Hope for the Heart

Hi everyone, I hope you've all had a wonderful Christmas! I know this is a bit late, but here's a Christmas/New Year story for you. The second part will be uploaded on New Year's Eve (trust me, the timing will be a lot more appropriate). If you're looking to read a story that is 'purely' about Christmas, you might want to read The Gift of Giving, a story I have previously published here. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, and have a great holiday!

For Angel.

Chiba Mamoru couldn't recall the last time his heart had skipped like it just did. Not when he found out about his inheritance, not when he was accepted to study medicine at Keio University, not even when he caught Usagi looking in his direction last week with a dreamy smile on her face (though it had come close). What was more, Mamoru found his heart beating faster, in a kind of prolonged cry for his attention, and he was helpless to do anything but take in the scene before him.

And it was completely unexpected, completely unforeseen. He had been on his way home from university after gathering the last pieces of reference material he needed to complete an assignment that was due two days later, deep in thought about how to avoid celebrating the upcoming holiday. To Mamoru, Christmas had never been anything special. It was just a normal winter's day: shops open, school on, businesses trying to maximise their profits. Although masses of people around him greeted each other with "Merry Christmas", the day was nothing more than a reason to receive presents for the young, and an excuse to eat cake for the elderly. Most of the Japanese were completely oblivious to what Christmas actually stood for, nor did they question the existence of the foreign tradition.

Absorbed in his own jaded thoughts, Mamoru frowned and felt a wave of pity for what appeared to be a homeless man in the street, clutching a teddy bear wearing a Santa's hat, trying to make conversation with passer-bys who ignored him. Mamoru stood watching him from a distance, determined not to approach the man, when a whirl of light and colour caught his attention.

He knew her from the way she moved, and narrowed his eyes when he saw the girl stop in her tracks and approach the beggar. Somehow he felt uncomfortable and vulnerable at the sight of her standing so close to the man, and he was busy berating himself for the unfounded feelings when the man caught sight of Usagi and moved towards her. All thoughts of reason dissipated, replaced with the first tastes of fear.

Even from the distance, Mamoru could hear the man's slurred words. "Pretty lady, isn't she beautiful?" The beggar extended his arms and gestured for Usagi to take the teddy bear.

Mamoru thought he saw something flash in her eyes, and was about to venture forth and rescue her from the situation when she gingerly took the bear, smiling tenderly as she stroked the toy's dirty fur.

"Yes, she's beautiful," Usagi said in a voice that Mamoru had never heard before, one that sent tingles down his spine. "Where did you get her?"

"The Salvation Army," the man replied, grinning from ear to ear. He gestured at the old clothes he was wearing. "They also gave me this."

If Usagi had not yet realised he was homeless, Mamoru thought, then that statement would have shattered whatever illusions she had about the man. He looked for the surprise in her expression and a change of countenance, but there was none – only a growing smile and the same soft voice that made his heart throb.

"That's really great, mister. I'm glad you've been taking such good care of her."

Usagi gave the teddy bear back, and he received it with gusto, holding it tightly to his chest. "Of course I have. She's my friend!" He paused, then looked at the blonde. "Can you be my friend?"

There was no hesitation in Usagi's reply. "Sure we can! And as friends, I think we should give each other a giant hug!" She stretched out her arms and waited for the few moments it took for the man to comprehend her words. When he reached her and held the girl tighter than Mamoru thought was permissible, Usagi did not flinch or pause, only returned the embrace, unconcerned about the dirty hands that clutched her white sweater. When she withdrew from the hug, the gentle, understanding smile on Usagi's face had not wavered. Mamoru could not fathom this expression Usagi held—she was serenity, beauty, grace; an unfaltering star among the sea of ignorance that failed to drown her.

Watching the scene before him, Mamoru felt as if he was yet another addition to the faceless crowd that surrounded the two, and as his heart skipped, he felt the acute difference between their worlds. He was lost, ungrounded, knowing that he had found something beautiful and precious, something he could never attain.

And it was in that moment of estrangement that Mamoru saw Usagi for what she was: a kaleidoscope of warmth and love, the colours of which were only fleeting until now. Even so, he could not fully comprehend her, could not fully understand his reaction; but Mamoru ignored his systematic and analytical nature, and allowed himself to simply focus on what was laid out before him.

"Pretty lady, I was wondering..." The man had resumed his former awkward state, and was now averting Usagi's gaze, fidgeting with the Santa's hat on his teddy. "You see, pretty lady, she's hungry and thirsty, and she... but you're such a pretty lady!"

