"Poor baby," Kei snarked. "Then it's a good thing I came along, huh?"

"I would be lost without you, truly."

"A babe in the woods, Kurama. A babe in the woods."

"You've been calling me 'babe' quite a bit recently," he observed. "Careful, now. I'm beginning to enjoy it."

Kei laughed—a sound he found he preferred to the strains of Christmas carols issuing from some unseen speaker nearby. Wishing she'd make that sound again, Kurama ordered them ciders and paid, earning a protest from Kei. But that protest was nothing compared to the sound she made when the vendor handed over their cups and said, "Two ciders for the cute couple."

Kei sputtered and stammered, eventually forming the words, "Again with the cute couple stuff!"

"You can't fault the man," Kurama said with a pointed look between them. "We are holding hands, and it is Christmas Eve."

"Yeah, yeah, smart guy…" Kei grumbled. Kurama's hand clutched in one hand and her cider in the other, she started off toward the light labyrinth, face glowing nearly brighter than the display. "C'mon. Best lights are this way."

Kurama followed where Kei led, breathing in the perfumed steam of the spiced cider as they strolled. In companionable silence they walked through the main light display, taking in the sights before making a lap around the marketplace itself, side by side in contented quiet Kurama did not mind a bit. They had never really needed words to understand one another; their hands in one another's were enough to convey how each of them felt. When a group of teenage humans passed them, talking in loud voices about racing each other back to their spot the upcoming fireworks show, Kei giggled. He knew why even before she began to speak.

"Ah," she said with a sigh. "To be young, right?"

"You like to remind me that we are young," Kurama teased. "Or have you forgotten?"

"No. And you know what I mean." And this was true, the pair exchanging a long smile before Kei looked around with a frown. "Man, it's crowded."

"I suppose that's to be expected on Christmas Eve."

"Yeah…" Tipping back her cup, she swallowed the last few mouthfuls of cider and crumpled her cup in her fist. "Hey, Kurama?"

"Yes?"

"Finish your cider and follow me."

He didn't ask her to spoil the surprise, whatever it was. The glint in her eye promised him more than enough. He disposed of their cups and allowed Kei to lead the way back to the gigantic Christmas tree at the foot of the clock tower, but she did not take him to see the tree's impressive lights. Instead she took him behind the tower, into the shadows of the many lights draped from its tall eaves. The clock tower rose out of the roof of a small, two-story building that Kurama presumed housed most of the timepiece's mechanics; a metal catwalk attached to the back of the building stretched up toward the roof. The moment Kurama spotted it, he knew why they were there.

Kei explained, anyway. "I found this place a few years ago," she said, gesturing at the metal ladder. "It's an access point for the bellower."

"Lead the way," Kurama said.

Kei did, ascent not at all slowed by her skirt, mittens or bulky parka. He stood back while she climbed, not wanting to give the impression he might be trying to peek up her skirt (he wasn't Yusuke, after all). When she beckoned at last for him to follow, he looked around. The market's visitors had stayed in the well-lit front of the building; none could see him, and so he did not bother with the ladder. He simply leapt up to the top of the metal catwalk with a burst of demonic power, laughing when Kei stumbled back and gave a yelp of surprise. She recovered quickly enough to glare, hands planted on her hips.

"Showoff," Kei accused.

Kurama smiled. "I have to impress you somehow, don't I?"

"Like you really need to leap tall buildings in a single bound to do that, Superman." Turning on her heel (and not bothering to explain the reference, one Kurama did not comprehend), she said, "C'mon. My turn to impress."

The catwalk led them onto the peak of the roof, a flattened stretch of tile lined with a waist-high wrought-iron railing to protect technicians from a fall should they stumble. A door on the side of the clock tower sat at the end of the walkway, but Kei ignored it. She simply stood in the middle of the walkway and gestured out over the fairground, at the marketplace and the thousands of lights decorating it at every turn. From their high vantage point, the swirling web of lights dazzled the eye like a sunrise bursting over a mountain ridge, electrifying and entrancing.

Kurama wasn't looking at the lights, though.

"This fixation you have with rooftops…" Kurama waited for Kei to look at him before continuing. "You always seem to seek them out. Why?"

"I dunno." Kei shrugged, laying her hands along the railing as she stared out over the Christmas market. "They're peaceful, I guess." Her voice dropped low, a crackle of fire in the hearth. "Harder for the world to touch you when you're already out of reach."

