A/N: Yes, I'm slower at updating... sorry... x')

I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.

December came, same as all the months before it, except for two things.

One was that Shiro would help with the preparations for a Catholic Christmas in the community, which spanned twelve days from the 25th of December to the 6th of January. The other was a letter, tucked in a cheap envelope with ballpoint-pen kanji that were painfully familiar.

Days passed. Endless cycles of sleeping and waking until the two blurred in pointless monochrome. There were reports he had to write and homework he had to do, missions to go on and community work with raising alms for the poor. There were a zillion things he had to do, all more urgent than opening that letter. It was when he caught himself considering if he should ask Ukobach for extra cooking lessons that he admitted how pathetic he was.

Sooner or later, somebody would have told her some version of what had happened. Sooner or later, he would have to face her. Sooner had passed, later had come, and there was only one thing to do.

Outwit his doubts, feint to the side, and make a dash for the letter before they realised what was happening.

Hi Fuji

Shiro inhaled deeply. As long as he didn't read past the first line of kanji, he was fine. As long as he didn't know what the rest of the letter said, he still had hope. And fear. And uncertainty.

Stop being an idiot and read already. You've probably been leaving this around for days anyway, thinking I'm mad at you.

Touché.

Shizzy told me about the host-thing. Sen-chan told me the rest of the story. I swear I'll have my shahrokh bite off their balls if I meet one of those stinking Yaonaru on my way back. Yeah, I'm heading back to True Cross Town: figured you'd be down in the dumps from this whole thing. I figured you'd be scared what I thought of you, too, so I sent this letter a few weeks in advance in case you leave it on your desk till you think it won't bite you. I just hope you read it before I come the 26th.

The calendar by the window set today's date to the 23rd. The stamp on the envelope said December 6th. Had he really left that letter on his desk for two weeks already…?

Shizzy doesn't know I'm coming. I only talked with him through a payphone once, after I got his letter, but he made it pretty damn clear he will beat the living daylights out of you if he finds out we've been seeing each other again. I wonder if he could, though. Is it true you broke his arm?

Shiro's jaws clicked together. He hadn't meant to… but there were many things he had never meant to do.

I'll be waiting for you at Minamoto Hostel in the Northern parts of True Cross Town. You're still allowed to leave school, right? I hear there's been talk of making the boarding school rules stricter, so that you can't leave the premises at all without permission. Is school really so bad they have to lock their students up to prevent them from running off? If Pheles has decided to do that, call the number on the back of the letter (that's for my lodgings) and I'll do a little break-in instead. I'm sure he won't mind. =)

Love you,

Kasumi

Isn't it strange? The more you know you shouldn't do something, the more do you want to do precisely that.

Shiro wondered briefly if all humans had the same defect, or if he once again was the lucky special one. Maybe they did, and just were better at resisting the impulse than he was. Maybe he just wasn't as good at it as he should have been.

Maybe the Lord has decided to test you? suggested the part of his mind that had been too well conditioned to play the charade of budding believer. Shiro hadn't particularly liked god's trials. He had tested Job because a demon taunted him into it. Like a bet. Who would trust a god that bet with demons?

Northern True Cross crunched under his feet. Frail ice coated the asphalt, glass between frames of massive concrete buildings. Heaters sighed heavily from the towering façades of apartment balconies. Rusty breaths of white steam against the yawning dusk. Winter was coming. The air smelled of frost, of clear nights and cold stars: what little you could see of them. There were barely any stars visible above True Cross Town – nothing like the sky above Hakkoda Mountains, where he'd passed his Esquire exam a lifetime ago. With his friends.

A stray dog – some gangly, brown crossbreed with perky ears – seemed to consider for a moment if it was worth a shot to beg him for food. It looked at him from across the small street, almost golden in the lamplight. Looked and looked, and eventually decided it had better things to do and trotted off.

Maybe there was another dog, somewhere. Watching what he did. Planning what he would do.

Maybe.

Shiro shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, shoulders drawn up to make a little less cold air filter in through his jacket. There was a screaming lack of plan in what he was currently doing, and his feet weren't the least interested in stopping to let him think of one. He didn't want to give her false hopes. He would be leaving by summer, dammit. There was no telling if it would be months or years before he came back. If he did come back.

