Kyo watched Yuki as he retreated up the stairs. He then turned to look in the direction of the kitchen where Tohru stood. Her joyous humming echoed throughout the house, filling his heart with a sense of wonder, and partial regret. He probably shouldn't have gotten so angry. But then the cold look on Yuki's face reflected in Kyo's mind. A war began to rage within him as he thought first of Tohru, then of Yuki. His face began to get warm and red as the rage boiled to greater heights.
Finally unable to take it any longer, he sprang to his feet and stomped out the door, mindlessly grabbing a scarf off the rack as he went.
Kyo's thunderous steps eased to a quick pase as the brisk, cool wind ladened with fragile snowflakes eased the fire inside him. The wind wasn't a gale anymore, its gentle breaths playing at his orange hair. The snow still fell, but it was not so thick as to hinder his vision.
The longer Kyo walked, the more at ease he bacame. Soon his quick pace eased into a peaceful stroll as the tune Tohru had been humming earlier began to echo softly in his ears. The voice was not hers, though, but his own. It sounded in his throat as a quiet, light-hearted tune. He didn't know the words, but the song helped to calm him none-the-less.
Why had he gotten so angry? It had been a while since he'd blown up like that. A light gust of wind reminded him of the answer: New Year's. To most people, the thought of New Yar's brought joy and excitement. But...not to the Sohmas...not to Kyo and Yuki.
The look in Yuki's eyes reflected again in Kyo's mind. They spelled out a feeling of apprehension and fear. For Kyo, he felt only resentment and anger. Were it not for Tohru he would probably have lost all sanity by now.
Tohru's happy song and the peaceful sighing of the wind slowly dissolved his musings. No more thoughts scattered across his mind, though there were many to think about. It was just too peaceful.
Kyo may have kept on walking if it weren't for the fact that a little splash of color on the white blanket of snow caught the corner fo his eye.
Stopping, he turned and bent down to inspect the object. There, nestled between two raised roots next to a tree, was a single flowering bud. A splash of crimson decorated the tips of the petals that pressed against eachother as if seeking warmth. The stem was rather thick, but the leaves, brown and crumpled, sank as though weary of fighting off the bitter chill.
Cautiously, Kyo looked from the flower to the quiet space around him, wary of a silent watcher. But there was none; he was all alone. Then, equally as silent, he removed the scarf he had grabbed before exiting the house, wrapped it gently around the fragile, budding flower, then turned and headed toward the house.