Five years, almost exactly. Five years since he opened his eyes, surrounded by strangers, saying his name - one of the few things he could remember. Quickly, it was explained: hunters attacked, and he hit his head. Theyâd managed to heal it, he would be fine, they told him. And yet, he couldnât remember a thing. To establish a routine of sorts, after a thorough examination, they sent him home with the son of the leader.
When they arrived, the house was already decorated. Tree up, wreath on the door, garland on railings... apparently, theyâd just been about to decorate the tree, when everything happened. After a couple of nights, the two decorated the tree together. Ornaments were made by Fordâs family, or by the two of them, various forgotten memories draped across the branches. Each one with a story. Ford even told him of a little bluebird ornament, that went in his motherâs tree. Whoever found the bluebird got an extra present, it had become a bit of a game.
Ford made everything so nice, so easy. He didnât rush anything, didnât expect anything, but was still there when Akira needed someone to lean on. Many nights were spent in front of the fireplace, watching it crackle, hot chocolate in hand. They saw some of the others around, went to dinners - they were all very understanding of the fact that he couldnât remember anything, so they told him stories, instead. Of how he and Ford got together, of what it was like watching them awkwardly try to flirt... eventually, someone would find their way to the piano and start playing carols, albeit with a few sour notes, but that could always be blamed on the wine with dinner. Akira even found the bluebird in the tree, and got the bonus gift of Elvis Presleyâs Christmas album.
It was the first Christmas he could remember. Really, it was some of the first days he could remember: he never got his memories back, but instead, he made new ones. Some unpleasant, the sessions always left him feeling drained, but Christmas was always a good time of year. Right between the monthly sessions, he wasnât drained, and the anticipation of the next one hadnât usually hit him yet. No, Christmas was always a time he could relax, a time he could enjoy.
The second Christmas, they both tried to wake up early to make breakfast in bed. That had been a mess, both waking up, twenty minutes apart - and Akira, still tired, stumbled into the kitchen only to find Ford cursing over a ruined pancake. The decision had been easy, to sleep in instead. Wake up whenever they wanted, lay there in each otherâs arms for a bit... that had become their Christmas morning tradition. When they finally decided to face the day, they got out of bed slowly, usually laughing about one thing or another as they went about their morning.
And so, the next two had gone similarly. Presents were modest, but that wasnât the fun of it. Laughing as Ford attempted to wrap the garland properly without getting needles everywhere, or poking each otherâs noses with flour-covered fingers while making shortbread, or dancing to Blue Christmas and singing along obnoxiously... That was the fun of it.
Now, the tree was up. The garland was up, tinsel strewn about here and there. Apparently, Ford had decided to make a little crown of tinsel for the fox figurine he thought would be so funny to give him, last year. âBecause youâre a kitsune!â He had told him, a big grin on his face.
âFord, did you get lost in there?â Akira called down the hall, wondering what was taking so long what the ornaments. Just as he spoke, however, Ford wandered back into the room with a box of ornaments, rolling his eyes and mocking his impatience. Soon, the two started hanging the decorations, chatting about their days, and occasionally glancing back at each other with a smile as they went.
Akira paused, as they were nearly done. He watched the other as he continued to decorate, a small smile trying to perk up the corners of his lips. For so long, that first year, theyâd tried to get him to remember everything... but heâd realized by now that he didnât need to remember. The five years worth of new memories were enough, as long as Ford was at his side, ready to take his hand.
The kitsune wandered towards the record player, flipping through records, seemingly absentmindedly pulling out the Elvis album. Smiling at the fact that Fordâs back was still turned, he placed the vinyl onto the player, and moved the needle into place.
âCome dance.â He said softly, holding his hand out as the music began to play. âWeâve earned a break.â
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