Mamoru had doubts of the sincerity with which the man had presented himself, but Usagi had not seen the shifting eyes, the clenching hands—or perhaps she chose to ignore them—and nodded in understanding.

"I'm a bit short myself," she replied, digging through her bag to find her wallet, "but let's see what we can do." The man lifted his head and eyed her pink wallet, which Usagi had turned upside down, emptying all her coins. "It's 550 yen, but it's all I have... Here you go!"

He extended a hand, staring at the money that she carelessly dropped into his palm. The speechlessness was broken when he grinned and said, "Thank you, pretty lady! I can buy her a cake now, thank you!"

As she waved off the beggar's bowing and words of gratitude and they both started to say their goodbyes, Mamoru took a small step forward, knowing that he had little time to live as a witness to this scene. His unwillingness to intrude was weighed down by a desperate need to let Usagi know of these foreign and fluttering feelings, but he did not see a way to achieve the latter without making a fool of himself. The intensity of the moment wearing off, Mamoru took another step and was aware of the concrete beneath him, a sensation that shoved him back into the world of clacking stilettos and insincere, high-pitched greetings—a world that valued logic and practicality over inexplicable whimsies. Whatever admiration and longing he felt had to be pocketed away and meticulously dissected before he could take any action, and now was not the time nor place to do such a thing.

Seeing Usagi take her final bow, say "Merry Christmas!" and walk away, Mamoru nodded to himself and turned to make his own way home, not giving a second glance to the man who had started addressing other strangers in his indistinct manner. The magic had faded to a lingering whisper, the clutches had loosened around his heart; all that remained was the uncertain feeling that he had walked in the wrong direction.

Mamoru woke up the next morning, acutely aware that it was the 24th of December. He had spent the previous night working on the finishing touches of his report based on the clinical experiences he had received during the past few weeks, and he had planned to print and drop it off at university later that afternoon. He remembered the response of his peers when they discovered the major assignment was due on Christmas Day, and absently wondered about the number of people who had become too caught up in festivities and were now struggling to complete it. Feeling content with his accomplishment, Mamoru allowed himself to spend a few extra minutes in bed, but quickly found the exercise to be tedious and a waste of time, and promptly got up to make himself breakfast.

Now that his mind had no immediate preoccupations, Mamoru found his thoughts drifting to the incident that he witnessed the day before. He had never seen Usagi act in such a manner before—graceful, giving, almost elegant. He knew that she was a caring and warm person, but her affection had always been expressed with loud shrieks and laughter, not quiet words and soft touches. The more he dwelled on it, the more confused and irrational his thoughts became, and the reasons behind his reaction darted further out of reach. Was it because she had chosen to approach the man Mamoru himself had chosen to ignore? Was it because she had uttered the seasonal greeting that still made him question her motives? Was it because he had seen a rare and wonderful part of her and realised she would never address him in the same manner?

Seeing his thoughts tending towards an unwelcomed direction, Mamoru hastily cleared his plate and pocketed his keys. He entered the elevator without quite knowing where he was going, and before he left the apartment complex, Mamoru unthinkingly checked his letterbox, expecting to peer into emptiness.

Mamoru frowned when he discovered a small package for him, and he pulled it out, wondering if it had been delivered to the wrong person. Out in the light, he deciphered his name, written in clumsy hiragana, on an envelope that was attached to the parcel wrapped in red and green. He pulled out the card from the envelope and read the contents, his expression softening as his eyes scanned the slanted handwriting.

"Dear Mamoru-san,

Although we haven't had much of a chance to really get to know each other, I hope you'll like your present! Have a wonderful Christmas!

Love,

Usagi"

Ignoring the sudden shortness of breath he seemed to be experiencing, Mamoru opened the package, making sure not to rip the wrapping paper, and found a box that he gingerly opened. His eyes widened at what was inside, and he couldn't help but let out a small gasp.

She had made chocolates that spelt out the letters of his name, and surrounded the centrepiece with smaller chocolates in an assortment of shapes: hearts, stars, books. He could smell the delicious aroma of the treats, and he found a hand hovering over the box, searching for a piece to eat, giving him the time to see the finer details of the chocolates. The books had some indiscriminate letters that served as a title, with small ridges on the side for the pages. The stars had small lines that ran from the corners and converged in the centre, and he could tell by the irregularity of the lines that she had carved them herself. The hearts however, were plain and unadorned, and as he marvelled at the simplicity of those creations, he appreciated the symbolism in the clearly defined shapes.

