Chapter Text
There were certain truths in life that Hitori Gotou clung to with silent desperation. Coffee should be consumed without sugar. Video comments should never be read after midnight. And above all else, Christmas should be ignored at all costs.
She hardly noticed the holiday season, and she took a strange pride in that. The rest of Tokyo transformed into a living postcard—lights dripping from storefronts, department store Santas waving bells like they were getting paid by the ring, and couples holding hands under mistletoe, exchanging warm smiles and gift bags.
Hitori found it revolting. The entire city seemed to be wrapped in festivities she could not understand. She didn’t see joy. She saw capitalism. She didn’t see romance. She saw long lines and overpriced wrapping paper.
To her, Christmas was a noisy, busy, glittering manifestation of human greed. A holiday that praised shopping over sincerity, indulgence over improvement. What benefit could such a season possibly have for her ongoing career?
The answer: absolutely none.
No matter how many flashing billboards boasted early sales, or how many winter concerts invited her to perform live, Hitori could not be persuaded. Holidays were time-wasters. People got distracted. They lowered their guard. They watched cheesy movies, spent unnecessary money, and suffered emotional breakdowns under fairy lights. Hitori wanted no part in any of that.
She was, after all, a serious musician. A successful one.
Her videos were enjoyed by tens of thousands online. Her subscribers praised her guitar skills like she was an icon reborn. There were fan edits of her chord progressions, reaction videos analyzing her playing, even a subreddit dedicated to her outfits. Hitori would never admit out loud how much those things meant to her—but they did. She worked tirelessly on her music. She edited her videos meticulously. Her career was a barrier that kept her insulated in a world where expectations were predictable.
Love, romance, celebration—they were all distractions she avoided like the plague.
It was one of the reasons she had moved out of her parents’ house years ago. She convinced herself that independence was good for the soul and that living alone in an upscale apartment would bring her comfort, peace, and creativity. The truth was simpler: she just couldn’t stand being so close to the outside world.
And so, like every other Christmas before it, Hitori had a plan. She would stay inside all day, all night, and all month long. She would record new music, explore new sounds, and lose herself in a world of strings and screens. The world outside would sing their carols and share their mulled wine—but not her.
Until fate intervened. Because of course it did.
The first unfortunate circumstance struck on a Tuesday morning. A day that should have been normal. She was working on a new piece that would surely be a hit. She had a sponsorship offer sitting in her inbox waiting for approval. The world was hers to conquer.
And that was when her laptop charger died.
It simply stopped working. No warning, no flicker, no soft electrical pop. It was dead. Hitori stared at the lifeless cord with horror. Her entire body stiffened. Her mouth fell open but no sound came out. This was worse than heartbreak. Worse than losing her guitar pick on stage.
“Why?” she whispered as if the universe could hear her. “Why now?”
She knew she couldn’t fix it herself. She wasn’t tech savvy. She was barely human when it came to anything outside her comfort zone. Still, she refused to panic. She clung to calm logic, clenching her fists.
Fine. She would buy a new one.
This required going outside. In December. Surrounded by… people. Holiday people.
Her soul shriveled just thinking about it.
Still, she threw on a jacket, scarf, sunglasses (so nobody would recognize her, obviously), and ventured out into the city. She bought her charger at a store near her apartment, told herself she could go home, plug in her laptop, and forget this ever happened.
That’s when the second unfortunate circumstance landed at her feet.
A gas leak. Of all the disasters imaginable, this one was so aggressively inconvenient that Hitori nearly collapsed from the stress alone. She was barely able to grab her guitar and start playing when someone knocked at her door and ushered her outside. The entire apartment building had been evacuated, cordoned off with yellow tape, and blocked by frantic staff assuring residents that the issue was “under control.” Except it wasn’t. It wouldn’t be safe to return until Christmas was over.
Christmas.
She should have known that word was cursed.
