A/N: Once again, I must thank you for the reviews. This isn't a fast-paced, terribly exciting or particularly unique story, but I do enjoy writing it and it really makes me pleased to think some of you are enjoying reading it.

Just so you know, the storyline is not set in stone at the moment, though key plot details and events are fixed, so if you feel strongly about something that you think should be mentioned or included, or have any questions, feel free to let me know. But I won't be answering any questions that give away the storyline or ending!

Moving on and moving out now; time to pack up all those old memories, though perhaps not for good. I hope you like this latest chapter.

And The Snow Falls

Chapter Three

Underneath the Silence

We started packing up the next day; none of us could find any excuses for wasting time. Well, none any of us would voice aloud.

Momiji joined us to lend a helping hand, but he really just got in the way. I watched him dancing around Kyou, laughing as the cat tried to swat him into the nearest wall, dodging so easily I wondered if the times he did get hit he only did it for the attention from Tohru afterwards.

I could have done without the extra noise I suppose, but Tohru's smile as she answered Momiji's myriad of pointless questions convinced me the rabbit was good for her. I myself hadn't seen him since the funeral, when he'd looked sadder than I'd ever seen him. His face was so young and innocent, it was easy to assume he'd never experienced anything distressing or heart-rending. He and Tohru were more alike than they knew, I thought. Neither of them gave away their sadness, as if concerned it would fill the air, and everyone else would breathe it in and be sad, too.

I was surprised at how much there was to pack. We'd been in the house for… Well, a few years I suppose, though it hadn't seemed that long. Time brought all sorts of things; like the extra set of towels Tohru had bought us last winter; the vase that stood by the phone, always full of fresh flowers; the various framed photographs that hung in my study, in the sitting room, in the hall; the bowl for fruit on the kitchen table; the books on cooking, martial arts, painting and drawing that lived on the shelves in the sitting room; the wooden massage tools that had ended up in my room; a small metal table with four chairs, set outside on the lawn by the house for sunny days; old trainers not worn anymore, presumably Kyou's or Yuki's, hidden in the corner of the entrance hall; the silvery-sounding wind chime in the window of Yuki's room. There were so many countless things that each had its own set of memories or associations, but I was ruthless, throwing out what wouldn't be needed anymore, throwing randomly into boxes everything I knew I'd still need.

I went out into the garden to sort out the table and chairs when I heard a faint, familiar tinkling sound. It was Yuki's wind chime, I knew instantly, but when I looked around and noticed there was barely a breath of a breeze in the air, it made me feel uneasy.

I stepped further outside until I could see Yuki's window, but I couldn't see anyone stood there; just the wind chime singing its pretty, melancholy song, metal bars glimmering faintly in the dull sunshine.

Perhaps I should have ignored it, but instead, I felt compelled to go up to Yuki's room.

The hallway was dim, grey like the sky outside, and quiet. The only sounds were Kyou and Tohru's movements downstairs, and the slight creak of the floorboards under my feet.

I walked to the door, and it was open slightly, allowing a select view into the room. It seemed empty. The wind chime's music had died away.

The uneasy feeling washed over me again, but despite it, I pushed the door gently, and it swung open silently. Anticipation caught at me, but I didn't know what exactly I was expecting; certainly not what I saw.

Momiji sat crouched by the window, one ear pressed against the wall, and his face had an expression of concentration, his eyes distant.

"What are you doing, Momiji?" I asked, taken by surprise- and that's an unusual occurrence in itself. The rabbit's big brown eyes flicked to me, focusing for a moment on my face, before slipping away again.

"Shh…" he whispered, lifting a hand to the wall by his head, as if getting more involved in what he was listening to.

I shook my head at him in confusion.

He looked at me again. "Can you hear it?" he asked, voice soft and sounding so childlike I was amazed all over again he was only a year younger than Tohru.

I stood still and listened, but I couldn't hear anything. My gaze fell on the bedside table, and I wondered when Tohru had last been in here cleaning it; it was devoid of even a speck of dust. I didn't like the idea of her being in here alone with the silence, cleaning up after a long-gone occupant. The thought reminded me of why I'd gone there.

"Was it you making the wind chime move?" I asked Momiji at last.

He kept his ear to the wall for a moment longer, before pulling away, rocking back on his heels and gazing up at me. He'd always been a bit strange, so his behaviour wasn't really too disturbing. I stared back down at him.

When he answered, he completely ignored my question. "This house is full of memories," he said in a near-whisper, with a wide-eyed expression. "It's like Yuki's everywhere…"

So maybe, sometimes, Momiji was a little disturbing. His comment, and the way he spoke, made a little wave of goose bumps run over me. It had been too close to home- too similar to what I'd been thinking recently.

"We should get back downstairs," I said suddenly, shaking off the odd feeling.

"I'll be down soon," Momiji promised. "I just want to stay here a little bit longer…"

He leant his back against the wall, gazing up at the ceiling with an undecipherable expression on his face, that listening look in his eyes again.

If I were honest, I'd say I could almost hear it, but I left the room instead.

