The spare key she gifted you means a lot. This small strip of jagged, dull brass is a sign of the trust she has built in you over the course of the past year, and you grip it tightly as you ascend the stairs of the apartment complex. A delicate sprinkle of snow-powder rests weightless on the curls of your hair, sometimes fluttering onto your eyelids or further down with each step you take. You glance away from the building wall and to Japan as your breaths of fog float into your vision. It’s only 4:30 PM and the sky is already a smouldering grey that borders on a sunless twilight. The air is thick with fluttering crystals of snow, so numerous in number that the naked eye struggles to see anything that sits a hundred metres beyond their curtain of white.
Unlike most of Tokyo, her chosen suburb sits on the outskirts, meaning the snow that piles in small mountains on the sidewalks is a pure white, unlike the black puddles of ‘snow’ in Shinjuku. Everything you see is a shade rather than a colour, for most of the visible spectrum has been robbed by the winter, save for the distant flickering of decorative lights that make clear what kind of day it is.
The key slides in and the lock turns. The door opens. Despite the fading light of the world outside, it still finds dominance over the cold darkness of your girlfriend’s apartment. The grey line that peers through the crack widens as the door creaks on its unoiled hinges. You step inside and quickly close the door to preserve the (slightly) warmer interior of the building. Your knowing hand finds the light switch and you illuminate the studio apartment with one touch.
“Kazama?” you call out, placing the plastic bag you’re holding above the genkan. “Are you dead?”
You hear a soft groan come from the opposite end of the room and realise that the lump of pillows on the couch was not a lump of pillows at all, but rather an Iroha. Smiling, you cross the apartment in six strides and take a knee beside the patient. Having only stirred and not woken, she continues to rest in peace, her expression one of serenity. Her blonde hair flows freely across the pillows and her fringe falls a bit low, covering the view of her lightly closed eyes. You brush it to the side and she stirs again, mumbling something you can’t make out before going still. Iroha wears a simple, oversized grey hoodie that looks increasingly familiar until you realise that it’s your old one that you had lost some two weeks ago. Her shorts, or what’s visible of them, are pink and cut high up against her thighs. Held loosely in her arms is her favourite soft toy Pokobe – a fat, cartoon Tanuki – that rises up and down in tandem with her chest.
Resisting the urge to kiss her, you pull the blanket over her legs further up, tucking it under her chin. You stand and roll up your sleeves. It’s time to get to work and prep your battlefield. You turn on the air conditioning to warm the bitter air before moving to her kitchenette. You start with the stove, lining a pan with oil and a pot of water to boil. The chopping board and knife find the cramped bench and you collect vegetables, a bit of chicken and herbs. You nearly forget the eggplant, somehow. Despite what Iroha may try to tell you, cooking is not particularly your forte; the fact that your specialty is fried rice of all things should be evidence of that.
Since she became your ‘official’ girlfriend (proper discussion and all) you’ve upped your culinary skills as a result of cooking with her sometimes, though that mostly occurs at your house and not hers. Iroha is far, far more skilled at cooking than you in every aspect, whether it be the timing, the multitasking, the know-how or the motor skills, she is your superior in every way. Even her fried rice is better. Despite that, she’s obviously in no shape to be cooking right now, so the task has fallen to you. She never asked, but you knew that at least something could be whipped up with the fresh produce her parents always send over from the countryside. And there’s never a shortage of eggplants in her fridge.
You check between the crack in the curtains as you fry the onions and notice the sky is now a clear navy blue, the last of clouds having withdrawn from the horizon to make way for the sparkling dots of distant suns. You imagine the sheer number of couples outside by now, hand in hand, arms linked, making out in back alleys… it’s stuff you and Iroha might have done if your date didn’t have to be cancelled; barring the making out of course. You doubt she’d be comfortable with that. Instead, you will be spending this Christmas Eve inside. You glance at Iroha and see her mouth is now hanging open as her arm lazily dangles off the side of the couch, still fast asleep. You smile. Maybe this isn’t so bad either.
As the pasta boils and you prepare to put the dish together, you go to wake her. “Kazama? Kazama?” you probe, touching her shoulder.
She moans rather erotically (a rare noise indeed – not even Ringfit could bring that out) and rubs her eye. “Hm…? Anon?”
“Morning.”
“UWAAAHHH!” she screams, sitting up and pressing herself against the back of the couch. Thankfully, she only uses her upper body and doesn’t bang her leg against anything. Iroha, now awake, stares at you with wide, almost bulging eyes. You can never not stare at those beautiful turquoise orbs she was blessed with, and if she’s putting on a show, you may as well indulge yourself. “W-why!? Ah! I’m sorry! I dozed off! I wanted to greet you! I didn’t think, um! Oh, uh, welcome!”