His hand jerked away as he comprehended that last thought; what kind of melancholic mood was he in, to have seen beauty in the hideous misrepresentation of the human organ? Yet, despite his reservations, he could not help but smile at the girl's gesture. How could there be so much love, so much devotion in one person? He recalled the way she spoke and moved the day before, then glanced down to the card and the chocolates—and he saw the difference but no difference. Perhaps she had presented herself in different ways, perhaps the expression of what was within her was carried out in different ways, but her nature, that amazing, loving nature, was constant.

And somehow, despite how undeserving he was, and for a reason he could not comprehend, he was on the receiving end of that loving nature. Knowing this, and only this, he was only too eager to search for the answer.

It was a bit past four when he reached the arcade. Mamoru had submitted his assignment without any drama, and had spent a few extra hours in the university's library while considering his options for his next research project. Those few hours spent over textbooks and journals usually excited him, but today was somehow different—today, all he could think about was the little bundle of homemade chocolates that was tucked away in his bag. It was almost a relief to be outside in the cool air, untouched by the winter sun, and he had walked at his usual brisk pace, matching the shuffling of the thousands who found it necessary to be out and about on a Wednesday afternoon.

He entered the arcade in his usual nonchalant manner, and felt a thrill of excitement when he saw the golden odangos in his peripheral vision. The effect of his exercise finally caught up with him, and Mamoru breathed unevenly, suddenly wishing he had something in his hand other than his bag. Any words that he considered saying left him; Mamoru swallowed, and he could only take small steps forward.

She was sitting alone at her usual booth, elbows propped on the table, chin in her hands, her hair messily spilt over her shoulders. The thick woollen material of her winter skirt barely reached mid-thigh, showing a considerable amount of skin before reaching the calves that were covered with her knee-high socks. Although the arcade had sufficient heating, Mamoru wondered if she ever got cold while she travelled to and from school. An image, sharp and crisp, of him warming her up in the seclusion of his apartment, flashed through Mamoru, and he stumbled, an arm grabbing onto a nearby table. The movement caught Usagi's attention, and the surprise on her face was quickly turned into a smile.

"Hello, Mamoru-baka," she said, her eyes glittering, her voice doing things to him that he could not comprehend. Feeling exposed, Mamoru sat down opposite her, his hands clenched tightly under the table.

"Odango, you twit." His own voice, to his relief, betrayed none of his uncertainties. "Show some respect to your seniors."

"I'm afraid you'll have to earn that respect," she said in reply, stumping Mamoru for a moment. But his mind finally decided to work again, and he raised his hand, calling for a waitress.

"A long black, and a chocolate milkshake with extra whipped cream for the lady, please."

The girl, a part-timer who had taken Mamoru's orders a few times before, confirmed their order and disappeared. When he looked back at Usagi, he wasn't sure what to make of her open mouth and her large eyes; instead, Mamoru said the only that came to mind.

"Would that be considered enough, or does the attainment of your respect require further actions?" As soon as the words left Mamoru's mouth, he resented having spoken so quickly. He was frustrated with himself, with being so unable to decipher Usagi, that he was now taking it out on the girl. What might have been the beginning of a joyful expression turned to one of hurt—for a moment, it seemed that Usagi was about to blurt out something to continue these verbal arguments that they were so accustomed to, but she drew back at the last minute and simply closed her mouth and looked down.

The vulnerability tugged at Mamoru, but he refused to give in. They sat together for the next few minutes, neither willing to speak. The silence was momentarily broken by the waitress returning with their drinks, and even then, they simply nodded and mumbled words of thanks.

Mamoru had hoped the milkshake would appease Usagi and place them in a temporary ceasefire, and realised too late that he had completely misjudged Usagi's character. Her gaze was steadily fixed on the drink, her fingers wrapped around the straw, swirling the contents, but her actions were purely out of politeness. Perhaps she wasn't so much unlike him after all; the thought of his own beverage had lost its appeal.

Spurred by the direction of his thoughts, Mamoru spoke again, the words escaping him as quickly as they had earlier. "I thought it would be an appropriate return of your gift." Perhaps the lack of warmth and gratitude in his voice was due to the numerous times he had rehearsed a similar line in his mind; nonetheless, Mamoru silently cursed himself for how formal and distant he sounded.