"I might never see her again." Good job, brain. Good job with a plan. Excellent work with this whole thing.

Acting on emotion again. Neglecting reason. Doing things he shouldn't do. That had worked so great last time, right?

"This will be different", he told himself. He was just going to see her. No emotion involved. Just see her. "Completely disregarding that going to see her in itself is me acting on an emotional wish", he scoffed.

There's a special word for things you shouldn't do, but really, really want to do. That word is "temptation".

Considering his situation, Shiro should have been better at resisting those.

Kasumi didn't even give him the time to get his shoes off in the hostel reception; she was around his neck in a matter of seconds, a flurry of mauve and black and green and…

"No break-in, then? Ya'll have ta compensate me fer the fun I miss, Fuji", she hummed in his ear. She was so warm, after the December evening. The blue cardigan felt handmade against his chilled fingers, with the occasional bump and knot. Cheap yarn, probably. She smelled of a fresh bath that didn't quite wash away the smell of long days on winter roads. She was oxygen. She was sunshine.

God, she was perfect.

"I've missed you, too", he murmured into her hair. "How's life been treating you?"

"The usual. Ya know. Pebbles an' puddles, an' some road in between." Kasumi slipped out of the embrace, hands on his shoulders, and scrutinised him at arm's length. The way you do with little children when you estimate how much they've grown since last time. She made a proper show of it, eyeing him up and down, furrowing her brow and pursing her lips as best she could. "Hmm, nope. Ya look exactly the same as I left ya. Gotta say imma bit disappointed with ya, Fuji. I always pictured Satan's vessel somebody big an' buff an' fierce", she winked, with scars sagging one half of her crooked grin.

"Yeah, you'd think there were many better alternatives." The smile didn't reach his eyes, he felt that; and saw it reflected in Kasumi's face.

"Hmm…" Her features turned sceptical, and her fingers squeezed his shoulders and upper arms for further scrutiny. "Ya might qualify as buff, though. If I'm feelin' generous."

That Shiro was slow and missing steps in the pair-dance known as bantering was partly because the joy that wit draws fuel from was muted, but partly it was… because something was off with Kasumi. And it wasn't the multi-coloured, haphazard chimera of a scarf that covered part of her face.

"Have you…" Part of his mind informed him that this could be a sensitive topic, especially for women, and that he might get in trouble for it. "…lost weight?"

She seemed a little surprised, but that was all.

"Nah, just misplaced it. It'll turn up sooner or later." She patted his shoulder dismissively, like a judge requesting the discussion to return to the topic. "I'm more interested in hearin' what you've been up to lately. Sen an' Shizzy told me two pretty different stories, so I'm lookin' fer a first-hand account o' what really happened. So~ ya feelin' up fer a walk?"

"It's cold, but sure."

"Already thought o' that~" she confided with a shrewd grin that indicated she had very much thought of this. Skipping away to the reception counter, she reached down for something that had been hidden behind a stack of old newspapers. "Merry Christmas!"

The present she thrust at him was wrapped in the same kind of colour-splashed patchwork knitting as her scarf, and tied together neatly with a red ribbon. Christmas present. Christmas present. Shit…

"Really, you shouldn't have…" he began, but Kasumi would have none of that.

"Come on – it's the kind'a gift ya leave ta mold in a drawer anyway. Open it!"

He was way too occupied with trying to come up with something to give her in return to coordinate his fingers. Something a little more creative than food would be nice. He'd cooked enough food for Samael, and he had cooked for Kasumi already, but what else could he give her that she had use for?

The ribbon loosened, and the fabric unwound to reveal… nothing. The wrapping was all there was in-

"Oh."

"I had some yarn left after I made me' own, so I figured I might as well", Kasumi smiled at the face he made. "It's all scraps from mom's handicraft centre, that's why it looks so unique."

"It looks very unique", he agreed, a smile of his own growing as he tried and failed to find two patches that were the same in colour and knitting. He'd never even known there were this many ways of knitting…

"Wait till ya wash it", she chortled, and tossed the deformed end of her own scarf over her shoulder to button up her jacket. "Then it'll look uniquer."

"Shouldn't that be 'more unique'?"

