Yes, this first two paragraphs is taken almost verbatim out of Dickens, but I don’t do it anywhere else, so don’t be frightened off. And yes, they’re called Staves in the original story.
Stave One
“Why can’t you see
my need for forgiveness
the truth and the lies
so confused as one…
I don’t believe in anything sacred
So why do I feel so damn alone?
I need someone to break the silence
Screaming in my head
And in my soul.”
-- Why
Hokuto was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of her burial (what there was) was signed by the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Subaru signed it: and Subaru’s name was good upon ‘Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Young Hokuto was as dead as a door-nail.
Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Clan’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Hokuto was as dead as a door-nail.
Seishirou had never particularly enjoyed the Christmas season, littered as it was by memories and the Salvation army. Of course, the Japanese weren’t particularly big on Christmas, but Hokuto had always taken any chance to celebrate that she could possibly get. Seishirou remembered his lone Christmas with the Sumeragi twins. As far as he recalled, she had been egging Subaru on the entire night.
It was, he decided, a good night to get drunk.
Seishirou did not often indulge in the fruits of the grainfield. However, on occasion, it seemed like a good idea. Christmas Eve was usually one of those nights. He was never quite sure what it was about Christmas that got to him. The shopping rush, for one thing. The cold weather, for another. This particular year, the imminent approach of the end of the world. It was December twenty-fourth, anno domini nineteen ninety-nine. The various battles had been going on for months now. Almost a full year. Seishirou was kind of sick of it, anyway. And ‘99 was almost over. Didn’t that mean that soon the battle would be over, too?
He didn’t know, and it bothered him. For some reason, the thought of this being his last Christmas was making him irritable. All right, cranky. Maybe even downright depressed.
It didn’t help that whenever he tried to sleep, he kept thinking of that blasted Sumeragi and his damned green eyes.
Yes, drunk it would be. An extremely good idea, Seishirou considered.
^^^^
One bad thing about getting drunk, Seishirou reflected blearily as he nodded off in the cab on the ride home from the bar, was that it always made him have funny dreams. Not necessarily bad dreams. Just funny ones. Usually involving Subaru. And whipped cream. And some other things which Seishirou didn’t really care to think about.
“Here you are,” the driver said. Seishirou stumbled out of the taxi, handed the man some money, and made his way up to his apartment. He was far too tired and drunk to do anything except strip and crawl into bed. He was sure he was going to have a killer hangover in the morning and was really too depressed to care.
He could hear the clock in his living room chiming midnight as he drifted off to sleep.
“SEI-CHAAAAAAN!!!”
Seishirou felt his bed jolt and sat up blearily, blinking at the young woman who had flopped onto it, dressed in an angel’s costume. He blinked a few more times, thinking, I couldn’t have drunk that much . . .
“Ohayo, Sei-chan!” Hokuto chirped.
“I could’ve sworn I killed you nine years ago,” Seishirou mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
“You did,” Hokuto said with a nod. “I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past.”
Seishirou examined this piece of information. “That’s nice,” he decided, and pulled the covers over his head.
“I am!” Hokuto insisted.
“Long past?” Seishirou asked curiously.
“No, your past,” Hokuto said, in her best ‘you moron’ tone of voice.
Seishirou wilted back against the pillow. “What do you want, Hokuto-chan, ghost of whatever?”
Hokuto bounced to her feet and outstretched a hand. “Rise! And walk with me!”
“Hokuto, I’m tired, and I’m drunk, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh, you’re no fun at all,” Hokuto said, sounding exasperated. She snapped her fingers, and suddenly Seishirou felt perfectly sober and perfectly awake.
He blinked at her. “Handy trick, that.”
“I know! You can do all sorts of fun stuff when you’re dead and you become a Ghost of Christmas Past. Now hurry up! You’re not the only person I need to convince of the error of his ways tonight!”
“Who else?” Seishirou asked.
“Oh, tons of people.” Hokuto’s eyes twinkled. “You and Subaru are the two most important, though.”
Seishirou raised an eyebrow. “And what, exactly, is the error of our ways?”
“Oh, if we ghosts do our job tonight, you’ll have it figured out by tomorrow,” Hokuto said with a nod. Then she muttered in a low voice, “Though I’m not sure I trust that maniac who gets to be present this year . . .”
“What was that?” Seishirou asked.
“Nothing!” Hokuto said brightly “Now let’s go!”
