Kaito was just done. He slapped a hand to his forehead and felt his face burn even more. All he could do was nod stupidly, try to walk on jelly knees and pray that was going to make it to school with out anything else happening.
For a few moments, the pair walked in silence. Hakuba’s cheeks burned redder than they should have, but it wasn’t from the cold. Even though it was getting colder and colder. They needed to get back to school. Soon, they could drop off the stupid supplies, Hakuba could get his scarf back, and then they could part ways. He had a plane to catch tomorrow. A plane home. To London. Where things weren’t terrible.
Once the sea of holiday shoppers had changed to an entirely new group, Hakuba let his pace slow so that he could walk nearly side-by-side with Kaito. How he had let himself show such affection in public, and for another boy, and his classmate no less, he wasn’t sure. Hopefully no one saw it.
Hopefully.
But as they walked, Hakuba became increasingly worried.
December 24th, Last Year (“Jones Interrupts The Present For More Commentary”)
“I want to… chastise you or something, but as usual, you’ve already taken the words right out of my mouth.”
“Yes, I know! It was ridiculous! How could I be so careless?”
Jones frowned, glancing at the photos in his inbox again. “I think that’s because you were in one of your moods, which happens from time to time.”
“Moods?”
“Where you get unnecessarily chatty and cocky and, well, obnoxious.”
“Obnoxious?”
“Yes. Also, I know that isn’t the full story, so get on with it.”
Hakuba pursed his lips, pulling his hand back again. “What if I were to play you Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2 in E-Flat Major, Op. 9, no. 2, instead?”
“Wh… What?”
“Yes, what if I were to play for you instead.”
Silence.
“Well?”
Jones looked into his empty coffee cup, then got up from his desk, moving the cellphone to his other shoulder. “Don’t be a tease. Just give me the story.”
“But I’m very good at piano. Not as good as my mum, of course, but she was a concert pianist, you know, and–”
“My. God. Saguru. Just. Tell. Me. The. STORY.”
“I already told you that I kissed him.”
Jones crossed the small space of his tiny Tokyo living room to pour more coffee, which by now had gotten cold, and let the quiet hang in the air. He knew that conventional politeness wouldn’t allow his client to stay silent for long. He counted, though not quite so accurately as Hakuba might have, the seconds that passed before the detective continued. Anxiously.
“All right, all right, though I really do think that you’re missing out. I could have played you something from Tchaikovsky, too, for the holiday season… Something from Nutcracker."
"Uh huh.” Jones took comfort in the fact that Hakuba was probably pouting, now.
“Just what was in the photos you received?”
“Alleyway. You. Pressing someone against a brick wall.”
“…bloody hell.”
“That’s right. Bloody-fucking-hell. Continue?”
“…we walked in silence for a ways, me mortified, he… well, I don’t know what he was feeling. Probably hatred. Hatred and loathing and something scathing, like… schemes for… murder or… well, not murder, he’s not really the murdering type, you know? But certainly anger.”
Jones got out a packet of manufactured ‘better-for-you-but-still-causes-cancer’ sugar, and tsked. “This isn’t sounding good for you, you know.”
“Let me finish. Please.”
“Yes. Please.”
“And… then, well, and then, I saw another Christmas tree display and…”
“Did you make fun of it?”
“WELL IT DIDN’T MAKE ANY SENSE!”
“Explain.”
One Week Earlier (“I Just Can’t Believe Japan, Can you?”)
“My god.” Hakuba stopped abruptly, snapped from his previous thoughts at the sight of the abomination before them. In the square up ahead was a tree– a tall, gaudy “Christmas” tree, with hearts all over it. Bright, neon, flashing hearts in red and white and pink. “Do they think that this is Valentine’s Day?! NO! It’s CHRISTMAS!”
The detective stomped his foot and turned back to Kaito, shaking his head in a sudden resurgence of frustration. “CHRISTMAS. CHRIST. MASS. Crīstes mæsse!"
Fists clenching, he waved his hands, so frustrated, so livid that although his movement was limited by the heavy bags on his arms, his mittens – which he’d COMPLETELY forgotten to put back on – went sailing into the gutter.
"This is not a lover’s holiday! GOD it’s not even technically a… well, I mean, when you get the original pagan… but… THE POINT IS, it is NOT VALENTINE’S DAY!"
He paused, expression turning completely cold as he lowered his voice, which dripped with utter hatred as he turned to look back at the tree. ”…not that Valentine’s Day is done correctly here, either, is it?“