"Not fer this scarf." Her shoes were on as if they'd jumped onto her feet, and just as swiftly she hooked her arm in his. "It's so unique it has its own grammar."

Don't ever underestimate the value of a night walk for speaking. Shiro told the story to her, to the humming street lamps, to the rusted garage doors, to the bicycles that slept locked-and-chained under green blankets of tarpaulin. There were so many things in the world, suddenly. So many things that had blurred and faded when he had; things that gained shape, gained meaning, other than the listless name tags he was used to assigning them. Time lost track of them on the small, winding alleys of Northern True Cross: demons didn't. Weak but curious, they trailed them over silent roof tiles and bumpy cobblestone like shadows in the corner of one's eye.

"And that's how it happened", he concluded, ages later, when the sparse moonlight the sky offered had been covered in clouds.

"Fucking Yaonarus!" she hissed out between her teeth.

He had never seen Kasumi truly angry; but like the demons that hide in the corner of one's eye, glimpses let you imagine the consequences when she was.

"They 'ad no damn business with you – seeing conspiracies everywhere, paranoid fuckin' assholes!"

"No objections there."

"An' I can bet my sweet ass they're the ones who've been rilin' people up 'gainst the Order", she continued, eyebrows furrowed in thought as she brushed the scarf back and forth against her lower lip. "Pheles 's already aware of it, I'm guessin'?"

"I've been too busy lately to spend much time with him." Which was entirely deliberate, but there were gains to be made from holding up a friendly façade: less prying to worm around, less questions to answer with lies.

"It's that Deep Keep thing the Yaonarus wanted ya outta the game for. There's people usin' it ta argue that Pheles ain't such a useful guard dog as 'e should be: that 'e might have other objectives than serving the Order."

"What people?" People related to Tanzi? To Yaonaru? Or some other enemy of Samael's?

It would be a pleasure to see that bastard hunted – a pure, cruel, unadulterated pleasure. On the downside, anyone suspected of collaborating with Samael would also be hunted: any element that threatened to hinder him might also threaten to hinder Shiro's mission in Rome. The Yaonarus had already made it perfectly clear that they would bestow that favour. And the Yaonarus had connections.

"Wish I knew. Just caught some leaves in the wind, don't know which tree they came from. There's a lot o' hush 'round it." Kasumi muted a cough in the crook of her arm. "Partly 'cause they don't wanna oppose the Order openly, but I'm guessin' it's also partly 'cause some o' them might be in the Order", she said with a knowing glance at him. "Easier ta gather dirt on Pheles if they keep that position, I'm thinkin'. The Yaonarus would play it that way, at least." She drew a deep breath, the kind that isn't for getting air but for cooling heat. "How does it work, then? How d'ya deal with, ya know, having this demon compatibility thing?"

"Well, simply put: if I lose control, they take control. So I'm blocking off emotion to prevent that." Pause. "It makes me a bit detached, as you might have noticed."

"I noticed somethin' like that, yeah. That's gotta suck."

"…Hard to tell, really. It doesn't feel good or bad: just monotonous." No, emotional sensory deprivation didn't feel bad. It just slowly ate you from inside. "Then of course there's times when I would like to just let go and get swept along. Like when I get angry." Like just about every time he had to put up with Samael's 'practical' lessons. "Those times it's hard to stay in control and keep my distance to it."

"Now I get why ya blamed yerself fe' the accident", she murmured softly: a serious face that lasted only a second before it lit up with mischief. "m'I too much of a temptation, heeh~? Can't keep yer emotions in check when I'm around~?"

Was she out of her mind?

…Well, she had to be. Any girl who cared about her safety would be miles away from Satan's vessel.

"You're not exactly making it easy", Shiro pointed out, smile going crooked on his lips as he shook his head. "I don't get how you think when you're still around me, but I'm glad you are."

"Well, I figured Satan needs some competition – can't let 'im have ya all ta himself", she chuckled brightly. "Jokes aside, though: people treating ya bad fer this?"

There was a tiny speck of warmth that embedded itself in his chest: the way she said it made him think of a big sister asking her brother if he was bullied in school, with the silent promise of reprisal attached if he were.

