Millions of screens lined the streets, the bursts of colours illuminating the faces of pedestrians as they hurried past the heavily decorated windows and draped doors. Leather boots and heels splashed through the puddles of slushy snow, gradually turning the milky liquid into a grey mixture of mud and dust. The road was filled with rows of vehicles as their noisy horns pierced the freezing night air and drilled into the joyful chatters of shoppers, who were mostly admiring the luxurious Christmas ornaments in the shop displays. A gigantic Christmas tree stood in a triangular garden in the center of the road, its complex network of branches towered over the bustling city, its thick leaves sheltered pairs of lovers as they treasured the moments of secrecy under the dim shadows, away from attention.
Darkening indigo stained the sky. Clouds were gathering... another snowfall was not far away.
Behind a gleaming pane of glass, countless mini teddy bears floated on a sea of pale blue silk; each of which had a piece of glittering golden string encircling its neck. Their beady eyes had a touch of innocence to them, an innocence perfectly matched with a painted background of a wooden hut - more precisely, the interior of a hut - with a fire crackling in the hearth of a brick fireplace. There was even a small wooden table slightly raised above the sea of bears, with platefuls of exquisite delicacies carefully shaped out of play dough and a vast amount of patience.
The delightful display was lit by a warm golden hue that spilled down from three glowing light bulbs, forming a great contrast with the pair of cold golden eyes reflected in the glass window.
His heart was icy, as was his expression. A thick checked scarf hang limply around his neck; almost blown off by the strong gusts of howling wind, yet the boy's hands remained in the pockets of his coat. The temperature was dropping, but apart from his frozen cheeks and strands of messy green hair dotted with snow, Echizen Ryoma took no notice of the weather. Silently, he gazed into the shop display until he was almost certain his nose had literally frozen into ice, and that his jaws would shatter if he tried to move it.
No one took notice of him as they hurried past to finish their Christmas shopping so that they could begin their long-awaited feasts, bite into their steaming turkeys, and chat heartily with their friends; therefore, of course, no one saw the trace of loneliness in the cool pools of amber.
Loneliness?
Ryoma shut his eyes and felt minute shards of ice crumble and slip down from his lashes. Yes, although he had never anticipated that he would care about the loneliness of being a professional tennis player. He had expected to be seen, and only seen, as a tennis prodigy, a determined contestant, a man who followed in his father's footsteps and devoted his whole life to this particular sport. He had know the bitterness and pain that comes with fame and popularity, yet he had chosen this path because he came to realize the importance of his talent - more important than anything else.
But now is the night of his birthday, and he has not received a single congratulation. Of course, he does not blame the pedestrians - and possibly fans - rushing past him to reach their loved ones... they have people who they treasure far more than a mere tennis star on TV. Yet when his manager and friends left him last evening to return to their families, all he heard were Christmas blessings... Christmas, a day celebrated and known by the world...rather than his birthday, a personal but most significant day for a human being.
The fact hit him, hard. He has no one. No one who would put his birthday before Christmas, no one who would comfort him for living through another year of his life, but rather wish him a happiness on a day which he has no one to celebrate with. Family had become a nightmare to him long ago, the pressure from his parents regarding his profession became unbearable, which was partly the reason why he flew back to Japan on the day of Christmas Eve, on the day of his birthday, despite the fact that his family had settled in America and were probably expecting him to return with piles of presents, mountains of cash, and a girl in each arm.
...partly the reason.
Ryoma frowned and gently shook his head from side to side to rid of the snow in his tangled hair. He came back to Japan simply as an escape, nothing more. However... the desperate desire to come back felt far more than a need to escape. Why...? Stiffly, he tramped through the layer of whiteness towards the next display window.
This one was clearly aiming for a more sophisticated look. Glittering white paint was sprayed into snowflake patterns of various sizes on the glass, gently fogging up the magnificent artwork of a frozen lake hidden deep within a pine forest. There were blobs of black paint - presumably people - dotting the barrier of the ice, reminding the viewer about the warmth of people and company despite this freezing season. But what would most likely take the viewer's breath away was the sheet of fake snow drifting down from four swinging sprinklers installed in the inside of the glass, coating the bottom of the display with a thick layer of silver fluff.
Ryoma spotted the masses of tiny fingerprints pressed onto the glass, and smirked. As long as he could recall, he was never excited about anything other than tennis. Never did he press his nose onto the shop windows longing for a Superman figurine, nor did he point excitedly at a Christmas tree squealing with happiness at the sight of a Santa ornament. Always, he has been cold and emotionless, especially so towards the media and those damned reporters. He hated their habit of dragging him along the street, deafening him with screams of questions and blinding him with camera flashes... oh, and of course their passion for making up foolish rumors about dates with stylish models or actresses.
What the hell am I doing here? Nearly everyone is celebrating with their families yet, here I am, out on the streets of Japan feeling sorry for myself and blaming others for forgetting a day which I've never even talked about? Am I going back in time to think in a five-year-old's logic? A sigh escaped his lips as he slowly turned around towards the direction of his hotel.
