Author's Notes: It's been a long, long time since I've wrote anything for an anime, let alone Spiral. I miss it sometimes. So, just for the fondness of memories - here is a small one-shot.
Also, this is set two years after the three year epilogue.
Happy Reading!

Once Upon a Winter's Day

By Justine Themis

It had been two years.

Two long and lonely years spent alone, pitied by his family, by his "friends", and it suffocated him. They were trying to drown the years of pain they had been through - and never, ever let it breath again - and resuscitate what was left of the good.

But the facades would never last. People would wonder and ask - "What happened to your arm, Narumi-kun?" - and they would see the old bullet wounds, the scars of blades and the faded reminisce of battle and the longing for life. And he would leave it to their naive imaginations.

And when they would approach him - that damn pity in their eyes - and apologies for what happened to Hizumi-kun. To his "friend"; who had commit suicide because of the burdens of life, of school, of family. And he would have to nod and choke back some retort that would give away everything.

Because they knew nothing.

And then they would ask why she was missing - because there is no Sherlock without Watson - and he would simply shrug.

Because "she" never existed.

No matter how much he wished she had.

Ayumu could not remember how long he had been standing in the isolated graveyard. An hour? Maybe two? By the way the tips of his fingers reddened against the cold winter air, and by how much snow layered his hair and coat, he guessed it had been a while.

It was almost picturesque - the graveyard, he meant - the way the snow fell and danced in it's small and feeble waltz. Fluttering aimlessly – but oh-so happily - until coming to a gentle stop as it met ground and blended with its family, covering all the it touched.

The trees, the ground, the tombstones - all smothered in the icing of Mother Nature. So pure and blissful, yet so ironic and cruel. Beauty in the sanctuary of death? Surely there is a rule against such things...

Ayumu allowed a small, wistful smirk to edge onto his lips as he continued to look down at the small, snow-covered gravestone that lay before him. Using his right arm - because his left could only hang limp and dead by his side - he ruffled through his bangs, flaying snowflakes from his hair in all directions.

He didn't know what he was doing there anymore.

He had been released from hospital almost two years ago - having had only the briefest of meetings with her, before she left him once again - and was running on two, maybe three, different prescriptions per day. Not that he cared. They kept him alive; gradually - and slowly - healing him of his "illness".

Having gained his freedom from constant bickering nurses and overly-persistent doctors, he had almost instantly moved out from his brothers home to allow Kiyotaka and Madoka to have some well deserved alone time. To say sorry, to forgive, to gain back the life they once had. And he couldn't be apart of that.

Taking a ragged and deeply needed breath - allowing the cold air to both refresh and sting his lungs - Ayumu allowed his eyes to trace the beautiful engravings of Mizushiro Hizumi that adorned the polished, stone surface. And for a minor moment, he allowed his heart to fall slightly. Hizumi had been the only one to understand what he was going through. He understood the burden of a "destiny"; the distaste for what people forced on him.

But he had managed to escape all that. And he was now left to wander the world as only one side of the coin.

And for a moment, he was envious...

Allowing his thoughts to slip, Ayumu could only stand and watch and listen as the snow continued its gentle dance from the heavens. His mind told him to move; to leave, to return to work, to go home and play a tune on the ivory keys of his piano. But, for some reason unbeknown to himself, he wanted nothing more than to remain where he was.

It wasn't until the soft murmurs of crunched snow reached his ears that Ayumu was pulled away from his line of thought. The echo of gentle footsteps - most likely a small boy or a woman, he reasoned - stopped a few feet from himself and he couldn't help turn towards his newly found company.

And - only briefly, not to give too much away - his eyes widened slightly before sinking back into his expressionless mask.

Because she stood that small distance away from him. Her hair, a beautiful shade of honey-comb, was tied loosely in her old plaits, resting down her shoulders (and Ayumu knew that if he undid them, she would look much older than she appeared). Her brown eyes, shining due to the piercing cold air, were wide with shock and wonder and disbelief.

He looked her up and down as they remained in their momentary silence. Swathed in a long and baby blue fleece coat, opaque white tights and fluffy stone-coloured boots with gloves to match. A bouquet of cyclamen and forget-me-not's, wrapped entwined with one another, sat in her slightly shivering arms, close to her chest (and her heart). And he realised she hadn't seemed to age a year - she looked the same as she had fives years ago, two years ago, aside from the twinkle of maturity in her eyes.

Finally, the young women spoke, thin clouds of airs escaping her rosy lips along with her words, "N-narumi-san..." And she hesitated, her hold tightening around the flowers, closing herself off slightly.

Ayumu sighed. Instead of address the women, and instead of greeting her like he should, he walked over to his old friend - slowly so not to startle her - with no expression boring his face and, using his right arm, took the bouquet from her arms; allowing the petals to fall around their feet and involuntarily taking in the scent of the flowers.

"You brought them for him, right?" It wasn't more a question than it was a statement - flowers of resignation and goodbye, flowers of memories; why else would she be here? - and he could tell by the way her face softened and held no protest that he was right.

Slowly, he turned away from the young women he once knew - and trusted more than anyone - and walked those few feet back to where he previous stood before the lone gravestone. Lowering himself into a subtle crouch on a single knee, he placed to bouquet by the peaceful memorial stone, letting it lay on the soft blanket of snow beneath it.