“Hokuto-chan, I’m not dressed.”
“Pajamas are fine, no one can – oh.” Hokuto suddenly realized that Seishirou was sitting up in bed, obviously shirtless, and the rest could easily be filled in by the imagination. “All right, I’ll turn my back for a minute, but you had best be there when I turn around again!” She flounced around so her back was to Seishirou.
He considered making a bolt for it, then changed his mind. He was curious to see what Hokuto thought the ‘error of his ways’ was. So instead, he pulled on some clothes. “All right, where are we going?”
Much to his discomfiture, Hokuto glomped him around the waist. Then, even more to his discomfiture, he found that they were rising in the air. “What -- ?”
“No questions!” Hokuto admonished, and they floated out the suddenly-open window.
After floating through some mist which Seishirou was sure was mostly there for the dramatics, he found himself plopped down in a familiar garden. Hokuto let go of his waist. “Know where we are?” she asked.
“Of course,” Seishirou said coolly. “It’s where I grew up.”
“Do you remember what you and your mom used to do for Christmas?” she asked.
He frowned. “Knowing my mother, we probably used it as an excuse to murder people, but no, I don’t remember.”
She blinked, muttering, “That isn’t in the script . . .”
“What?”
“Nothing!” Hokuto gave him a sunny smile. “Anyway, you should be about three years old here, so I doubt you’d have many memories. Unless I overshot, that is . . .” She began to look worried, mumbling something about temporality and shifting fields. Seishirou ignored her, walking over to the window of the house and peering in. “Well?” she asked, sounding petulant. “Did I get it right?”
“Yes,” Seishirou murmured. “Yes, you did.”
Hokuto bounced over to plaster her face against the window. “Hah! Got it in one,” she said, sounding gleeful. “Your dad sure was a handsome guy, Sei-chan!”
“I don’t remember him very well,” Seishirou said absently. “My mother killed him when I was four.”
“I know,” Hokuto said, sounding sad. “This was your last Christmas together.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Seishirou said bitterly. He used his sleeve to clean off the window a bit better. “I suppose I look sort of like him,” he said, looking in at the toddler perched precariously on the man’s lap. The younger version of himself was waving a piece of red and green wrapping paper around in the air.
“I think you do,” Hokuto said with a nod. “Though your mother is very beautiful,” she added, as the woman came sweeping into the room.
“Yes,” Seishirou agreed. He watched as his mother scooped Young Seishirou into her arms, swinging him around. “As I recall, my father gave me something completely innocuous, like a sweater, and my mother got mad at him.”
“It was a stuffed animal, actually,” Hokuto corrected. “A small stuffed puppy.”
“Of course,” Seishirou said.
“Do you remember what happened to it?” Hokuto asked.
Seishirou shrugged. Quite obviously, he didn’t. Then he glanced at her. “Can we leave?”
“Sure,” Hokuto said, and took hold of his wrist. They began to float through the fog again.
“Why did you show me that?” Seishirou asked as they landed in a hallway.
Hokuto turned and looked at him. “Because you were trying to forget,” she said, very gently. “And that makes your father sad.”
Seishirou stared at her, struck speechless for once.
“Come on,” Hokuto said. “We haven’t got all night.” She pushed open the apartment door and went in.
Seishirou relaxed. This, he could deal with. He could already hear Hokuto’s shrill laughter ringing through the apartment.
Then he stopped short. Subaru was holding a small stuffed puppy.
“Where did you get it?” he asked the Seishirou sitting on the couch next to him. “It looks old.” He smiled shyly. “And well-loved.”
“You know, I don’t recall,” young Seishirou said. “I found it in my attic, and I thought you might like it.”
Seishirou stared as Subaru cradled the puppy in his arms, then laughed.
“He still has it,” ghost-Hokuto told him. “He hugs it in his sleep. He’d probably kill me if he knew I’d told; but I’m already dead, so it doesn’t matter.” She examined her nails and said carelessly, “He loved you, you know.”
“Yes,” Seishirou said softly. “I know.”
“He still does, too,” she said, nodding.
“That I find a little harder to believe,” Seishirou said dryly.
Hokuto shrugged. “Believe what you want; it’s not up to me. All I can do is show you things.” She regarded him curiously. “The two of you could have been happy together. Why did you give that up?”
Seishirou shrugged. “I think you’re overestimating the situation.”