The strength of the wind was growing, his heavy coat flapped madly as he drew out his gloved hands to warm them by holding the wool to his mouth. The cold was like sharp blades whipping and slashing at his cheeks, cruel and merciless, like a punishment for his attitude towards others. Ryoma adjusted his scarf but, all of a sudden, paused. He had sensed a slight disruption in the crying wind, a change in the air frequency. There was a buzz, an unnoticeable vibration buried under the loud noises of the streets. Nevertheless, Ryoma's well-trained ears pricked up at this difference in tone. Amber eyes sharpening, he listened once again...
Again! Ryoma's hands froze in midair as he picked out a note... a long musical note with a lower pitch. He took a few more steps forward, then focused to block out all unnecessary sounds as he shut his eyes and waited. Why do I care about a random sound on the street!? There are thousands of them! His heart was screaming in confusion, yet he ignored it. For too long, everything had been what he had expected them to be, to experience something he wasn't at all anticipating would be just what he needed.
This time a sharper note, shorter, but louder... His eyes sprang open and he sprinted in the direction of the music. Although stumbling a little due to the stiffness of his legs, he continued searching for the source of the sound waves, his eyes darting from window to window, glass to glass. Colours became a blur as he ran blindly down the concrete path, the volume of the music continued to increase, the notes were becoming faster, closer together, more dramatic-
Panting slightly, he skidded to a stop in front of an electronics store, its display window was no where near as breathtaking as the two he had seen before, yet it made his eyes widen, and drew him closer to the glass as well as the rows of television behind it. Pressing one of his wool-clad hands to the window, Ryoma leaned in, so close that his breathes formed white oval bubbles on the glass panes.
On the screens, the twenty screens of various qualities and colours, was a girl playing a gleaming black clarinet. Shimmering hazel hair plaited into two braids and pinned into side buns below her ear, a twinkling diamond clip holding part of her fringe from her large chocolaty eyes. Ryoma squinted at the image of her, made up of zillions of coloured dots as many as the flakes in the sky. ...Have I seen her somewhere before? Why does she seem... oddly familiar? And somehow I feel that I should remember her... Her face was pale, yet this brought out the blush on her cheeks and emphasized the soft smile in the corner of her lips as she blew into the instrument. Fingers flying over the keys, pressing, releasing, shifting positions... each change created a tone so sweet and moving it seemed to reflect the deep emotions of the clarinetist as she performed a piece of her heart.
As the last note died, Ryoma seemed to snap out of a trance. His eyes cooled and he straightened up, yet he stayed in front of the screens, watching the girl, listening to her words, hoping for more. However, when the face of the girl finally clicked in, when the sound of her soft voice finally triggered a part of his memory, it became, suddenly, more than that.
...Ryuzaki? He stared at the name at the bottom of the screen in disbelief, in doubt. At that moment, he simply became "a boy", and her "a girl"... not a famous tennis player or musician, but two individuals who reunited after a separation of nine years. The boy clenched his fist... This is certainly... something I wasn't expecting. Alarmed, he sensed a growing desire to smile. His eyes shifted to an antique television and watched silently as her brown eyes became inky black, and her skin became ghostly pale.
"Miss Ryuzaki... what a breathtaking performance! You should've auditioned for this show way earlier!" A beaming male host strolled to her side as a thunderous applause showered the stage.
"Well... I don't think it would've been as special for me had it been any year other than this, to be honest." An earnest reply, so like Ryuzaki. Ryoma had always wondered about her honesty... can anyone's be as pure and innocent? As spotless and blinding as the diamond necklace catching the light and was now shimmering at her throat?
"Oh? And why is that?" The host's eyes widened with interest as he leaned in nosily with the microphone. His obvious greed for gossip dripped sickeningly from the corners of his dark eyes. Sakuno's long eyelashes lowered a fraction.
"I-It's rather personal...sorry." A faint pink blossomed in her cheeks as she bowed her head in embarrassment. The host laughed in response.
"That's quite all right, Miss! I shall force an answer out of you after the show!" The host joked cheerily and winked at the screen. Ryoma scowled. "Unfortunately, our marvelous evening is drawing to an end... Can I assume that we will finish off with the traditional Christmas medley?"
"Of course, but...uh, if you don't mind, can I... play a special piece before that? It's very short." Ryuzaki's pleading eyes shimmered with hope; Ryoma's eyebrow twitched as he fought to hold back a smile.
"And if you may inform us what piece that will be?"
"It's a variation of 'Happy Birthday"... I composed this for a friend, it's his 21st today." A definite blush coloured her face as she tightened her grip on her clarinet. Pure beauty radiated out from her mature features as she lifted her long lashes to the camera and smiled. A sad smile that wrenched not only Ryoma's heart, but also, most likely, every single viewer of this Christmas program. "I know he won't have a chance to watch this, he may never even know about this, I don't expect him to at all... But, even so, I congratulate you on this day, and wish you luck in your next match...Ryoma-kun."