And he remained like that; knelt onto one knee with his other leg bent and keeping him steady as his foot sank into the thick layers of snow. He could only stare with empty eyes at the tombstone, his mind revelling from thoughts of various emotions as he watched the endless flakes of snow begin to layer the bouquet in a flimsy white veil.

As oblivion slowly crept on him once more, diving him back into his own thoughts, he had not realised the young women - the one who brought unusually happy memories with her - had taken her few steps forward towards him.

It was then he felt warmth slowly begin to envelope him as the women wrapped her small arms around his broad shoulders from behind, linking her gloved hands together just under his chin and leaning the side of her face deeply against his neck, resting in the crook between his head and shoulder with utmost delicacy so that her breath brushed against his cold skin.

"You miss him, don't you?" she asked, her voice soft and comforting, just barely above that of a whisper.

Ayumu didn't know how to react to the embrace. Against the cold and despite her snow-freckled clothing, she was warm to the touch - though he had held her once before, and he knew how warm she was - and his shoulders untensed slightly, as if the weight of the world had been taken from his shoulders briefly and shared with her.

He didn't know how to react, but unconsciously he leaned into her hold.

For long and peaceful minutes - six, maybe seven at most - they remained that way. Watching each unique and precious flake of snow fall and kiss the surface of the grave and the flowers that lay before it. Given a day, those flowers would die. But they would wilt into the earth and maybe - in a strange and absurd way that made Ayumu question his sanity - Hizumi would somehow receive them.

A few more minutes passed and the older women's hold tightened around him, her face - flushed with cold - burying into his neck for a tighter embrace. He had not realised – at that leisurely moment where time seemed to have frozen into ice - that he had brought his own right hand to cover her two locked ones that rested near his collar-bone, feeling them shake slightly - from either the cold or from trying so hard to hold herself together, he would never know - and watched as the snow began to fall with it's pace slowly picking up around them.

Finally, when the young Narumi realised that soon they would be engulfed in a blanket of feather-light snow, he slowly began to rise from his crouch. The woman, feeling his shift, withdrew her arms from his shoulders and stood herself, taking a respectable step away from his figure as he himself took stand - and he tried to redirect his gaze as she wiped a lone, salty tear from her face.

Wetting his dry lips, Ayumu cleared his throat to speak, but realised that he had nothing to say. Having had her comfort him in the way she had spoke hundreds and thousands of words - each soft and gentle and warm - and he wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to say to her.

"You can call me 'Hiyono', you know," the women smiled, breaking the thin and fragile window of silence, her voice both soothing and brimming with happiness and Ayumu couldn't help but allow the corner of his mouth to twitch slightly into a lull grin.

"Are you sure that's your real name?" he asked. If it had been in his character, he would have sounded playful - not betrayed or untrusting - and he quirked an eyebrow at her slightly.

The women - Hiyono - laughed softly and her beautiful smile strengthen, "Not yet, but it will be," she said kindly, "it's so much easier with that name. I'm much more used to it." And there was an unspoken understandment between the two.

"So what is your real name?" Ayumu decided to ask, his curiosity taken a hold of his previous thoughts, as he - very slowly - began to walk to her side, taking the empty space by her small frame.

Hiyono's smile widened - reminding him of years before when that smile teased and taunted him - and she brought a glove-covered finger softly to her lips in the way she always used to when she had a secret she would never tell the world (but instead would open up a challenge for the young detective).

So instead, the young Narumi sighed in what may have been misconceived as defeat, but they small and wry smirk hardly faded. He would play along.

Then Hiyono's face become slightly frowned in thought, bringing both shaken yet covered hands cupped to her mouth and breathed hot air into them in hope of warming her skin, and Ayumu could tell by the frame her frame and jaw jittered that she was getting a bit too cold for comfort.

Finally, she looked up at him and smiled against the cold, "Do you want to go get some coffee or something?" she flushed slightly but regained her bright and kindly smile, "I mean, it's absolutely freezing out here."

Almost nonchalantly – almost – Ayumu shrugged his shoulders. And without so much as saying a word to her, he turned slowly on his heel and walked – at a slow and welcoming pace so that she could catch up – back towards the silver gates of the graveyard that waited patiently for them at the entrance. And, hearing Hiyono's childish laughter and mockery of his stubbornness, he listened as she gently skipped up behind him and linked her small arm with his – embarrassing as it was, he wasn't going to push her away.

"Did you miss me, Narumi-san?" she said playfully, tightening her surprisingly strong-like hold on his arm, and he merely gave a incoherent grunt as a response of either a no or a yes – though the latter is much more reasonable – as their footsteps met with each other in unison.

Without looking back – because goodbyes were too hard to do, even if it is to the deceased – the two left the isolated graveyard with a happier demeanour, walking arm-in-arm, as the snow continued to fall and dance and lay itself upon the ground. And the bouquet of flowers that sat before Mizushiro Hizumi's grave would wait patiently and happily until they also died and returned to the earth once more.

Because ironically – as Ayumu realised whilst dining and converting with his one and truly friend – death can be quite beautiful depending on how one looks at it…

Author's Notes: You know, I actually really love this. For something that barely took any thought but kind of flowed out in about an hour or two, this is almost kind of... beautiful, in a way. I must be in a chilled out mood or something.
(Sorry if I didn't keep in-character, though).

Thank you for reading,
Justine Themis