Understanding flashed across Usagi's eyes, but she still managed to smile, perhaps out of courtesy. Her attempt punished him more than any self-chiding, and unable to forgive himself for his own inadequacy, Mamoru lashed out again.

"So are you getting presents from your parents this year?" he asked, his voice mocking. She hid her pained reaction well, but there was no more fire in her response.

"I am," she said simply, politely, knowing there was nothing else she had to say, that he would pick at her regardless.

"Don't tell me you still believe in Santa," Mamoru said. He knew his last insult was frightfully close to a sneer, but her meek responses clawed at him, and he tried to drive her into a more familiar reaction. "And how old are you, Odango? Ten? Most kids stop believing in Santa when they hit twelve, you know. Gee, I almost feel sorry for your parents, having to prepare a gift for you every year just because their daughter can't grow up."

He had hit an all time low by extending his insults to her family, but the sight of the girl trembling against her tears snapped the last thread of his control. Mamoru knew today may be the most regretful encounter he had had with Usagi throughout their acquaintance, but the most primitive and instinctive part of his brain had taken over now, and he was powerless to stop his words.

"Well, I'm glad I finally realised how much of a selfish brat you are. We've never exchanged a kind word, and yet you had the audacity to look up my address and drop something all 'festive' under the pretence of actually caring. Why don't you just cut to the chase and tell me exactly what you want from me? Jewellery? Perfume? A Louis Vuitton handbag? How many other boys and men have you bestowed your 'gifts' upon? How many do you expect to return with the designer goods that you teenagers lust after these days?"

What he implied was ludicrous, and still she did not defend herself. The brief break in his string of accusations was met with silence, and in what seemed like an act of defiance, Mamoru's mind flashed back to the image of Usagi with the beggar, to the twisting feeling in his heart as he observed their exchange. That brought another thought to the surface, and Mamoru continued to speak again, his better judgement already smothered by the raging heat within him; perhaps it was madness.

"I can't stand superficial, ignorant people like you. You prance around in your short skirts and say the words 'Merry Christmas' without knowing its meaning. Christmas, Christmas, what is it, other than a foreign concept of which you have no comprehension? In case you haven't noticed, there is no Christmas in Japan. We put out pretty lights and eat strawberry shortcake and extract presents from our so-called friends, but that's about it. Oh, and of course, the mindless fools of your generation goes around with your parents' hard-earned money and splurge on unnecessary purchases without any conscience. Open your eyes, Usagi. Christmas is a commodity, an opportunity for all the enterprises to exploit your materialistic needs. Do you even know what Christmas is supposed to stand for?"

Mamoru knew the type of answer she would provide, but he had expected the words to be a determined declaration instead of her quiet murmur. "It's a time for you to be with your family and friends, and to spread happiness and joy and love to the world."

Mamoru laughed, and hated himself for it. "You're more naïve than I had given you credit for. This glorious, love-filled day of 'Christmas' apparently marks the birth of Jesus Christ—that is, if he existed at all." He paused, and shook his head, his hands still tightly curled into fists that pressed into his thighs. His heart ached at how he had, once again, been the reason behind her watery eyes and trembling lips. But he could not retrieve them back again, and could only rise to his feet, his indifferent expression betraying none of his inner turmoil. "I see that we're wasting both of our time here," he said, picking up his bag. "I shall leave you to the strenuous task of spreading around all your happiness and joy and love, Odango. I was hoping you would add some intelligence and common sense to that, but it seems like you need every last drop for yourself."

And with that, Mamoru left the arcade, leaving Usagi with their beverages, untouched.

As Mamoru blindly passed through the brightly lit shopping displays, his resolve and justifications for his behaviour gradually began to crumble. Despite all the reasons he silently went through—the girl deserved to know the truth, he was simply saving her from her obvious disillusions, he was always one to be honest with his feelings—Mamoru could not eliminate the twisted feeling in his chest, the one that prompted him to stop on several occasions and check his pulse just in case something was wrong internally. But his heartbeat, albeit somewhat erratic, was within the normal range, and the ache was not caused by anything within his medical knowledge. With every step he took, every preoccupied shopper he brushed against, Mamoru came closer to the conclusion that he was the one who was being unreasonable, who had verbally attacked Usagi in a way that she did not deserve.