Iroha begins to babble and you rest a hand on her cheek. This immediately shuts her up and she simmers down, hugging Pokobe closer. Her eyes are still wide but they show interest now, not surprise. They flicker around the room, always returning to you. Her lips slightly pucker, as if expecting something. You lean forward and she closes her eyes. The two of you kiss.
“How are you feeling?” you ask, pulling away and releasing her cheek.
“F-fine,” she mumbles, blushing. “I’m not sick or anything.”
“I know you’re not sick, silly.” You push aside the pillows on the couch that cover her legs, revealing the white plaster that covers her lower leg. You tap the cast with your knuckle and it makes a crisp clack-clack. “I mean this.”
She makes a small whine from her throat and swings her legs out, gently resting her broken ankle onto the floor. “It’s fine… I’m mostly just frustrated.”
The memory is still fresh in your mind, as if it happened two days ago. Which it actually did. How you’d received the phone call and dropped everything. The painfully long red lights and the endless flights of stairs. The fatigue that nearly caused you to collapse once you had reached her room.
“IROHA! IROHAAA!” you roared, barrelling into the hospital room, gasping for air.
“A-Anon!?” she yelped, flinching as you skidded to a stop beside her.
“Oh my fucking…! Are you ok!? What happened!? Do you-!”
“C-calm down!” She grabbed you by the shoulders. “We’re in a hospital!”
You continued to heavily pant beside her, scanning her body for any wounds. Besides a few cuts, the most glaring injury was her leg, now wrapped and suspended in the air. You exhaled with relief, a sudden exhaustion washing over your body. You took her hands into your own and produced a crooked smile.
“I…I’m glad you’re ok.”
She giggled and squeezed back. “You worry too much, I daresay!”
“Sorry, I just… expected the worst.”
She giggled again. “You even used my first name just now. Maybe I should get injured more often.”
“Come on, I was seriously worried…”
It was a simple, quick run to the convenience store. And yes, it was a literal run. Iroha is like that. By all means she had the right of way but a little old lady had missed the red light and continued to drive right into your girlfriend, breaking her ankle. Iroha was never going to be mad, but the old lady was just about ready to commit seppuku as repentance. Of course, this all meant that your first Christmas Eve together wouldn’t be a romantic walk under the streetlights through a winter wonderland, and that your reservation at the fancy restaurant would have to be replaced with a seat at Iroha’s table.
Dinner’s nearly ready,” you say softly. “Pasta. Are you feeling up for some?”
“Pas…” She lingers on the word and looks at her kitchenette. “You cooked something?”
“I did,” you smile. “Though I can’t guarantee it’ll be anywhere close to your cooking.”
“No!” she says, almost whimpering. “You didn’t have to! Now I feel bad for not helping!”
“I’m not making a cripple cook for me,” you laugh.
“I’m not a cripple…”
“Look, don’t worry about it, Kazama. It’s fine,” you say. “If I can’t treat you to a nice dinner at a restaurant, the least I can do is cook you one.”
“Okay…” she mumbles.
“Can you walk to the table?”
“Ah, I should be able to.” She starts to slowly lift herself up, then looks around. “Ahh… um… where are my crutches- kya!”
You sweep your arms under her and lift Iroha into a bridal carry as she squeals. “Too slow.”
“A-Anon! Stop!” she cries, clutching fistfuls of your jacket. “It’s embarrassing!”
Unfortunately for Iroha you don’t stop and proceed to carry her a few steps towards the small table. She pouts as you lower her onto a seat, making sure her stiffened leg can comfortably rest beneath the table. You laugh and quickly kiss her hair before returning to the kitchen. She watches as you complete the finishing touches, adding a bit of oil to the mix once adding the pasta. Once you plate up, it’s complete.
“I present to you,” you announce, and Iroha begins playfully slapping her bare thighs to imitate a drumroll. “my roasted eggplant pasta! Also decorated with fresh chillies, some tomatoes and these… leaves that I found.”
“You mean basil?” she giggles.
“Yeah. Leaves.” You sit across from her and she thanks you for the food before the two of you dig in. Immediately you scowl. “Shit. Didn’t boil the pasta for long enough.”
“Wha hoo oo een?” she asks, covering her mouth as she ventilates the food with her breath to cool it down before swallowing. “The pasta’s fine! I didn’t notice anything!”
“No,” you mutter, shaking your head, “It’s a little tough.”
“If you don’t like it then give me your portion.”