“No,” Hokuto said. “I don’t believe I am.”
Seishirou raised an elegant eyebrow at her. “Believe what you want; it’s not up to me.”
“Funny, Seishirou,” Hokuto muttered irritably. “But I know what I saw; you gave him something that was incredibly important to you, even if neither of you realized it. You gave him the only thing your father ever gave you.”
“I didn’t remember what it – ”
“Don’t lie!” Hokuto stamped her foot on the ground. “I hate it when you lie!”
He blinked at her.
“Everything you ever told him was a lie!” Hokuto yelled. “You lied when you told him who you were, you faked emotions you didn’t have, then you lied and told him that he meant nothing when you knew he meant something to you. Are you even capable of telling the truth, Seishirou?”
“I don’t know,” Seishirou said. “I never heard the truth. It’s hard to repeat when you never learned.”
Hokuto drooped. “Don’t go making me feel bad for you,” she said, pouting. “Just for one minute, try to tell the truth. What do you feel for Subaru? And I swear to God, if you tell me you don’t feel, I’ll abandon you in this time for eternity, with nobody able to see you or hear you.”
Seishirou paused for a long moment, thinking about it. “Regret,” he finally said, his voice very soft.
“Now was that so hard?” Hokuto asked, hands on her hips.
Seishirou shrugged. “Why can’t anyone see me, anyway? Am I invisible? Intangible?”
“Irrelevant,” Hokuto said with a shrug that made Seishirou rather nervous.
Seishirou sighed. “I don’t want to see any more,” he said. “Take me home, Hokuto.”
“It’s your past, Sei-chan,” Hokuto said. “It’s what you made it.”
He turned a fierce glare on her.
“All right, I’ll take you home,” Hokuto said. “But I’m not going to be the last visitor you have tonight.” She took hold of his wrist again and they floated into the mist.
^^^^
Seishirou sat bolt upright in bed, hearing the clock chime one. He shook his head dizzily. He definitely had some strange dreams when he was drunk. Funny thing, though, he’d forgotten all about that stuffed puppy. To have it appear so suddenly in a dream was . . . bizarre, even for a drunken dream.
What was even more bizarre was that he didn’t feel drunk in the slightest. Therefore, he decided, he needed another drink. He climbed out of bed – hadn’t he gotten undressed before going to sleep? – and went out to his kitchen, making a mental note to never read Dickens again. As he was looking around for a bottle of something that might help him get back to sleep, a voice called his name from the living room.
Puzzled, but for some reason not alarmed in the slightest, he followed the voice to find Fuuma sitting on his sofa. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m the ghost of Christmas present,” Fuuma said, in that frighteningly cheerful manner only he had. The manner that always made Seishirou want to duck.
“Oh,” Seishirou said, resisting the urge to crawl back into bed. “What do you want?”
“To show you Christmas present,” Fuuma said. “Obviously. Why else would I be here?”
“Believe me, I wonder sometimes,” Seishirou said. “At least I’m dressed this time.”
Fuuma laughed and snapped his fingers.
Seishirou’s head spun for a second, then he found himself standing in an unfamiliar but still recognizable apartment. Subaru never really had been one for decorations, or, for that matter, furniture. “Is this present day?” Seishirou asked Fuuma curiously. “And you’re not a ghost, so why are you here?”
Fuuma shrugged. “I’m a spirit. Your brain picks a figure from your present and that’s who you see.”
Seishirou blinked. “So that wasn’t really Hokuto.”
“Oh, believe me,” ‘Fuuma’ said. “That was really Hokuto. She’s the only spirit crazy enough to think up something like this.”
“Oh,” Seishirou said.
“And it’s not quite present day,” Fuuma said. “Technically, it’s four hours ago.”
“And we’re in Subaru-kun’s apartment?” Seishirou decided to check on this point.
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“If all’s well, in the bedroom.”
Seishirou nodded, then walked down the hallway, peering into rooms until he found Subaru. The Sumeragi was sprawled out on his bed in nothing but a towel, eating ice cream straight from the box and watching The Grinch Who Stole Christmas on the television.
“Good God, even I had enough sense to go out and get drunk instead of staying home and wallowing in misery and self-pity,” Seishirou mumbled. However, he wasn’t going to complain, as the view of Subaru’s legs was quite attractive.
Not to even mention the view of his chest, though the towel was pulled up rather high, coming up to the bottom of his ribcage.