Yet Mamoru clung to his stubbornness, to his rationalisations. How could he have been expected to know what the girl had wanted, after she had given him a present? Was it wrong of him to have been cautious and assume the worst? And all the various insults, no matter how personal they might have seemed, were presented in the most objective and logical way, were they not? He mentally ticked off the list in his head: children only received presents from their parents when they believed in Santa Claus, and Usagi's fifteen years were beyond such whimsies; the etiquette of gift-giving made it necessary for Mamoru to return her present, and as an older male, he was expected to purchase something of far greater value; her impression of the meaning behind Christmas was severely flawed, and he had only informed her of the realities. But for every righteous perspective he found, Mamoru discovered ten others that told him, plain as day, that the insults had not only been personal, but they attacked Usagi at the core of her being.

No, it was all unintentional. He could not have possibly attempted to crush the girl's spirit with his callous words. As if to prove his point, Mamoru surveyed the scene before him for the first time. He had ended up in one of the nearby shopping complexes that housed massive department stores and countless shops. Although the outside temperature was just a bit above freezing point, the building was equipped with air-conditioners that blasted the heat to match a warm spring afternoon. The people bustled around him, leaving brand stores with armfuls of bags. Signboards of advertisements detailing the seasonal incentives were an attraction in itself, where they ranged from information on the limited edition Christmas products to the discounts that were barely substantial. One look at the crowd showed no sign that the world was amidst an economic crisis; Christmas was only successful in displaying, as Mamoru had said, the heights of consumerism.

A quick glance at his watch told him it was nearly eight, and his body was correct in signalling him for his dinner. He had wasted the last three hours lost in his thoughts, but there was no time for regrets. Sighing, he escaped from the mall and headed for the nearby convenience store. He opted for a modest obentou box with rice and fish, and paid for it with some loose change in his pocket.

As Mamoru walked through the streets leading back to his apartment, small plastic bag in hand, he saw the lines that extended from the restaurants in the area. He tensed at the sight, and walked past the young couples with a shake of his head—how cruel it must be, for all the single women of the world tonight. His mind drifted to Usagi, and he wondered whether she was spending the night with a boy. The jealousy filled him in an instant—angry at his reaction, Mamoru pushed his feelings back down.

So lost in his own internal arguments, Mamoru didn't realise he had company until a shadow passed before him. He looked up, startled, and then narrowed his eyes as he recognised the beggar who had spoken with Usagi the day before.

"Good evening," the man said politely with a slight bow. Although his clothes were tattered and dirty, the man smelled of soap. His demeanour and tone were somehow different to Mamoru's previous observations, but the slight changes could have been imagined.

"Good evening," Mamoru bowed in response. He waited patiently for the man to step aside, but the beggar did not move. Mamoru quietly took a deep breath, shifting his weight to a defensive stance.

"How are you doing today?" The man's voice was definitely different—his Japanese, although informal, was casual and friendly instead of rough and dirty.

"I am doing well," Mamoru replied. Although the man seemed harmless, it didn't mean he wasn't a potential threat. "I shall be taking my leave now. Have a good evening."

"Off to visit a certain pretty lady on this clear and beautiful night, I would hope."

The words stopped Mamoru, and he turned to see the knowing look in the man's eyes. "Who are you?"

"A man who has seen better times," the beggar replied, a smile on his lips. "But such details are not important—what I'm interested in, however, is your acquaintance with a certain pretty lady."

"You'll have nothing to do with her."

The man laughed at Mamoru's response. The sound might have once been warm and inviting, but Mamoru could only feel uneasy.

"You're a very protective one, aren't you?" the beggar continued, clearly amused. "Which makes me wonder, yet again, why you're not with the pretty lady, tonight of all nights."

Mamoru snapped, agitated. "Tonight is the same every other night of the year," he said, pointing at the sky. "The same sky, the same stars, the same moon. There is nothing special."

"Ah, but there is. Can't you feel it, the glorious something in the air? The time of the year when the good side of the human race emerges and leaves us to be nothing short of generous and giving?"

"Absolutely not." Mamoru shook his head. "Christmas is not even a Japanese holiday, it's—"

"Yet another influence from the West," the man replied. "But do the origins really matter? Haven't you looked around today, and seen how happy everyone is? The smiles, the laughter, the goodwill so strong, you can almost taste it in the air. Are you really one to complain about meaning and purpose when you are surrounded by so much joy?"

The last thing Mamoru wanted was to subject himself to the stranger's inconsequential ranting. "I'm wasting my time here."

