December 24th, Last Year
“Oh, hullo Jones! Happy Christmas!”
“Happy… merry… Christmas to you, too, Saguru. Look, I’m sorry to interrupt your holiday, but–”
Hakuba laughed, stretching out his free arm before glancing at his wrist watch. “You’re not really interrupting anything. There’s still seventy-four minutes, fifteen seconds until we’re to leave for my grandmum’s, and I’m already packed.”
“That’s good to hear, but–”
“Sincerely, Jones, all that I’m doing is lying underneath the piano, waiting for everyone else.”
There was an awkward pause. “Under the piano?”
“Yes. Of course.” Hakuba closed his eyes, amused and content as if his actions were the most normal thing in all the world. “It’s a Steinway D-274, you know. Absolutely gorgeous instrument. Such wonderful sound.”
Another pause, this one while Jones scratched his head. “What… are you talking about?”
“The piano. My mum’s piano.”
“…right, anyway, the reason I’m calling is because I got some reports and some very interesting photos of you from last week that I wanted to discuss.”
The hesitation, this time, was on Hakuba’s end. “Photographs?"
"Yes. Of you. With someone. In an alleyway.”
“Uh…"
"Care to tell me what that was all about, favorite client of mine?”
“It’s… are you certain it was me?”
Jones laughed. “How many six foot tall half-brit blond teenagers do you know in Japan?”
“I can explain.”
“You’d better.”
“It’s not what it looks like!”
“Really? Because it looked like you were making out with–”
“N-no! It.. uh, it… it was for a case!”
“Forgive me if I’m a little skeptical. I’m well aware that you’re quite the lady’s man at parties, but a dimly lit alleyway in the city?”
Hakuba sighed, grimacing, and ran a hand through his hair. “It was my classmate… look, it happened like this…"
One Week Earlier…
There was snow on the ground, but it wasn’t quite the thick blanket that the detective had come to expect during the time of year. The garden at the estate in London was probably under half a foot of snow at least, not a light dusting like in Ekoda. Ah well, at least the winter chill permitted Hakuba to wear his burberry scarf and milford coat, both of which he loved.
He also loved the fact that he was going home for the holiday the following afternoon, four days early, escaping the tyranny of the godless Japanese school system. Soon, he’d be home with his mother, able to enjoy Christmas shopping at Covent Garden, eating fish and chips under the very traditional Christmas decorations, trees all around and… god, he couldn’t wait!
But he had to wait, because there were errands still to run. For school.
Hakuba glanced over to his walking companion, one Kuroba Kaito, classmate and the prime suspect for the case he’d been working on for the past fifteen months. Despite countless confrontations, though, Kaito hadn’t budged on the fact that he was Kaitou KID. Needless to say, even having backed off after the whole Nightmare disaster, the two still didn’t get along very well.
Though, it wasn’t as if Hakuba made much effort to lessen the tension…
"Just look at these storefronts,” he muttered, fumbling for the mittens in his coat pockets. “Proclaiming Christmas despite not even really knowing what it’s about, turning it from a familial holiday to one of romance? Ridiculous. And these decorations…” He shook his head. “It’s almost as if the Japanese don’t know what Santa Claus even really looks like!”
He was chattering because he was cold and because Kaito was quiet. Forced by their class rep to pick up the supplies for the Christmas party – “Which I won’t even be here for!” – found the pair in the downtown shopping district. Snow fell in quiet, sporadic showers, though the brit reasoned it was more of a ghostly misting than a true snowfall. Typical.
“Tell me, Kuroba-kun, do you celebrate Christmas? And I mean in the traditional sense, not in the made up ‘lover’s holiday’ sort of way."
Yes, Hakuba Saguru was in rare form that night. Although his criticism was normal, the blatant distaste for the Eastern half of his heritage was not something that he so often discussed openly, much less actually felt. Alas, soapboxing was a dangerous sport…