It crept silently upon Kirin. Like a hunting beast, it gave no warning, hiding its presence all too well as it slunk up behind him in order to make the first strike a critical one. Perhaps it was the stress of the season (they said everyone suffered from it), perhaps the worry over the upcoming Christmas dinner with his grandfather. There was no one particular reason for Kirin to be halfway through washing the dishes and look down and see his hands shaking. The shallow breath that puffed from his lips was the first Kirin noticed of his altered breathing, though once attention was called to it, he could easily feel how it was catching in his throat. He thinned his lips to prevent the shaking taking hold there, pushing the annoying symptoms aside to finish his task. It was perhaps the cleanest the dishes had ever been, the glassware sparkling without a smudge, so much of his focus did Kirin give the dishes. But there was no sense of pride rising up in him, just the shaking taking hold once more.

Kirin wasn't fond of inspecting his reflection when he wasn't all dressed up. Even a glimpse of his face reflected in the kitchen window was enough to let him see the suspicious brightness of his overly wide eyes, and the drawn down corners of his mouth. "s**t," he cursed, rubbing at his eyes and ignoring the waver in his voice.

It was so stupid. To be sad for no reason, to tremble and tear up in the middle of a task with no provocation whatsoever... It was such a weakness, and Kirin hated the weak. It didn't happen often - Kirin the girl had no reason to be depressed, after all. But that was the double-edged sword that was his apartment. On one hand, his safe haven from the world. On the other, it was the home of Kirin the boy. And as hard as Kirin tried not to be him, he lived here, present in the photos on mantels, in the old Playstation and Singstar games hidden in the tv cabinet, in the scratches and bumps in the walls and bookshelves from silly childhood accidents. The apartment breathed Kirin the boy, and his mother, and not even his icy, feminine armor could protect Kirin from that.

Experience had proven that there were two methods Kirin could use to deal with this. The first, distraction. Unfortunately, it was too late to head out somewhere. Even with his lips pressed firmly together, he could feel them tremble, especially when he had to part them to gasp out deep breaths that shuddered through his lungs. A second glance at his reflection as he left the kitchen showed the whites of his eyes turning red. Kirin gave a laugh-sob at himself. As though he wouldn't feel exposed enough right now without letting everyone who passed by see him so close to crying. Their eyes judged him, and even worse was when do-gooders stopped to ask if he was okay (obviously not!) or what was the matter (nothing, hence the stupidity of it all). That left Kirin with the second method.

He gave his face a quick wash in the bathroom, but left showering for tomorrow and changed into his makeshift pyjamas - long fleecy bottoms and a short sleeved t-shirt, old and worn into a softness that new material just couldn't match. From his room he grabbed one of his pillows, hugging it to himself, and his laptop. Kirin tramped out of his room and made his way to the usually-forbidden room that had been his mother's. Everything was still as she'd left it. Occasionally Kirin washed the bedclothes or dusted, but could never bring himself to box things up or change where anything lay.

It used to smell like her, Kirin reflected. He scrubbed at face again, wiping away tears and sniffling. Now it just smelled like their laundry detergent (which he also didn't have the heart to change). There was a fix for that, though. Dumping his pillow onto the bed, and his laptop onto a sidetable, Kirin walked over to the dresser. A delicate glass bottle was retrieved, and a light spray given to the pillows. Kirin replaced the bottle carefully, then flopped onto the bed. Burying his face in the pillows, he breathed in the combined scent of clean laundry and his mother's favourite perfume. He could almost pretend she'd slept there recently, just away for a short while for work.

The second method, you see, was just an emulation of something he no longer had - his mother. There were no arms to hold him anymore, no unconditional love, or promises that everything would be alright. So Kirin just had to pretend as best he could.

The laptop was a new addition to an old comfort. Kirin blamed it on more magical brain reprogramming, but there were this snowglobes that had been popping up all over the place. He was almost certain that the figure inside was Queen Serenity (or perhaps the daughter that they were meant to be searching for). The song it played when wound up had a similar calming effect that the ghostly Queen had had. It worked wonders on Kirin's moods, be they anger or sadness. The only problem, of course, was that it was a short tune and then the globe had to be wound up again. But it was nothing technology couldn't solve. A simple recording into a mic on his laptop, and Kirin was the proud owner of freakysnowglobe.mp3 in his music library. Opening it now, he set it to repeat at a soft volume.

Laying back down on the bed, Kirin wormed one arm under his own pillow while the other hugged one of his mother's against his chest. The tears and shaky breaths reigned for a few minutes before dying off. Half a city away, all manner of senshi battled against an evil snow princess. Kirin slept, blanketed with familiar scents while a nostalgic, long-forgotten lullaby played on.