"Most avoid me, that's all." She didn't need to know about the anonymous notes that found their way into his mail compartment every now and then. "Not Midori- and Sen-chan, of course, but apart from them it's like living in a bubble. Not in a bad way", he added thoughtlessly in response to the pained look in Kasumi's eyes. "I mean… When you block off emotion the way I do, you grow indifferent after a while – dulled, sort of. You kinda…" He brushed off an especially persistent coal tar. "Grow used to it. Humans can adapt to almost any conditions." That's how they survived.

"And ye're okay with that?" she asked: the kind of pointed question that is rhetorical, with its answer already determined by the tone.

"I can't stop blocking and I can't stop being targeted by demons: growing used to it is the only thing I can do." Once upon a time, he might have found it disturbing how easily such words left his lips: now, there was only indifference. "It's good that people avoid me, in a way", he continued, fingers toying with the lighter in his trouser pocket. "Makes it less of a risk that I hurt them."

"Ya'd like me ta stay away from ya, too, is that it?"

Kasumi had stopped on the sidewalk, nailed to the ground like a guard tower, and aimed at him the kind of dogged glare you only find in small children who do not want to go. She wasn't angry, not yet, but she would consider it very soon. Her eyes were black fire, her lips a sharp line of defiance, and her arms were crossed harshly over a chest that wasn't as voluptuous as it used to be.

"I was thinking about it when I walked to Minamoto", he confessed flatly. "But I couldn't stop my feet from moving."

"An' ya friends?" she said, not budging a centimetre. "Ya want them ta turn their backs on ya?"

"No, I just-"

He didn't get farther than that: Kasumi's hand squashed the cross on his glasses cord into his cheek as she slapped him across the face. Not to hurt. She didn't hit him to hurt, so her face said. She hit to startle.

"Quit that", she groaned, with the grimace of one who finds herself in charge of a baby that has discovered that food is more fun to play with than eat. "That 'I'm just gonna roll over an' take it' attitude; it's unmanly."

"Unmanly…?" Nope, he was still preoccupied with the fact that she had slapped him.

"Unmanly", she confirmed brusquely. "Just givin' up an' not caring anymore: it friggin' pisses me off, people who are like that. Ya wanna change things, ya fight fer it. If ya sit on yer lazy ass thinking 'bout stuff ya wanna do but never do it, what's the point? Even if ya fail, ya try." She tugged his scarf sharply, pushed the word into his face. "If ya don't try, ya'll spend the rest o' yer life wondering what could'a been if ya had. Ya don't wanna lose yer friends? Then make a goddamn effort ta reach through that bubble, 'cause they're tryin' ta reach through it fe' you." Her eyebrows rose, two dark streaks underlining her statement. "Yeah, you – even if ya think ye're dangerous an' dickish, Midori an' Sen-chan 're still makin' an effort ta keep contact with ya, ye stupid oaf." She tugged his scarf again, and pressed her lips onto his; soft and hot and… delicious…

Emotional indifference, sure: Shiro still had the body of a nineteen-year-old male. If it wanted to rule against his brain's decisions, it would. If it wanted to kiss back and pull her small body close, it would. If it wanted to heat up to smooth curves and the smell of road dust, and burn holes in his mental focus, it would.

"I shouldn't, not like this." But it had been so long, and her tongue was wet silk against his. "It's just like last time, dammit, I can't put her at risk again!" But his pulse was already panting fervently for more: as were the demons waiting in the shadows. "This is bad, it's night, it's way out, I shouldn't do this!"

But it felt so good to give in.

That's what demons did: give in to temptation, not caring what was destroyed because of it. That's what imprint did, to those humans who had it.

"Idiot", Kasumi smiled fondly, when at long last he made himself break the kiss. "What good is blaming ye'self gonna do, hm? What's gonna change if ya make ye'self miserable? We'll be misreable too, that's what." She bumped her forehead gently against his, arms still around his neck where she'd left them. "We care about ya, idiot."

"I care about you, too", he murmured, sending a pale white cloud into the narrow gap between their faces. "It's just that no matter what I do, it turns out wrong."

"Didn't turn out wrong now, did it? I kissed ya, an' no demons jumped outta the shadows."

"They could have: I had a hard time not… losing control."

"But ya didn't. Practise makes perfect, don'tcha know? Keep practising, keep trying, an' you'll be outta that bubble before ya know it", Kasumi smiled wickedly. "An' stop blaming ye'self so much – 's gonna give ya grey hairs." She tugged gently at the hair in his neck.