Being incorporeal – or irrelevant, whichever it was – Seishirou was tempted to ogle while he could, but Fuuma’s presence put an effective stop to that. He turned to face the teenager. “Why am I here?”
Fuuma rolled his eyes. “Come on, Seishirou, figure it out yourself. I’m not going to tell you everything.”
Seishirou looked at the stuffed animal sitting on the head of the bed, next to Subaru. “Unless it’s to admire the view, I don’t get it.”
“Yes, well, Hokuto warned me that you’re not too bright,” Fuuma said. “And that you were in denial of several obvious facts.”
Seishirou sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m not allowed to leave until I figure it out, am I.”
Fuuma shrugged. “Sorry. I certainly don’t want Hokuto mad at me.”
“A sentiment I appreciate,” Seishirou said with a nod. He continued to stare at Subaru. Then the Sumeragi gave an irritated sigh, picking up the remote and clicking the TV off mid-song. He put the ice cream on a side table and stood, dropping the towel on the bed. Seishirou’s eyebrows raised as Subaru walked, heedless of his audience, to his dresser.
“God, he’s so thin,” Seishirou muttered. With the towel pulled up so high, he hadn’t noticed, but now that it was gone, he could see every rib clearly defined. Hardly attractive, but something about it was making Seishirou stare.
“Well, he doesn’t eat much these days,” Fuuma said conversationally. “That ice cream? That was the first thing he’d eaten in two days.”
Seishirou looked into the container and saw that only about three bites were missing.
“Why?”
Fuuma just rolled his eyes.
“Let me rephrase,” Seishirou said, unable to take his eyes off of Subaru’s lithe frame. “Why now?”
“Well, the world is ending, you know,” Fuuma said. “Not much point in eating.”
“Yes, but . . .” Seishirou’s voice trailed off. He watched as Subaru blinked, shaking his head a little. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Oh, he’s probably just dizzy,” Fuuma said. “I imagine not eating for two days and not sleeping for three will probably do that to you.”
“He doesn’t sleep, either?” Seishirou asked.
Fuuma looked at him. “My, you seem quite concerned, Seishirou.”
Seishirou ignored him, watching Subaru.
“He loves you, you know,” Fuuma said cheerfully.
“Yes,” Seishirou said, not denying it this time. “I know.”
The doorbell rang, making both Subaru and Seishirou jump. “Just a second!” Subaru yelled, pulling on some clothes. Seishirou followed him out into the front hall, where he opened the door. “Oh, Kamui,” he said, smiling. “How are you doing?”
Kamui attempted to smile back. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, sounding awkward. “You were kinda depressed earlier, and y’know, Christmas Eve and all . . . and Sorata said you didn’t eat anything at lunch . . .”
“I wasn’t hungry,” Subaru said, not sounding very interested in the subject.
“You’re never hungry, Subaru,” Kamui said quietly.
“No,” Subaru said, after a pause. “I guess I’m not.” He sighed. “Do you want to come in?”
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Kamui asked anxiously.
Subaru blinked, obviously thinking of the ice cream and the TV movie. “No,” he said. “Most decidedly not. Come on in.”
Seishirou watched the two of them, particularly the way Kamui looked at Subaru with adoration in his eyes. He resisted the urge to glare at Kamui.
“Two of them are getting awfully close, aren’t they,” Fuuma said, sounding completely disinterested. “Well, not a bad thing. Kamui’s a cute kid. Maybe he can get Subaru to eat.”
“Shut up,” Seishirou snapped.
Fuuma just shrugged. “You ready to go?”
“No!” Seishirou said. “I want to make sure nothing happens.”
“Hardly your business,” Fuuma said. “Subaru and Kamui are free to do what they want. It’s not as if you have any romantic claim to Subaru, after all.”
Seishirou bristled at the reminder. “Subaru-kun,” he said firmly, “is mine.”
“Really,” Fuuma said. “Then perhaps you should treat him that way.”
And before Seishirou could reply, he snapped his fingers and they were gone.
^^^^
Two a.m. Seishirou lit a cigarette and stared at his ceiling, thinking over what he’d seen. He had never really wanted to accept the fact that Subaru still loved him; the very thought made him uncomfortable, as if he was shirking a sacred responsibility.
