Title: Elegance
Category: fan fiction, one-shot
Genre: angst/reflective; bittersweet
Rating: PG
Date: Jan 2-3, 2006
Pairing: Gacktxhyde
Word count: apx. 1,300
POV: First person (hyde)

Writen for gacktxhyde Winter Ficon 2005/6 - 'Twas the night before Christmas


'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

I had always read that to my son each Christmas Eve, smiling as my little boy laughed, asking more and more questions as he got older. And Megumi smiled just as brightly, watching, laughing; loving and loved by both of us.
And I didn’t need a rock star life and a rock star girlfriend, not at all. I needed this; just this, and that was enough. Of course, it didn’t hurt to have a rock star career and rock star friends and a rock star salary… but I meant it when I told my wife that this was my world, that this was my heaven.

Heaven. How many times have I heard that word since the funeral? Over and over and over again as though it might be a comfort. It’s not.
How can it be? I hardly believe in heaven.

So I spent the next Christmas alone.
Of course, I didn’t have to. It was a perk, I suppose, of having that rock star life and rock star friends. With or without rock star girlfriends, they all found ways to entertain themselves. And they’d gladly have taken me along for the ride.
But I didn’t want to. I just wouldn’t.
I ignored the unmasked worry on tetsu’s face, the disappointment on ken’s, the questioning on yukihiro’s. I just smiled and said it was fine, that I wanted to just have a quiet day at home.
And I ignored the gentle first and second requests from nearly everyone else I knew, trying to convince them that I wasn’t out of my mind. But I think they still thought I was. Because it wasn’t hard to see that I didn’t want the day to come. And I didn’t want to be alone.
But I didn’t want to be with them, either. So, alone it was.

If I had to choose, I’d say the hardest person to turn down was Gackt. After the gentle coaxing and the oh-so-obvious worrying from tetsu, I thought nothing could top that. But I was clearly wrong. Gackt’s badly-hidden look of disappointment when I said no and the mixed in worry when I said I’d refused everyone else as well was a bit more than I’d bargained for. But I could fake a smile enough to get him to stop. And he did.

By the end of the day I almost wished I’d given in and gone somewhere. It was… well, sitting in the empty house really didn’t accomplish whatever it was I’d been aiming for.
I suppose I just wanted to remember them, to think about them, to be as close to them as I could.
But when the tears stopped falling, I couldn’t help but realize that all I had accomplished was making myself miserable. And I’d thought maybe I’d find some comfort in the solitude.
Well. You can’t win them all. Or most of them, as it seems.

So I guess I got my head on straight. Two days later, I took the first New Year’s invitation I was offered. From Gackt.
He was practically beaming for a moment before he covered it up with that serious act he likes to keep going. And I smiled back. If anything, I was glad to make a friend so happy. Even if I wasn’t so sure that I’d enjoy the sociable, noisy party I knew he was having. Even if I was afraid I’d break down and everyone would see me cry.

I didn’t, though. It was, as Gackt promised repeatedly, a good time. And even though I may have been the only one sober enough to actually get the countdown timed perfectly, the company was wonderful.
Besides. By the time someone put a horror movie on the television, I wasn’t sober enough to get it, either.

Though I was sober enough to realize that Gackt was flirting with me.
And I just took that in stride. He flirted with everyone. You either got used to it or ran away; there was no telling him to knock it off.
And I thought his timing sucked pretty badly, but I didn’t take it too hard. He was Gackt. This was how it went. Moving right along…

Though, come to think of it, that’s just what I was afraid of. Moving along—moving on. I didn’t want that. Not then. Not yet. Not so fast.

And not to him. Not to someone who would most certainly fit the bill as one of the greatest people to be friends with but the absolute worst to think of dating.
Because while those blue contacts and strained serious looks could sometimes hide that he was sweet, sometimes even gentle, funny, and that he really gave a damn, they couldn’t hide from anyone who talked to him more than a few times that he was as much of a flirt as he made himself out to be.

Over the first few months of the new year I started spending more and more time with various friends. And while ken was the only one blunt enough to tell me that I needed to try to move on (I actually hit him the first time he said it), I could tell very easily that I was meant to take the hint. Because we all knew that I was a little young to just give up and become a lonely widower.

But the subtle hints to try dating were met with my less-than-subtle hints that I didn’t want to.
And the less than-subtle hints by Gackt to try dating him were met by my increasingly blatant hints to piss off.

He didn’t, though. And by the next Christmas, he’d won out.

********

“The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.”

I looked up in surprise as Gackt spoke those words. I hadn’t even heard him walk back into the room.
He returned my confused look with a brilliant smile as he gestured at his fireplace. And he hadn’t been kidding—there were stockings hung on the mantle. Black and red with silver decorations, and elegant enough to match the rest of the very dimly-lit room.

And even as I started to cry, I smiled and nodded.
But he could see right through the gesture, and his smile faded instantly to a look of concern.
And somehow it wasn’t so awkward to tell him that each Christmas, I read that poem to my son. Because of course he had to understand. Had to know. Had to realize.

********

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.

I think we’re a little old to be called children, and I’m not so sure I actually know just what sugar plums are. I asked Gackt one day and he laughed at me. I don’t think he knows, either.
But that’s alright. I’m too tired to think about that now. Last year at Christmas, I think I spoiled Gackt’s mood when he started to recite that poem. But I think I kept my chin up higher this time around.

Christmas actually ended hours ago, and I've only just gotten “all snug” in bed, but I don’t hear any complaints. I actually talked him into turning the heat up to one step above the usual refrigerator, the comforter is thick enough for the arctic, and Gackt’s not about to complain when I scoot over trying to mooch off his body heat.

And when he climbs into bed and I immediately tangle myself up in his arms, whining softly that he let out the warm when he turned down the blankets, he smiles and kisses my hair and tells me to stop pouting.
Tells me he loves me. Smiles against my ear when I say it back.

Merry Christmas
I tell him, even though we both know I’m a little late, and we admit it with soft chuckles before he falls asleep, his breath warm on my neck as I drift off beside him.

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