Ryoma's eyes snapped up and, at last, its iciness crumpled. His expression, originally emotionless, now seemed awkward, as if he had not decided on which feeling to show. A sharp inhale left a dull pain in his chest, which was already throbbing with hundreds of emotions that had been repressed for too long, and were on the verge of spilling out all at once. All because she, of all people, granted his wish when he most wanted it. As always, she was there to support him, to congratulate him, to remember him in spite of his coldness... she was the only one willing to answer his pathetic need for someone to "put his birthday before Christmas", and she will perhaps remain the only one.
The jazzy notes of her composition wafted around him, enfolding his body in a casket of warmth. Slowly, his lips softened into a smile... Perhaps I was scared in the first place... scared that even someone like her would forget me. Then I would have no one. No one at all...
Is it too late for him to realize that now? Ryoma gazed at her for a few more moments, seeing her body sway gently to the rhythm and her eyes close as she indulged in the world of music. Quietly, a tear rolled down her cheek, leaving behind a sparkling trail of moisture. Just as quietly, Ryoma frowned and rubbed away the liquid blurring his vision.
Who cares if it's too late? I need to see her.
...I want to see her.
A thrill shot through his body and he felt his nerves tingle with desire. At once, he ripped his eyes from the screens and paced towards the queue of waiting taxis; some of which were honking desperately at pedestrians who looked suspiciously lost, some of which were parked silently in the shadow, hoping for travelers who would prefer to avoid competition. It didn't matter which one he chose, as long as it can take him to her. He walked up to a scratched yellow vehicle near the end of the line and saw its driver dozing off on his leather seat; his cheek pressed against the rim of the steering wheel; rhythmic snores sounded from his drooping mouth.
Impatiently he tapped the glass window with his fingers, yet just as the man snapped out of his slumber, his passenger was yanked backwards by a strong hand painfully gripping his arm. He winced but had no time to complain before he was dragged into a circle of reporters and cameras. Once again, the rapid flashes of lightning and the thunderous roars of excitement from the journalists swallowed him whole. He has only managed to escape for a day, and then he was found again. Found by these sad souls whose best Christmas present would be a single complete sentence from Echizen Ryoma's lips.
Sighing, he simply glared at the six faces shoving questions into his face and notepads in hand. It wasn't that he didn't expect this... but the timing was overly impeccable. Slowly, he looked at one video camera with a cold smirk. Both of us are being filmed... but under totally different conditions. I found her through the media, and she used the media to find me. Even though the media is now separating us... isn't it also what linked us together in the first place?
He smiled as an idea occurred to him. The group of reporters hushed and looked at him with eyes shimmering with hope; creepily resembling a circle of puppies begging for a scrap of meat.
"I'll borrow this for a second." He grabbed a microphone from a reporter and spoke clearly into the camera, his voice firm and quietly persistent. "Ryuzaki, if you can hear me now - no, you must be able to hear me - I need you to do me a favour."
It sounded more like an order than a request.
"Repay the first Ponta I bought you." Meet me... at the place where I first bought you Ponta. He didn't want to be too direct, in fear of being ambushed by a horde of reporters at the tennis courts... or being followed and then ambushed.
The snow was falling faster, pouring down like thick cream on a Christmas fruitcake. Tiny snowflakes dove into his hair and sprinkled his jacket with white dust.
"...Please."
The shade of his golden eyes dimmed, and he abruptly paused after sensing a quiver in his own voice. Although he was a little triumphant to see the devastated reporters who were frozen with shock; their faces were as blank as the sheet of shredded ice embedding their feet. No doubt their brains were busily calculating the profit they can make if they publish this on the front page of their magazines tomorrow. Shoving the microphone back into the hands of the gaping reporter, Ryoma squeezed past the speechless men with a soft murmur of thanks.
Never in his life had he expected to find the media useful... but on the night of his twenty-first birthday, nothing could be expected anymore.
A/N: Hehe…f-finally finished…(exhausted laugh) I proudly present to you my first creation of a Christmas Special, which severely lacks Sakuno. (sweat) To be honest, I wasn't going to make this idea into a Christmas fic, but somehow it just developed this way. Also I apologize for the extremely abstract message Ryoma gave to Sakuno… my brain hasn't been very bright these days. (haha, I've used up all my brain cells for the exams) Let us just believe that Sakuno still knows Ryoma well enough to comprehend his logic.
As you can see, this story has absolutely nothing to do with "The Nightmare Before Christmas"… but this title seemed suitable, so it became the winning choice out of a long list of cheesy cliché names. In my opinion, choosing the title can be both the most difficult and the most exciting part about writing a fanfiction. :)
One more thing... (yeah, this is one freakin long A/N) Sorry about posting this up so late... my internet has been breaking down every few moments lately, so I wasn't able to post it up before it was completely fixed (which is today)... so forgive me if this ruins the mood a little.
Most importantly, enjoy the story and I wish a Merry (belated) Christmas to you all! (Someone should really mourn for all the turkeys being eaten out there…)