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Although it’s all she’s been able to think about this month, pinned to December’s tracks with worry, the weight of it doesn’t fully hit her until it leaves her mouth. It escapes her painstakingly, syllable by syllable, staring up wide-eyed at Minato.
“We’re thinking of killing someone… who may be all alone on Christmas…”
Onigiri was simple and fun to make; she had taken to packing a few (and then some, just in case Yukari joined her) for lunch the next day whenever she found herself tense and stressed - which was more often than not, lately. At least, she sighs, grabbing the few leftovers from the fridge, I haven’t been going hungry.
She doesn’t even consider where he might be, if he’s hungry, if he’ll want to speak to her at all. In part, this entire song and dance is just to sate her own worries about him, wander around the city for a while and turn up short.
In a move that should not have been as surprising as it was, Ryoji is - standing in the middle of the road by the station, unmistakable as if he’d been there the whole time - delighted to see her, flushed with relief, as if he had been up every night the past week worrying about her and not vice versa, she thinks.
It’s how she ended up here - almost too warm in her winter coat, her knees pressed together over the edge of the bench facing the Moonlight Bridge. Speaking in hushed tones, as if he’s hiding from somebody and she’s just happened to slip into the same spot, Ryoji’s breath fogs up the air around his face until the tears in his eyes are nearly obscured. She looks away anyway, wanting to be considerate with what little she can offer him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you a present,” she curls her hands into fists inside her mittens, fidgeting with them until she takes them off entirely and starts pressing crescent moons into her palms with her thumbnail. Now they’ve agreed not to, it’s difficult to find something to say to him that’s unrelated to the ball and chain they’re all dragging around. “I’m happy to see you anyway.”
“Hey,” he says, softly, “the onigiri was wonderful. Really, thank you.”
There’s a large grain of rice stuck to his cheek, the kind she’d see over Junpei’s shoulder in a gag manga, but it’s quickly brushed away when a snowflake suddenly settles on his face alongside it. Fuuka turns her head fully upwards, searching so fervently for the stars it feels more like she’s reaching for them.
Slowly, the residual snowglow shining up like a ballerina’s spotlight from the ground surrounding them reveals a cloudy sky and a million pinpricks of white snowflakes gradually descending; if she squints, she can almost blur them into making up the constellations behind them, thickly embroidered, punched into the cosy wool blanket of the night sky.
She meets his eyes just as the first flurry settles carefully in his hair. “If there’s anything I could do, please tell me. I’ll try my best… I want to, Ryoji-kun.” Because she knows he’ll ask why, as if it were a weakness she could sense in him.
“Okay,” he tenses, red-faced, “don’t take this the wrong way, but… can I-”
He shivers, finally, a full-body jerk that leaves his shoulders trembling, as if the freezing wind had hit him all at once like a rubber band snapping back on naive fingers. The movement shakes tears from his eyes - he wipes at them furiously with his shirtsleeve.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. She was right. She is right. It’s not fair. “Just, will you hold my hand?”
“Of course,” she replies, smiling. The confidence in her own voice impresses her.
His eyes widen at her acceptance, but he makes no sign of moving. It’s a pitiful sight, one not unlike the instinctual distrust that had been beaten into her by bullies meaner than Natsuki when she was younger. Though it takes a second, her own warm hand finds Ryoji’s clumsily. And still, his grip is tight and sure.
It reminds her of Natsuki, who suddenly wanted to walk everywhere arm-in-arm after they became friends. She had spent the evening of her Christmas Eve on the phone with Fuuka, making plans for next year that, even with her newfound determination, seem nearly unreachable. When she remembers the risk they’re taking, the sacrifice Ryoji’s making (and Minato’s making, she remembers, guiltily, who she had watched disappear into his room hours ago), it feels all the more possible. They might not survive Nyx, but she’ll definitely see Natsuki again.
“Who are you thinking about?” he asks, suddenly, his smile small on his face. He doesn’t seem like the Appriser like this, but he doesn’t seem like the Ryoji she had met before either; a new, complete person finding joy in this hurdle she’s thrown at him for her own peace of mind, a person who will never get to live. He shines so brightly, it’s no wonder Nyx is drawn to him.