“You like it?”
“My boyfriend cooked it for me and it tastes good! Of course I like it.”
You scratch your cheek, slightly embarrassed at her straightforward attack that she probably didn’t even intend. “Thanks.”
The two of you chat as you eat, about mundane topics for the most part. How her parents are doing, what her friends are up to, your progress at university and even about some of the sporting competitions Iroha had to cancel due to her injury. She’s a positive personality and generally tries to see the bright side of things but something like this would get anyone feeling down. Whether it’s athletics, martial arts or whatever sport she’s trying out (though she never abandons Kendo) Iroha is the very definition of ‘active’, so her broken ankle has been a massive blow to the lifestyle she enjoys so much. You’re not unfit by any means and attend the gym at least three times a week, but you avoided cardio like the plague until you started dating Iroha. She would drag you out for her morning runs and it became apparent how much more stamina she had in comparison. Of course, once on the topic of her injury, the next obvious matter was tonight.
“I should apologise,” she says, holding her glass of water with both hands. Both plates of pasta have been finished. “If I hadn’t been injured, tonight we could have…”
“Come on, Kazama,” you sigh, waving your hand. “I said it’s fine. I don’t need a romantic winter-y date to enjoy myself.”
“I don’t know…” she mumbles, spinning the glass. “I guess I was excited for it too. We were talking about it for ages and, and you had to pay to cancel the reservation.”
“What, you think I would’ve gone by myself?” you snort. “Screw fancy dinners. We could be eating a plate of raw eggplants and I’d still enjoy it, so long as you’re with me. I love you, Kazama, and not the date.”
“Eh? Ah. Ah.” Colour seeps into Iroha’s cheeks and she goes quiet, squirming in her seat as she avoids your gaze. “I-I lo… lo…” She goes silent, then covers her face with both hands and whines. “Hold on, I can’t…” You burst out laughing and her blush darkens, rising to her ears. “D-don’t laugh! You just caught me off guard by saying something like that so easily!” she cries, but still she avoids making eye contact. One of her weaknesses, that is.
You collect the plates and give them a wash. Iroha relocates to the couch as you do so, crawling along the ground instead of hobbling or hopping. Once you’re finished you join her and she quickly snuggles into you. Her head rests against your chin and you keep an easy arm over her shoulders.
“Mari-ka?” she asks. “Or do you want to watch something?”
She’s so obvious. “Mari-ka,” you reply.
Iroha nods happily and turns on the Nintendo Switch to load up Mario Kart. Her apartment is filled with noises of excitement for a while as banana peels and shells are tossed around the splitscreen. This goes on for a few hours and you transition to other games as well, like Clubhouse Games and Smash Bros. Though she gained the edge in Mario Kart, you promptly obliterated her in Smash Bros. She also moved to the spot on the couch between your legs halfway through, allowing you to wrap your arms around her waist as you played.
After losing one too many times, Iroha threw a small tantrum and said she wanted to use the shower. You helped put on the plastic shower cover over her leg, then bridal carried her to the bathroom. She fiercely protested, to no avail. Once she was finished you went in as well to wash up.
“Are you staying over?” Iroha asks as she puts her toothbrush away.
You look into the mirror and make eye contact with her via the reflective glass. She stands a whole head shorter than you and fits snugly underneath your chin. Your own toothbrush hovers inches from your mouth. “Can I?”
Her gaze slips away, but she nods and smiles. “Of course. It’s… C-Christmas Eve.”
You grunt and begin brushing your teeth as Iroha turns on her hair dryer and begins running it through her damp hair. She’s wearing her green tanuki-print pyjamas now, which almost makes her look like a child getting ready for bed. Once you’re both done with preparations, you scoop Iroha into your arms once more and transport her across the apartment. She silently accepts this time, only slightly pouting as she rests her head against your shoulder. A movie name comes to mind, what was it? How To Train Your Iroha.
You sit her down on the edge of her bed that faces the large window and kill the lights. Only the thin cracks of light pollution sift in through the curtains. Iroha does this sometimes, and has you join in whenever you’re around. Tonight will be the prettiest; it might be the outskirts, but Tokyo is still Tokyo. You pull the curtains back to reveal the nighttime city, flickering with hundreds of colourful lights. Iroha draws a breath and you sit beside her, pulling her close. The Christmas decorations this year are in full swing, and every second building seems to have at least one red, green or blue (or all three) glimmer flickering in its windows. The streets are more heavily populated with lights, with countless decorations hung up on signs and business doors to create a rainbow river that flows further than you can see.
“It’s like Rainbow Road, I daresay!” Iroha exclaims.
