KRISTAL
THE FINAL DAY OF CHRISTMAS
I wake up the next morning to the sound of Bill Withers lying to me over the workshop's speakers. He's claiming that it's going to be a lovely day. But I already know that's not true.
Hayato stirs and rolls over to face me on his pillow of moss. "What time is it?"
He's always beautiful, but this morning he's painfully so. His high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and inky black hair, along with his long, lean body, make him look like a powerful Fae who somehow found himself in my lowly elf bed.
I'm going to miss him. I'm going to miss him so much.
"6 AM," I answer. My tone is apologetic for reasons that have nothing to do with the time. "Elves wake up really early. And today is the final twelve happy endings panoply closing ceremony, so they're playing Krista's favorite song. She loves Bill Withers. Always has, always will…"
I don't realize I'm rambling until I run out of words. I desperately search for more—anything to keep the awkwardness from last night's announcement from descending.
But Hayato speaks before I can find the words I'm looking for. "Introduce me to Santa. I'll convince him to let you go."
I start shaking my head before he's even done making the offer. "Breaking a deal with Santa is never a good idea for any reason. Deals with him are legally and morally binding in literally every multiverse. And even if you got him to say yes, there's no telling how the universe would respond. The Fates could curse you and all your Christmases in this life and all the ones thereafter. You see, there’s this prevailing idea that Santa only makes deals that are in your best interest. Like, he doesn’t agree to anything that won’t ultimately benefit you. Truthfully, I cannot find the benefit here. But if you want, I can take you to the library and show you all the passages in the Book of Elves about what happened to humans, elves, and pretty much every creature who tried to break their promise to Santa. It never ends well. I hate to put it like this, but it's just really, really not in the Christmas spirit—"
This time, Hayato cuts off my ramble, pressing a long finger to my lips. He sighs, then asks, "Seriously, you have a Book of Elves?"
Despite my keen depression, I find myself giggling at his question. "Dude, supernatural creatures are the worst. We all have bibles. You should see the one the pixies keep in Ireland. They have to store it on another plane of existence; it's so big."
Hayato laughs along with me, and for a moment, it lights up his face. But when the laughter is done, a deep sadness returns to his dark brown gaze. "There's truly nothing we can do?"
I sober too. "We can wait. I know that's unfair to ask. I mean, you're you, and I'm, well.… me. And it's only been twelve days. But that's our only option if you want to give a relationship with me a try."
He's quiet for a long time, his sharp jaw setting and resetting.
I stay still and force myself to patiently wait for his answer.
But in the end, he says nothing. He just kisses me and rolls me onto my back as Bill Withers croons above us.
This time is different. Not sweet like on New Year's Eve when we discovered our perfect harmony.
It's slow but rough. Lingering and desperate. And when the orgasm begins to bloom, it becomes angry and fast.
Like we’re racing. Racing against time.