#phfourthweek

How could he be happy when he knew there was no way Gil could be?

I just want you to have a good Christmas, Vince.

Did he really mean that?

Was that the only thing? No toys in the shop windows? Not even a decent meal? A bit of warmth from the cold?

Surely he didn’t.

How could his happiness be enough?

Because he, Vincent, was the only thing keeping Gil from a normal happy life. If he just left him he’d be able to find a home, a family. Without him, their parents probably wouldn’t have abandoned him. Gilbert would be having a nice Christmas, opening gifts, eating cookies, by a cozy fire. He could be one of those kids with the rosy cheeks, and the spoiled rotten hearts.

If it weren’t for me.

Vincent was Gilbert’s chain. Tethering him to the gutters, the harsh words, and even harsher world. Without him, the world would surely be soft and cushioned, not full of sharp edges.

But if Gilbert just broke the link, he could still have that life, if he just left him behind...

Please don’t leave me behind, Gil.

The stars were especially bright that night. Cold shining speckles in a navy coat of sky.

Maybe it was fitting. It was Christmas Eve after all. Maybe the stars were trying to tell them that hope was not lost, that light remained.

Or maybe they were just a bunch of stupid lights, too far away to grant them any warmth.

He didn’t think he could ever find his way by them, by something so far from earth. Maybe they were just a bunch of shiny trinkets beneath someone else’s Christmas tree, candles on someone else’s mantle piece, and if he reached out to touch them they would turn to coal.

He saw that kind of light in his brother’s golden eyes too. Hope, keep going, we’ll make it through this, surrounded by the dark.

Which would win out in the end? The darkness of the light? Black or white? Navy or gold? The stars, or the spaces in between?

If Vincent reached out to touch his brother…would he ruin him too?

“Something wrong, Vince?”

Those eyes. Shimmering gold. Unending black.

Vincent clung to him all the same.

“Nothing, Nii-san! I’ll be happy this Christmas as long as you’re happy!”

“Okay....Open your eyes!”

As Jack pulled his hands from Vincent’s vision, the world was so bright it was almost blinding.

A Christmas tree—tall as 3 Jacks—was the centerpiece of the atrium, ascending alongside the staircase, to the ceiling. Tinsel spun and weaved its way around its boughs, and ornaments shimmered like sunlight on ocean waves. Presents littered the base, a little moat of jewels and dare he ask?

“Are...are those for…us?”

His voice was a tiny, shivering thing.

For, surely they weren’t.

Surely after all this time those glittering boxes couldn’t be for the the children who had nothing, who had never been given a gift in their life.

All that gold.

Like the stars. Like Jack’s hair, and Gilbert’s eyes. Like Vincent’s eye—the one that wasn’t corrupted by the color red.

A thing like him didn’t deserve gifts. They would surely rot beneath his gaze.

Although…red was there too. Many colored wrappings, holly berries, and ornaments…red and green, gold and silver.

Why would they put red in the midst of all that gold? Why would they infect the lively green, the rich silver, with the violence of red?

Did they not know the nature of such a color?

Surely they weren’t for him, no. They would be for the servants before they were for him.

“Nope,” Jack grinned mischievously, “they’re alll for me!”

Glen rolled his eyes before wordlessly kneeling down to pick two up, handing one to each of the children.

To Vincent, the tag read.

And the other, To Gilbert.

Before he even opened it, Vincent’s hands started to shake, and he felt his eyes burning with tears.

For me?

Such a simple thing. Such a small question.

Such a big gesture.

How could he believe that?

Still, it was written there in pretty curly letters.

The other three turned to him, eyes wide.

How could they want to give him anything? How could any of them care so much as to give something of themselves away to him? How could he hold the piece he received, be careful, cherish it, never let it break? How did they know he wouldn’t just destroy it, like he did all the lives around him?

“What’s wrong Vince?” Gilbert’s worried voice cut in.

I just wish this could last forever.

"Earth to Vince!”

“Ohh Sewer Rat~!”

As Vincent looked up from his sort of trance, he saw his brother’s concerned face—older now, less small, less dirty and weak, but also he…smiled less, now, somehow. Then he shot a nasty look at the Hatter, (who smiled pleasantly), before silently reading the tag on the present in his hand.

To Vincent, Love Gilbert.

Even now, the question ran through his brain; Do you really mean that, Gil?

He glanced up at the room. At the assorted mix of people, from different dukedoms. He and Gilbert were standing in the doorway (Echo in the hallway behind him), like he didn’t quite belong, like he wouldn’t quite fit in with the rest of them, like his dash of red wouldn’t fit in with their own little golden world.

He’d come to give Gilbert his gift, and be on his way. That was all. He didn’t intend to stay.

And by the sharpness to the Hatter’s eye, and his brother’s embarrassed glances, he knew he wasn’t wanted.

He didn’t want to ruin his brother’s day. All that mattered was that Gilbert was happy, even if he wasn’t a part of that happiness.

Still, his brother had decided to give him a gift, despite how Vincent had set his expectations against the possibility, and his protests aloud.

After Gilbert insisted once more, Vincent pulled on the ribbon, opening the box.

A pile of cookies beamed at him. Decorated as snowmen, snowflakes, gingerbread men, and Christmas trees. Some of the decorations, however, were notably more well done than others.

“I made them for you” Gilbert, rubbed the back of his neck abashedly, “I hope you like them.”

“And we helped decorate them!” Alice called, and Oz nodded happily.

Ah, that explained the discrepancy.

Although…he didn’t think that Gilbert’s little posse even liked him, why would they help him decorate a present for him? They probably just thought it was a game or something.

In truth, he wanted them all to be from Gil…

“You can probably guess which one’s from me!” Break sang.

Vincent couldn’t see it, but he surmised he’d probably find a cookie hiding somewhere, decorated in messy red ink that said “die, Sewer Rat, die”, or a snowman caricaturized as him, or a gingerbread man with a stake through its heart…or something like that. He made a mental note to repay him the courtesy later.

“I’ll think of you as I bite their heads off, Mr. Hatter,” he smiled at him.

Break shoved his fork rather forcefully into a pastry, though his expression didn’t falter.

Gilbert seemed like he wanted to scold him—or maybe both of them—but thought better of it.

Still, while perhaps a rather unimpressive present to others, this meant a lot to Vincent.

He never wanted toys—(he always tore up his toys anyways)—or books, or clothes, or even jewels. Since the beginning, all he wanted was for his brother to be happy.

He had always thought that the reason Gilbert had become so interested in cooking was because, back then, they had nothing, not even food. And the thought that he would make something special for him, now that he could, as if trying to reach back in time and give it to his past self…

“I love them Gil, thank you!” he threw his arms around him in a superfluous show of affection.

“Uhh n-no Problem.” Gilbert patted his back awkwardly.

Vincent closed the box and turned to leave, but Gilbert grabbed his shoulder.

“Are you sure you don’t want to...stay?”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Vincent put on that plastered smile, and hit play on his pre-prepared response, “I couldn’t possibly impose on your day.”

“Oh? But you impose on my day all the time. Often by your mere presence.”

He glared at the Hatter again, finishing, “I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Okay well...I hope you have a good Christmas, Vince!” Gilbert gave him a genuine smile.

“I will!” He waved goodbye.

I just want you to be happy, Gil. Even if it’s without me.