“Excuse me?” Hitori said to the building’s supervisor. “You mean… I can’t stay here?”
He shook his head gravely. “We are truly sorry. But it’s unsafe.”
Unsafe! No, what was unsafe was forcing her to spend Christmas among people.
She tried to salvage control of her life. Maybe a hotel would work. Tokyo had plenty. She could rent one and avoid her family. A perfect alternative.
Except every hotel in the area was fully booked. December was the busiest time of the year, after all. Even the expensive ones were backed up until after New Years.
By the time she stood in front of the last hotel clerk, eyes tired and lifeless, Hitori knew fate had declared war on her.
Three unfortunate circumstances in quick succession: a dead charger, a gas leak, and a lack of hotels.
The world wanted to force her into socializing. Into Christmas. Into the clutches of warmth and joy.
It was torture.
And so, with no other option, she grabbed her suitcase and dragged herself onto a train heading toward the one place she never imagined returning to: her home neighborhood of Shimokitazawa.
Her parents’ home.
Now somewhat of a celebrity, she stood out among the casually dressed residents. She wore a leather jacket over a dark sweater, matching boots, ear piercings, and an expression so severe it could cut glass. She looked like a star arriving at a concert hall—but she was walking into the past. Every step closer to the familiar house on the corner made her chest tighten.
The house looked exactly as she remembered. The same wooden door. The same hanging lantern. The same small, cozy feel. There were very little holiday decorations outside—but Hitori knew that just meant the inside was going to be full of them. She hesitated before knocking. Her hand hovered in the air. Her heart thrummed. She could still run away. She could sleep in a manga café. She could pretend she never came.
But she didn’t run. She knocked.
The door opened slowly.
“Hitori!”
Her mother gasped as if she were witnessing a miracle. Then she turned her head and shouted into the house, “Honey! Hitori has come home!”
Commotion burst behind her. Footsteps. Voices. Excitement. Terror.
“Hey, Mom.” Hitori swallowed dryly. “Guess I’m home for Christmas.”
Her mother did not question the situation. She simply seized Hitori by the hand and pulled her in as though her daughter was a gift from the heavens.
“Come in, come in! We’ve been waiting for you all these years!”
Inside, everything was exactly as she remembered. The photographs, the aging furniture, the faint smell of tea. Even by modern house standards, her parents’ home felt quaint in comparison to Hitori’s apartment. But she also couldn’t help the warmth it brought her—old memories fluttered back like unwanted flies.
Her nostalgia was immediately interrupted by a sudden blur.
“Onee-chan!”
A middle school girl barreled into her, nearly knocking her to the ground. Futari had grown taller, her pink hair slightly longer, but she tackled with the same ferocity.
“Ah—fu—!” Hitori managed to catch herself. “Futari.”
“You’re home!” her sister chirped. “And you look… kind of scary!”
“Scary?” Hitori blinked.
“Grown up, is what she means,” said her father as he emerged from the living room with a chuckle. His bangs had grown impossibly long, covering his eyes like curtains.
“It’s good to see you, Hitori,” he said as if nothing unusual was happening. “What brings you home?”
“A gas leak,” Hitori answered bitterly. “I’m just staying until they fix it. After that, I’m gone.”
Her mother placed both hands on her shoulders. “Come on, Hitori dear. It’s Christmas. Won’t you stay longer?”
“I don’t like Christmas,” she said flatly. “Why celebrate something so pointless?”
She looked around the house. “Anyway. Where’s my spare laptop? I need to work.”
Without waiting for them to respond, she walked down the hallway toward her old bedroom. The door creaked open. The posters were still on the wall. Her childhood desk still had scratches from her early guitar practice.
She grabbed the spare laptop.
“Onee-chan is still so gloomy…” she could hear her little sister saying from the hallway.
With a heavy sigh, Hitori shut herself inside the closet and pulled on her headphones.
Little did she know that outside the safety of that closet, the world was already preparing its next surprise.