Title: 'Tis the Season
Fandom: Fatal Frame III: The Tormented
Characters/Pairing: slight Miku/Rei
Rating: general
Length: ~500 words
Content notes: deals with the aftermath of canonical death, but is comprised of warm fuzzies
Summary: Miku wants to make this Christmas happy for Rei, even if they're not really celebrating.

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The first Christmas after Yuu's death, there is no Christmas cake. Miku could have gone out and bought some herself, but instead she watches the way Rei pushes away reminders of the season and feels the sympathetic loneliness like a hollow ache under her ribs. She doesn't want to leave Rei alone; she wants to make things better, the way Rei always made things better for her.

So instead of buying Christmas cake, for herself or for Rei, Miku goes out that morning to buy the ingredients to make shiruko along with the rest of the food they need. Even if Rei can't enjoy Christmas parties without Yuu there, even Kei's, Miku wants to give her something. Maybe, she thinks, the thought curling warm tendrils around her heart, they can have their own sort of Christmas party, just the two of them and Ruri and the kotatsu.

Rei sleeps in, but she smiles at Miku in the kitchen when she rises, and Miku smiles back, helplessly, before ducking her head and returning to her work with renewed determination.

"Miku?" Rei calls. "Where's Ruri? Is she hiding again?"

"Probably," Miku says, hunching her shoulders just a bit.

Rei sighs, and Miku hears her footsteps retreating to the darkroom. There's no way Rei will go outside today, not when there are lights and people to remind her of what she's ignoring.

Miku stares at the counter in front of her for a moment, not really seeing it. She bought Rei a gift, of course; it's tucked carefully in her pocket in a little box, a bracelet that's just Rei's style. Miku's had it for months. If she could, she would give Rei everything. Today, though, of all days, she can't. She can only do her best.

So that night, when she sets out the shiruko after dinner, she feels warmth all through her body before she even takes a spoonful, because Rei's smile is bright and genuine. "This is wonderful, Miku," she says, and she closes her eyes when she takes the first bite. She licks her lips clean of sweet azuki and sets the spoon down in the bowl again. Her eyes are full, but she doesn't look sad; Miku's heart starts beating faster anyway. "I didn't know what I would do, today, and…"

Miku shakes her head and stares at the table. "It's just shiruko," she mumbles.

"It's perfect," Rei says firmly. She takes a breath, like she's about to say something else, but instead she takes another spoonful of porridge.

It's a little too sweet, Miku thinks, and the texture isn't quite right. But Rei is happy, and that's what matters. Afterwards, Rei stretches out her legs, and her feet brush Miku's leg under the kotatsu. Miku has to keep her tongue still so that confessions don't roll off of it.

But even though she can't say why, she can smile at Rei and laugh together and be quietly glad that Rei stayed here instead of forcing herself to go out to a party, that they were enough for each other. When life is like this, when they're the only two people in the world, Miku thinks she could survive anything.