Silence descended like snowfall once more. Kurama joined her at the railing, the pair leaning against it as they overlooked the market. Soon a firework went off with a pop and a hiss, burst of color rising into the night sky above the display of lights like they had come to life and flown from earth with a flutter of fiery wings. Their color bathed Kei's face in blues and red and greens and golds, hues flashing in the depths of her eyes as though depicting the color of her thoughts. She watched them with a smile on her face, once murmuring something about how these fireworks were just the preamble to New Year's Eve a week from then. But that was all she said, drinking down the lights and fire flowers as though trying to breathe in their warmth, use it to fight against the winter wind snaking fingers under the collar of Kurama's coat.

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Kurama wondered what Kei was thinking. She stood close, and yet… she felt out of reach to him. Like her mind had wandered to some place and time he could never hope to follow, unknowable and arcane.

But he thought, perhaps, he knew how to coax her back down to earth.

"Kei." Again, he waited for her to look at him before continuing. "I have something for you."

Curiosity burst in her eyes, a complement to the blue firework blazing in their depths. "Oh?"

Kurama reached into his coat. "Here," he said, and he handed Kei her gift.

He'd wrapped the token in the tissue paper discarded from his mother's gift, tying it shut with the ribbons from the bag of cookies Kei had gifted him. No wider than his palm, the small packet looked unassuming and plain in Kei's hands after she stripped off her mittens. She turned it over in her hands a few times, giving it a comical shake as if trying to discern its contents through sound.

But Kurama wasn't smiling. Not yet. He would wait to see if she liked his present, first.

"Truthfully, Kei… I had hoped I would run into you tonight," Kurama confessed as she tugged at the ribbons. "I wanted to repay for all you've done for me—both today, and this year all told."

Kei's eyebrows shot up at his words, but they rose even higher as the paper rustled and fell away from Kurama's gift: a single pink rosebud, small and glossy. As glossy as the enamel magnolia Kurama had gifted his mother, in fact—but this blossom was not like the one he had given his human mother. No pin lay along the back of the flower. There was only a green stem curled into a perfect loop, one that blended seamlessly with the flower itself. Almost as if this bit of jewelry had been formed of an organic flower, somehow…

"This…" Kei held the rose up to the light, watching a golden firework catch in its glossy petals. "It looks…"

"Real? It is." Kurama laughed, low in his throat; he wasn't sure why. "I grew that at home. It's preserved with spirit energy. It won't fade, or wither, or rot. It's as strong as a flower forged of steel."

Kei's lips curled. "How fitting, coming from you."

"I thought you could string it on a necklace, perhaps." Nervous talons clawed at his chest; Kurama was not accustomed to nerves, cautioning himself not to babble. "Or wear it as a brooch. Though that is obviously up to you, Kei."

The talons in his heart did not let up as Kei regarded the flower on her palm. She did not speak, expression contemplative—and enigmatic. Kurama felt he could read Kei most days, but just then, she eluded him entirely.

Her hand did not, however. She let him take it into his own without recoiling, fingers curling around his in return, thumb tracing a pattern against his palm. Kurama took comfort in that touch, in that caress. It braced him as the cider had, warmer even than that piping drink.

"You said something to me today," said Kurama, voice low with purposed urgency. "You said you didn't want me to look back on my human life with regret. I need you to know that I have no intention of doing that. I don't look at this life as a stepping stone to returning to my life as a demon. I have no intention of living this life simply so I can leave it again someday."

Kei turned sharply toward him. Kurama continued to speak. He feared that if he paused, allowed her a rebuttal, that he would never say what he needed to. That he would never speak the words that had been brewing in his chest all night, as eager to be born as the fireworks blooming against the dark. The words that Kei needed to hear—because he feared what she suspected lay between them like a chasm in the dark, impassable and deadly.

If he wanted more than what they had—and Kurama, day by day, was coming to understand that he did—he needed to bridge that gap completely.

"I'm happy here." Kurama told her the simple truth, unadorned and plain. "I never expected to say those words, to feel this way. Because you were right, Kei. I did come to this world with the intention of leaving it." He hated the look of resignation that flashed through her expression. "But thanks to my mother—and thanks in no small part to you—that is no longer how I feel."

Kei's gloom faded, uncertainty taking its place as her fingertips stopped tracing a pattern against his arm. Kurama swallowed, painfully, passionately cognizant of that interrupted touch.