Or that.
Iroha holds your hand and the two of you watch the lights for some time, not a single word uttered throughout. Enjoying her warmth is enough. Eventually, you glance at the analog clock that sits on her wall. In the darkness, you think you can read 12:16.
“Kazama, I want to give you something,” you say, producing a small box from inside your jacket. It was really beginning to press into your skin.
“Eh!?” She recoils and puts her hands out. “No, no! You didn’t have to!”
“What kind of boyfriend do you take me for?”
“B-but you already came over, and cooked me dinner,” she mumbles, pressing herself back into your arm. “I feel like I’ve already received a gift today.”
You wordlessly press the box into her hands. “Take it.”
“...Can I open it?”
“Of course.”
She pulls the knot on the ribbon and opens the lid to find another ribbon. “Oh, this is…!” She lifts the quality ribbon out from the box, feeling the velvety texture and running her eyes down the patterned blue and green.
“I noticed your old one was getting worn,” you say, “and you were trying this on when we went shopping a couple of weeks back. I-it’s not much, but-”
Iroha wraps her arms around you and presses her face into your shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll use it every day.”
You smile and hold her back. She breaks the hug first and takes the ribbon in one hand and her hair in the other, looping it around until she’s tied her blonde locks into a loose ponytail. She presents herself by opening her palms. “How do I look?”
“Like the woman of my dreams.”
She giggles and hesitates, then gives you a quick kiss. “Um, I actually have something as well. It’s by the couch, let me-”
Iroha goes to stand but you hold her arm and she plops back down. “It’s fine, I'll open it tomorrow. It’ll still be Christmas by then.”
She steals another glance at the couch, then nods. “Okay. If you say so.”
She holds your hand again and the two of you return to before for a little while, pressed tightly against each other to watch the lights. Another ten or so minutes pass and Iroha is dozing on your shoulder. You gently let her down onto the mattress and draw the curtains, casting the room into darkness. Only her faint outline atop the bed remains, so you pull the covers over her. You walk around the bed and slip under the covers on the other side, shifting towards her until you can get an arm over her waist. She rests her head against your chest but her breathing is even, so you can only assume that the two of you are simply going to sleep after this.
It’s not like you and Iroha haven’t been intimate – the fact that she’s so comfortable sharing a bed should make that a no-brainer. But it’s not something that has quite become a regular thing for the two of you yet. You can count the number of times you’ve had sex with Iroha on a single hand, and that number only came into existence a few weeks ago. You had come close a few times before then, moving from kissing to cuddling and even feeling, but Iroha would usually back out, her tomato-red face visible even in the pitch black.
You never pushed her for it, but when the two of you finally took each other’s virginities she was a clumsy, awkward mess of embarrassment and nervousness. She still gets like that, but you don’t mind – it kind of suits your tastes. It would be a bold-faced lie to say that you weren’t expecting something to happen on the night of Christmas Eve, but after Iroha broke her ankle, sex was the last thing on your mind. All that mattered was keeping her spirits up and making sure she enjoyed her first Christmas with you.
And then your girlfriend, who you assumed was asleep, speaks.
“H-hey, um…” she starts.
“Yeah?”
“Aren’t you going to… t-try something?” she whispers.
You bend your neck to look down at the top of her head. “Try something?” you parrot. “As in…?”
You feel her entire body hesitate. She rubs her legs together. “Don’t you want to… um… do it?”
Is she trying to thank you? As tempting as it is, you’re not too keen on the idea if she’s only doing it for your sake. “You don’t have to force yourself, Kazama,” you whisper back as you rub her waist. “You’re a cripple, remember?” you chuckle.
Your laugh is cut short when she takes your face into her hands and looks up into your eyes. Her blush is like a layer of makeup, visible even in the almost nonexistent light. You can see her pursing her lips with anxiousness but even then, she doesn’t break eye contact.
“I-I’m serious.”
You swallow dry. “Iroha…?”
“It’s the night of C-Christmas Eve,” she says, leaning in as her voice grows in pitch. “It’s a special night a-and… every other couple is… you know…” She stops when your noses touch. “Having sex.”
You roll on top of Iroha and hold her by the shoulders, pressing her into the bed. You feel her trembling hands test the waters and crawl under your shirt as she brings her mouth to your ear. As her digits trace lines up your abs she whispers those three magical words she had so much trouble saying earlier. And then you’re lost to temptation and join the millions of others across the country.
There’s two things that changed that night as you embraced her. The first is that you never called Iroha by her last name again. The second is you learnt that she is far, far more into it than she seems.
What a holy night indeed.