"Yeah. Bit too late for the hair", he smiled softly.

He didn't deserve her. Not by a long shot. But love is blind, and very pushy.

A cold, light rain came in when they picked their way slowly back to her hostel. Kasumi showed him how to wind the scarf to cover both head and neck, but not without first being intensely fascinated with his now naturally white hair.

"Really? It turned white, just like that? Why?"

"Came part and parcel with the Satan's vessel kit. I don't know why", he lied smoothly, and tossed in a shrug for good measure; then he had to catch the end of his scarf and keep it from flopping onto the wet asphalt.

"…'S it the same kind o' thing that turned yer eyes red?"

"They're not red, they're maroon."

"They were maroon", she observed. "Every time we pass by a street lamp they flash red."

Shiro knew that. Moreover, Kita knew that. He figured he could still get sunglasses and blame some obscure eye-disease for hypersensitivity, but it wouldn't fool those who were already suspicious – which was just about everyone.

"Alright, they might've changed colour a little", he admitted under his breath. "But it's only in a certain light."

"It doesn't look bad, ya know." Kasumi was grinning at him, he could tell by the shape of her eyes, but from that side he could only see a feeble twitching in her cheek. "Makes ya look like one o' those 'mysterious strangers' in crappy romance novels."

"…I'd consider that pretty bad."

"Alright, that is pretty bad", she admitted with a chortle. "I don't mind it, that's what I'm sayin': whateva' colour ya have on eyes an' hair, ye're still you. While we're on the subject, Sen-chan's letter said Midori-chan claimed that Pheles knew stuff about these changes that're happenin' to ya, but that 'e denied it", Kasumi continued and wound her scarf up around her mouth. "She seemed ta think he'd done something to ya ta make ya change."

"He's the one who examined me; he hasn't done anything to me. I'll admit he's fascinated by all this, but he doesn't know any more about 'why' than I do."

Sometime, long ago, had he detested the thought of living a life of pretence and lies? Good work with that.

"No, I figured as much. The thing with half-demons in general an' Midori-chan in pe'ticular is that they're very protective o' the ones they consider their flock."

They rounded the corner and left the alleys for the main road, with the chill wind that flushed rain in their faces. December was in a bad mood; and the scarf may look unique, but it really did wonders for comfort.

"When this all happened to ya, I'm thinkin' her instinct ta protect 'er flock led 'er ta seek somebody ta blame, an' Pheles was a handy option", Kasumi continued. "'S too bad, really. I can only hope she sorts it out fer he'self. Talkin' it over some with Sen-chan might help, otherwise. So, did that examination give any explanation?" she muttered into her scarf, head bent down against the wind.

"All we could gather was that I have some sort of extreme resilience, physically and mentally", he replied, squinting ahead above the rims of his very wet and very useless glasses. "And that it's possible to develop it further. I really didn't mean to break your brother's arm back then. I'd been testing what kind of effect the resilience had on muscle fibre, and it turns out I can get freakishly strong with the right training. All people get strong by training, I know, but I get really strong: on par with a demon." Which was why Midori kept rejecting his explanations: no human gets that kind of strength unless a demon has a hand in it. "That's kind of classified, though", he added, meeting her gaze sideways in quiet understanding. "Practical purposes, since we can't explain how I got so strong and don't wanna get me into more shit with the Order. The official version is that I had one hell of an adrenaline rush. It works, 'cause my body doesn't really look like it'd have demonic strength."

"Oh, I don't know 'bout that", Kasumi sniggered impishly, and sent him that special Look only women can generate. "I sure felt muscle."

"Careful with my control, you little demon", he smiled into his scarf. "But yeah, in the end none's the wiser in this. Mephisto mentioned there'd been other kinds of deviations before me - prophets and healers and other stuff you can hear of in legends. It's something that just happens, apparently. Like spontaneous mutations or something."

"An' of all things, ya mutated ta be a good vessel fer demons? Ye're one unlucky bastard, ya know that?" Kasumi chuckled humourlessly beside him. "I should'a made you a charm ta ward off bad fortune instead of a scarf."