He heard a tiny noise and looked up to see a cloaked and hooded figure standing at the foot of his bed. He wasn’t startled at all; he could recall the third spirit from the original story. “Hi,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette. “I suppose you’re going to show me some horrible future that I have in store for me. It’s not as if much can horrify me, but let’s give it a go. Do I get to see your face?”
“Oh, sure,” a familiar voice said, and the figure pulled its hood back to reveal Subaru’s face.
Seishirou blinked. “You’re not really Subaru, are you?”
Subaru shrugged. “I’m whatever and whoever you Wish, Seishirou-san.”
“So, no.”
“No.”
“All right, let’s go then.” Seishirou climbed out of bed. “Where to, Subaru-kun?”
Subaru looked at him for a long second, then reached up and gently touched his cheek. Seishirou felt his skin tingle at the soft touch, but his entire body flinched away. The world blurred for a second, then he found himself standing on a bridge. “So my future is a bridge?” he asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Subaru shrugged and pointed to the two figures standing in the middle of it.
Seishirou’s breath caught.
He walked closer, very slowly, unable to tell at first exactly what had happened. From a distance, it looked as if he had killed Subaru, but once he got nearer, he saw that it was the opposite.
Subaru’s eyes showed only shock.
That damned spell of Hokuto’s, Seishirou thought. Why . . . would I do this?
“Because,” the ghost-Subaru said behind him. “It is a lovely thing, to be killed by the one you love most.”
Seishirou heard his mother’s voice echo the words, and he tore his gaze away from the couple on the bridge to look at the ghost. “But that means that he’s . . .”
The ghost simply looked at him.
Seishirou looked back in time to see the last breath escape his own lips, and Subaru to collapse next to him, shock replaced with grief.
“Did I tell him?” Seishirou whispered.
“What?” the ghost asked.
“Before I died, did I get a chance to tell him . . .” Seishirou stared. “But what happens?”
The world blurred again, and Seishirou found himself standing next to the sakura. Subaru was sitting at the foot of it, staring up at the sky. One hand was dripping blood, and some was smeared on his face.
“No,” Seishirou heard himself say. “He wouldn’t . . .”
Subaru’s face shifted. Seishirou could see him clearly, and his eyes were completely blank, his soul erased, eroded by years of grief and regret and pain.
“He couldn’t take it,” the ghost said. “By being the Sakurazukamori, he can keep a tiny piece of you alive, inside him.”
Seishirou turned and grabbed the ghost-Subaru by the front of the cloak. “It’s not true!” he yelled. “It won’t happen this way!”
“It will,” the ghost said. “Unless something happens to prevent it. The future is never decided. But there is always a way that the river would like to flow.”
Seishirou let go, turning to the real Subaru. He knelt in front of the younger man, tracing the lines of blood on his face. “This . . . couldn’t have . . . happened to him. Not to my . . . Subaru-kun.”
“Happened?” the ghost asked. “This didn’t ‘happen,’ Seishirou-san. You did this to him.”
“No,” Seishirou whispered.
“Your future is what you make it,” the ghost said.
“No,” Seishirou repeated, staring at Subaru.
“Seishirou-san . . .” Subaru whispered.
Seishirou flinched away. “Can he see me? I thought I was incorporeal.”
“Irrelevant,” the ghost corrected. “But you are relevant to him. You are the only thing that’s relevant to him. So, yes, he can see you. But it’s more of a vision than anything else. Remember, you’re dead. He killed you.”
Seishirou flinched away from the reminder. “Subaru,” he said desperately, dropping the honorific. “Subaru, I’m sorry . . .”
“Seishirou-san,” Subaru breathed. “I really was in love with you . . .”
Seishirou opened his mouth to speak, but Subaru slumped over, asleep under the sakura, looking utterly innocent if one could ignore the blood.
^^^^
The ghost-Subaru took a stunned and silent Seishirou back to his room just as the clock chimed three. “Learn anything tonight?” he asked conversationally.
Seishirou simply blinked at him.
“I thought so,” the ghost said, and turned to go.
“Subaru-kun, wait.” Seishirou grabbed him by the sleeve.
Subaru turned to look at him.
“I love you, you know,” Seishirou said softly.
Subaru smiled. “Yes,” he said. “I know.”
Seishirou let go of his arm and sank down onto his bed.
“But perhaps you should tell him that, not just me,” Subaru said, and faded out entirely.
^^^^
On to Part Two
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