"I feel as if I'm the one who should be saying that," the man said, his voice suddenly harsh. "You think you're so superior simply because you have a roof over your head and eat three meals everyday. And that impatience, that elitist need to go and do something that's 'worth your time'—you must attend a private university, am I right? Perhaps you even think you're studying something worthwhile and helpful to the community like medicine."

Stunned by the scolding and the accuracy of the man's observations, Mamoru could only blink. His expression must have proved to be highly amusing, as the beggar started to laugh again.

"So, you're not as mysterious and unpredictable as you hoped to be. A medical student, then. Somewhere relatively nearby…Keio?" Mamoru nodded once in confirmation, eliciting another grin from the man. "Have you thought about a specialty?"

"Cardiothoracic surgery," was the quick reply.

"A heart doctor," the man said, smiling in approval. "You are certainly an ambitious and dedicated young man. I graduated from Keio, too, many years ago. Could've chosen a more useful major, perhaps, but I can't say I regret making my decisions."

"You studied at Keio?" The surprise on Mamoru's face was evident. What was a graduate from such a prestigious private university doing out in the streets?

"Philosophy and literature," the man replied, as if he expected Mamoru's questions. "I worked as a company man for almost three decades, and was rewarded for my hard work by being laid off earlier this year. Nobody wants an old man for a part-timer, so I've been jobless since then."

Mamoru felt a great deal of respect for the man, who had obviously come to accept his situation and had tried to deal with it as best as he could. But one question was still left unanswered. "Yesterday, with the lady…"

"Sometimes it's interesting, pretending to be less fortunate and gauging the reaction of others. The pretty lady wasn't too fazed though, bless her soul, and I didn't have the heart to reveal my background. After all, it's a lot easier to accept that the homeless come from the unfortunate and uneducated than those who fell from circumstances that match your own."

Recollections of his earlier conversation with Usagi tugged at Mamoru, and he was acutely aware of the different choices that could be made when one was confronted with the option of telling the truth. The beggar had decided to protect the girl from the harshness of the reality, while Mamoru had used his own experiences as a weapon against the girl. Although he wasn't sure who was correct in their actions, Mamoru was certain that the beggar held no remorse for choosing to conceal a lie.

"I was hoping to see the pretty lady again today," the man continued, "but she didn't show up. Would you do me the favour of delivering a little something to her?" He withdrew a wrapped package from his pocket and handed it to Mamoru.

"I'm not sure whether I'm the best person for the job," Mamoru said, eying the package. He hadn't quite figured out exactly what he should do about his predicament with Usagi, and the last thing he wanted to do was venture into even more dangerous territory.

"Even one as arrogant and stubborn as you will do." The man took Mamoru's hand, and placed the gift into his palm. "It's the sentiment contained inside that really matters."

Mamoru's hand closed over the package, though he wondered whether he had made the right choice. Remembering the mocking tone he had used with Usagi after he purchased the milkshake that was a flimsy excuse of a present, Mamoru felt his own value crumble—someone who had only been briefly acquainted with Usagi was showing more courtesy.

"Well, I'd better leave you to your important work," the man said. Mamoru found it ironic that the dismissal hurt—only moments ago, he was using that excuse to take his leave. Feeling uncomfortable and very guilty, Mamoru raised the arm that carried his obentou meal.

"Have you had dinner?"

The beggar frowned, giving Mamoru a look that bordered on hostility. "The last thing I need is your pity. What you give, you must give freely and not out of obligation."

Mamoru thought the man was being unreasonable, but he softened his tone. "Aren't you hungry?"

"It's not our bodies that have been deprived of their needs—it's our hearts. You, me, the billions of people living in this world. For all your aspirations to become a cardiothoracic surgeon, you have failed to see something so simple and basic."

"And what is that?"

The man glared at Mamoru, though they both knew Mamoru was only being sincere. "Perhaps it's best that you're not with the pretty lady. Her devotion to you would be endless, but you have not yet learned to love."

Mamoru stared, dumbstruck, as the homeless man bowed and left. Their unexpected conversation had given rise to countless questions Mamoru now wanted to ask. But the man clearly wanted nothing more to do with him, and Mamoru could only look at the figure retreating into the shadows. Somewhere nearby, a group of girls were singing Christmas carols. A couple walked past him, their hands entwined, their voices full of laughter. Stirred by the movement, Mamoru followed them in the direction of his apartment, realising, not for the first time, that he was completely alone.

AN: Please review. :)