"If there is any part of you that fears I still feel that way," he murmured, "put it to rest. For me." A deep breath. "For us."

Kurama was not the type to hold his breath like some pining teenager… however, hold it he did, for an unfathomable length of time that felt longer than both his lives combined. Fireworks punctuated the silence like the hammer of a thundering heart, colors pulsing in Kei's eyes like the swirl of snow on the wind.

But then… Kei's gaze softened.

Her thumb resumed its trek across his pulse.

Kurama, emboldened, continued to speak.

"Humanity is not what I thought it would be," Kurama confessed, giving voice to concepts he never dreamed he'd entertain before embracing his human reality—ones that still felt foreign on his tongue, but a perfect fit on the topography of his soul. "This life is the single greatest surprise of my existence, and I am grateful every day that I am allowed to live it." Meeting Kei's eyes, Kurama told her, "I want to enjoy every moment that I can. I want to live life in full, not in half measures. I want to make new traditions. New memories. Live new experiences while I can—and with you, if you'll let me."

It was the most vulnerable he had ever felt, Kurama thought, on par with being chased and slain by a hunter in Demon World—and yet, he could be that vulnerable because he trusted Kei not to thrust a knife into his heart. He trusted her to honor his honesty, to treat him with care, to not bruise where it could be helped… but she remained quiet for just long enough to make him wonder if he had misjudged. To make him wonder if this was worth the pain. To make him wonder if, when she looked down at his gift in silence, she was considering how to tell him his wish could never be.

But Kei did not do that.

She turned the rose over in her hand, fingers light upon its petals, and licked her lips.

"You said this was preserved with spirit energy," she said, voice uncharacteristically shy. "Did you mean your spirit energy?"

"Yes," Kurama told her. "It will remain intact as long as I live."

By those words, Kurama meant many things. Nothing he said had been accidental or a whim, intention laid in every syllable. He could only hope Kei understood, the unspoken passing between them as visibly as their breath on the cold December air. In spite of a thousand years of cynicism, every instinct told him to trust her, and thus he watched in silence as she fished under her collar for the chain of a necklace. Upon it hung a tiny, gleaming star, one he had glimpsed around her neck many times before. She unclasped the chain and slid the rose beside it, star and rose nestling together in a tangle of pink and gold.

"It's beautiful, Kurama," she said—and in her eyes the fireworks illuminated the burn of warm affection. "I love it. Thank you."

When she kissed his cheek, it wasn't because anyone made her. No fangirls were there to pressure her. No one was watching to see her react. Kei acted of her own volition, and hers alone. She simply leaned over and pressed her lips once again to Kurama's cheek, the scent of gingerbread and warm sugar only half as warm as her skin against his own—and not nearly a tenth as warm as the feeling burning in his chest like a wildfire, putting the fireworks above and the Christmas lights below to shame. She withdrew too soon for Kurama's tastes, but the look in her eye was more than enough to sate him.

"Thank you, Kurama," said Kei, touching the rose at her throat. "And merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Kei," Kurama replied—and with her head on his shoulder and his cheek on her hair, in the silence of two people who needed no words to speak, Kurama and Kei spent the rest of Christmas Eve together, hand in hand.

NOTES

Between this story and LC chapter 118, I've released over 33,000 words of content in three days. Please leave a review! I worked really hard and would love feedback on this, and especially LC 118.

Exploring Kurama's relationship with his deceased father wasn't what I expected when I first conceptualized this story, but I'm glad it ended up happening. It's always fun to dig into his character a little more deeply and add some meat to what might otherwise be pure fluff, and his dad isn't exactly common fanfic fodder. And drawing parallels between Shiori and Kei was also an unexpected bit of fun.

BUT ANYWAY, you filthy Keirama degenerates. You got not one, but TWO cheek kisses, a brief moment of fake dating, promises of forever and unprotected hand-holding and cheek-caressing out of this Christmas fic. I hope you've enjoyed their interactions, and thank you so much for supporting this story.

Once again, I'd like to thank Solita for inspiring this story as well as inspiring me as a person. This is for you, my dear friend. Thank you for being you, because you are amazing.

Anyway. I hope you enjoyed; would love to hear what you think! And many thanks to these fine folks, as well, for their support of Part 2: Kaiya Azure, ladyofchaos, xenocanaan, C S Stars, LadyAmazon, Raelia's Chronicles, empressofthedead, Mia, vodka-and-tea, buzzk97 and a guest.