“My, um, my best friend,” she tells him, grinning, her thumb swiping over his, “Natsuki. She transferred out a little before you arrived, but maybe it’s for the best.” She laughs. “I don’t think she’d like you that much.”
He shrugs. “I can’t have everything,” spoken in the hoarse voice of someone who wants everything.
You deserve more than this, at least, she does not say. It seems like a line that should not be crossed - the thin membrane surrounding his descent into near-total emotional apathy.
Instead, she lets her thoughts drift back to Natsuki. “I’m so lucky to have someone like her. It’s odd… we seemed so far apart, but it only took one conversation to realise how similar we were, and how much we liked each other,” when she glances at him, it’s clear to see he’s hanging on her every word, “I miss her, even though we’re connected. Have you ever met someone like that?”
“Yeah,” he says, beaming bright and full. Watching him move and speak and live, moment to moment, is like observing a butterfly break from an infinitely-layered chrysalis. “I never knew… it was something anyone could feel, I thought it was the product of…”
His smile falters a little. “You know. What’s wrong with me.”
“No way,” Fuuka insists, leaning towards him, “it’s probably the most human thing I can think of.”
His shoulders heave. “Does it have a name?”
She remembers Natsuki’s words, Fuuka’s name in her contacts with the little hearts beside it, the way neither of them really wanted to ever let go, no matter the situation. “It’s love.”
The realisation crosses his face like an eclipse, a butterfly freeing it’s second wing. “What else,” he grins, because, cruel, it’s always the most obvious thing in hindsight. “...Did you buy the person you love chocolate for Christmas Eve?”
“We’re too far apart,” she recalls, sadly, but then sits up as straight as she can - “but we will next year, we promised. Did you?”
“Um,” he’s shifting again, like her first encounter with that arcana shadow, “yes. But we’re too far apart as well… I couldn’t get it to him.”
Reaching for his pocket, his grip on her loosens until he (somewhat reluctantly) lets go. Ryoji presents to her a palm-sized box, filled with tiny chocolates in the shape of music notes. They’re not melted at all, as if he had just bought them fresh.
“Would you deliver them for me? Midnight’s-” he sighs, smiling. “Well, midnight’s just around the corner. But it’s better than letting them go to waste.”
When they stand up together, he presses it into her hands, leaving no room for argument. “Thank you,” he whispers, his eyes trained on her - scrutinising her, she feels, observing her, knowing he won’t get another chance to see her smile. Then, he turns his attention to the sky, pointedly staring at the moon emerging from behind snow-filled clouds.
“Huh?” She spins around, just as a gust of wind blows her coat the other way.
The street is so bright around them, it might as well be day - but when she turns back to look at him, puzzled, he’s nowhere to be found.
By the time she reaches Minato’s room, the Dark Hour has only just hit, casting her blotchy shadow so far down the boys’ hall that it looks like she’s even taller than Ryoji. He answers the door after one knock, still dressed.
“I-” She’s suddenly nervous. “I have a delivery for you.”
Ryoji’s terrible handwriting in the ‘To:’ and ‘From:’ boxes catches his eye before the actual names written there.
“How did you get this?” Explaining is difficult, but he understands. “... Are you going to see him again?”
“No,” regrettably, she’s absolutely sure. She’d known from the second he’d disappeared into the growing blizzard that tonight was a fluke, a product of their shared loneliness. “But you will, in a few days.”
“I guess you’re right.” Now she knows the feeling behind it, it’s impossible to ignore - they really are so alike. Like a scientist, like a lepidopterist, Fuuka had watched Natsuki change with complete and total fascination as they grew closer. Ryoji and Minato, on the other hand, are so intertwined with each other they might as well be two symmetrical wings, weathered differently on each side.
Under her newfound, magnifying inspection, Minato’s eyes smile when he thanks her that night, and on New Year’s Eve, Ryoji’s mouth, saying goodbye, has chocolate at either end.