"Warding off a bad cold is good enough for me. Shizuku-san offered to make me a charm that warded off stupidity once: can you make me one of those?"

Kasumi didn't reply, only laughed and slung her arm around his waist. He returned the gesture, then fumbled a while to synchronise their pace before he gave up. His legs were too much taller than hers. Her feet seemed like cat's paws next to his. All of her was so very much shorter and smaller than he was – and thinner. He'd felt that, even through the layers of winter clothes when they embraced for the kiss, and even if she joked about it…

"Just, wondering… have you been eating properly?" he asked cautiously.

There was a pause, the kind of pause where one debates whether to joke away an issue or address it, and Shiro's suspicions squirmed in his chest.

"Don't worry, Fuji", she replied. Off tune. Off beat. And his suspicions squirmed some more. "I've been gettin' fewer jobs, sure, but I can make ends meet even if customers are scared o' me."

Make ends meet, and simultaneously save up money to go to True Cross to visit him…?

"Just means I gotta work harder an' show I got the skills even if I haven't got the looks", she chuckled softly. "There's always pebbles an' puddles on the road."

"You should've told me", he murmured.

"An' given ya one more thing ta blame ye'self fer? Nah. I carry my load, you carry yours." Seeing the look on his features, she elbowed him gently in the side. "Don't make such a face, Fuji. I'm used ta beein' poor, trust me – we used ta have six mouths ta feed in my family."

Shiro opened his mouth to object, but stopped before he could make a jackass out of himself. What mandate did he have to complain if she kept her problems from him, with his own record? None. Whatsoever none, and Shizuku's words drifted back to him from a stuffy hospital corridor: nothing will bother her as long as she's got feet to walk on and hands to work with.

Yes, she was mad. A beautiful kind of madness. Humans can adapt to almost any conditions, wasn't that what he'd just said? And wasn't that what she did?

What they both did.

"I suppose there's some sort of logic to it", he admitted as they turned the corner onto the street where Minamoto hostel lay. "At least let me pay your stay while you're here."

Minamoto was an unenthusiastic three story building, that seemed to pull its shoulders in and make itself small enough to fit between the neighbouring houses. It was the kind of hostel that is frequented by backpackers from all over the world, all intent on leaving their personal mark on the establishment in the form of stickers, doodles, paper folding creations and, on one occasion in the shared kitchen, a vehicle registration plate.

For two days the cost was just up above 10 000 yen. That yielded a room barely large enough for the bed, table and chair that lived there. The carpeting bore the scent of too many former inhabitants, and hand-painted walls that tried to peel the smell off with the paint. One naked window glanced out over the neighbouring house's backyard, which looked more like a dump for neglected garden furniture.

"Pardon?"

Shiro turned away from the glum view to see Kasumi unwinding her chimera scarf. He had proposed that he could add in the money for a better room, but she would have none of it.

"Ye're the one paying fe' the room; shouldn't ya stay an' sleep in it…?" she suggested, sauntering up to him with that telltale look of impishness about her that used to make her lips look so inviting. "Or get a little… warmth… before ya go back out inta the cold…?"

Her hands ran up the chest of his jacket, and the warmth felt good indeed.

"Catholics don't approve of sex outside marriage." The reply came flying out of his mouth. "Which is too bad."

Kasumi's look changed to one of bemusement.

"Since when did ya start carin' 'bout what Catholics think?"

"Since I applied to convert. It slipped my mind earlier", he excused, scratching the back of his head. "I gotta prove my spiritual fortitude to the Order, so following the 'right path' is a plus. If they think I can't handle defences on my own they might lock me up in some demon-safe dungeon."

With a sigh, the last look of impishness left Kasumi's scarred face.

"Ya poor unfortunate basterd." She arranged his scarf a bit more snugly, taking care to tuck it inside his jacket. "Neva' stop tryin', okay?" She rose up on the balls of her feet and kissed him, gently; not for passion, not for teasing, but for love. "No matter how many pebbles an' puddles there are along the way, ya neva' stop."

you might never see her again

Shiro kissed her back, touched her lips with wishes and farewells that would never be set in words.

"Never", he promised.

Regret is the graveyard of dreams and wishes, either murdered by recklessness or choked to death by fear. Fear of failure. Fear of consequences. Fear of getting hurt, or hurting others.