We ate our final evening meal in our home the following evening, crouched among the boxes in the sitting room, cupping warm bowls of steaming rice in our hands. The house was almost completely emptied of our presence. I thought it had lost us from the time when Tohru went around taking the photographs down, packing each one carefully in a specially designated box lined with bubble wrap. Unknown to her, I'd watched her place each picture in, stopping to look at each one as she went, and her expression had gone through a hundred different emotions. It had been like glimpsing part of her heart, watching her look at those photos. Some made her smile softly, as if recalling a sweet memory; some made her giggle to herself, maybe at some old private joke; some made her look pained, in a gentle, accepting way; a few made her wipe her sleeve quickly across her eyes, shaking her head as if to berate herself for crying. I knew those would be the pictures with Yuki in them.

Now, I stole glances at her across the small space of warmth and friendship between us, my attention helplessly diverted by the soft sadness in her eyes as she slowly ate her food. I knew Kyou had noticed her expression as well; he was watching her like I was, and occasionally darting a glance my way. He seemed to measure the distance between Tohru and I with his eyes, and I couldn't work out what he was concluding. The atmosphere was heavy and subdued. We didn't have Momiji to lighten the mood anymore.

I probably should have used my perceived personality of half-pervert half-child to cheer the two of them up, but I had no performances in me that night. I sighed into my rice and resigned myself to the gloomy atmosphere.

The next day, we would be moving into the main house, under Akito's roof and into his rule system. I felt like a chess piece had just been set in place somewhere, and it made me feel somewhat helpless. I really didn't enjoy feeling like that. What concerned me the most was that whatever these endless changes brought would hurt Tohru, or even Kyou. The loss of Yuki had thrust me into an unwanted sense of responsibility, that these kids needed me to look out for them, that I actually had some kind of effect on their identities and futures, and it weighed on me. I felt less than capable, given the circumstances- one of them was introverted and angry at the whole world, one was strong only in appearance, fragile and suffused with grief inside, and one…

It was rather distressing, to feel responsibility in cases like these.

Somewhere, like an echo in the back of my mind, a familiar voice whispered, "Don't worry," soft as the edge of a dream at the moment you wake up, but far more displaced. It made the darkness around the edges of the room seem too close, and the image of Momiji's distant expression the day before swam back into my mind. What had he heard?

I shivered and glanced up, only to meet the gazes of Tohru and Kyou. We'd all looked up at the same time.

"Did you…?" Tohru began, but didn't finish the question.

We all went to bed soon after, barely another word exchanged.

Grey mist clouded me, filled me with heaviness and loss. Stray fingers slid casually down my arm, across my chest, but I couldn't turn my head to see who touched me. As if from a distance, someone spoke, but I couldn't make out the words, or even if the words were intended for me. Someone paced at the fringes of my vision, eluding me. The movement dragged at my focus, pulling me back from the mist.

I felt something slip away, and broke the surface suddenly, emerging into a dark, soothing world of soft shadows and hush.

Except for the footsteps. Again.

I sat up slowly, feeling groggy with tiredness, blinking blurrily, and trying to find my bearings. The room was dark around me, except for a sparing veil of moonlight. It had taken me longer than usual to get to sleep- unless sleeplessness was my new normal- and I didn't relish the idea of leaving the comfort of my bed. The clock on the wall, just about visible in the dim light, told me it was just shy of two.

I passed my hand across my eyes, wincing slightly. The footsteps creaked on the floorboards again, reminding me of why I'd woken up.

Not again, Tohru…

I stood wearily and left my room, heading for Yuki's door, but as I reached for the handle, a quiet, rhythmic sound stopped me.

Someone was talking inside. I could hear it; a low murmur of a one-sided conversation, and the voice wasn't Tohru's. It was Kyou's.

I stared at the door in a mixture of curiosity and puzzlement, unintentionally trying to hear what was being said.

He was speaking too quietly for me to make out the sense of what he was saying, but his tone, which conveyed most of his feelings on its own, was subdued and soft. He spoke in snatches, as if he were stopping to imagine the other half of the conversation. There was a long silence, and I wondered if I'd been heard, and was about to quickly slip away, but then Kyou said something, only a few words, and laughed quietly to himself. The laugh sounded rueful rather than happy.

I pressed my ear to the door, all pretence of not being curious out the window. Who needs dignity in situations like this? Odd words and phrases became audible as I listened intently.

"…end up like this…"

"…really trying…if I can…"

"…better be right…" He paused, a long pause, and sighed. "I didn't mean it."

I blinked, brow furrowed as I tried to work out what that meant. Kyou fell silent, and his final words hung in the air, their meaning and context obscure and impossible to know for certain.

There was a tiny sound, like a snatched breath, and then more silence, and I wondered if Kyou was actually crying, a horrible feeling weighing low in my stomach. It disturbed me that I could picture Kyou crying with so little effort.

Feeling awkward and wrong, as if I'd poked around for a bit of gossip and found out an awful secret, I stood back from the door, and headed back to my own bed.

I didn't want to think of Kyou unable to sleep, sitting alone in Yuki's room, speaking to silent memories.

My family was really such a mess.

The move went surprisingly easily. Stood in my old set of rooms at the main house, looking around at the boxes yet to be unpacked, I tried to pick out a focal point; some specific moment when we lost our home for good, but it was hard to find one.

All I could think of was the way Tohru had looked back as we drove away from our home, a paleness in her face that made me somehow afraid.