Regret commands an army of ghosts, whispering the haunting words "what if" from the sediments of memory. Things that could have been. Things that never were. Attempts made that shouldn't have been, and ones that should and weren't.

if ya don't try, ya'll spend the rest o' yer life wondering what could'a been if ya had

The rest of the walk through True Cross. The rest of the night. The rest of his life.

He might never see Kasumi again. He shouldn't give her false hopes. He shouldn't-

He might never see her again, dammit. He might never see her again, and the last thing he would give her was what? A lone stay in a shabby hostel room a cold December night? Excused by a religion he didn't even believe in?

Kasumi had never gone to school or had any formal training in exorcism. What she did have was knowledge etched in skin and mind, experience spelled in scars and chants that could fill as many books as the ones that were studied in True Cross Academy's cram school. When she heard knocking on the window, the staff was in her hand and a summoning chant on her lips the moment she was out of the bed.

No human knocks on a window set on the second floor.

Winter night had painted the window black, and in the quiet came the rapping noise again. With the tip of her walking staff, Kasumi turned the window latch from a distance and shoved the window outwards with a rough-

"Ow!"

"…Shiro?"

She groped the wall for a switch, and the faded light illuminated a tuft of stark white hair level with the windowsill, where four equally white fingers clutched hold.

"I know the window's supposed ta be romantic an' all, Mr. Mysterious Red-eyed Stranger, but don't ya think it's a li'l bit impractical?" Kasumi tossed her staff on the bed and stalked over to the window, one hand on its frame and one hand held out to Shiro.

"I'm romantically challenged, can't help it. Here you go", he grunted: and instead of taking her hand, he put something in it. "Merry Christmas." He rubbed at the red mark the window had left in his forehead, before he set to climbing in. "I hope there's enough to make a proper scarf."

A craftsman knows the world through her fingers. Kasumi's knew birch and linden, cotton and wool, and all the regional techniques of knitting and carving from South to North: and when she got the spindle in her hand, she thrust it up towards the dim lamp for examination. The thread glimmered faintly iridiscent, like mother of pearl in starlight.

Suffice to say, Shiro was pleased with her reaction as he climbed in and closed the window behind him.

"Wow. What is…?" She turned it over and over in her hands, plucked and stroked and marveled. "I've never felt anything so smooth! What is this?"

"Spider silk from a jorougumo."

Only then did she tear her eyes from the spindle, and looked at him like he'd just said he pulled it out of his ass.

"And ye're tellin' me ta make this into a scarf? It's the kind o' thing ya embroider the emperor's weddin' gown with."

Really? Shiro hadn't thought much about it since he won it at Hyakki Yagyou. He knew nothing of materials and crafts, and his artistic skill didn't extend beyond folding origami cranes.

"It's yours, so do what you want with it", he replied with a shrug.

…Angelic. With her hair let out for the night and a threadbare blue nightgown to go with that beaming smile, she was angelic. With the faded, yellow lamp-light for aureole and the flaking walls for frame, she was an odd sort of angel. But she was too beautiful for this world.

"That's a great Christmas present, Fuji. Thank you."

"Actually, that's not the Christmas present…" he said softly, and peeled the blue fabric off her shoulder. She shuddered from the cold of his fingers, but leaned into the kisses he planted on her neck.

"Weren't Catholics against sex outside marriage?" she murmured to his ear. Not that she would mind; she had already disposed of his jacket and was making good work of his shirt buttons.

"I'm not baptised Catholic till April; what they don't know won't hurt them. Or me."

She chuckled softly at that, and her hands grew more eager to map the muscles training had given him.

"We hav'ta be quiet, then."

"Hmmm I might make that hard for you…" he murmured back, and traced the nightgown over every curve as it slid off onto the carpenting.

"That's my line, Fuji", she teased, and slipped her hand down past his unbuckled belt.

Regret is a graveyard. Temptation is a pit.

The challenge for every man and woman is to balance on the narrow strip of earth between those.

A/N: HUGE thanks to all the wonderful people I met in Leipzig, for making my brief visit the wonderful adventure it was! And huge thanks to Lady Chance, who usually doesn't deign to make me company, but who showed me utmost kindness this past weekend.