Warning: Hello! This story will contain elements of angst, foul language a plenty, mentions of suicide and character death, and later on, sexual content. In this chapter however, it's mostly just the language. :x
Disclaimer: Title cred goes to the song of the same name by Paramore, which is really the accompanying song of this fic - go listen! And for the (obvious) record, I don't own YYH.
There was something inherently surreal about stepping into Kurama's house - not simply because it hadn't happened since nearly three years prior. Crossing the threshold of the front door, in fact, felt something like stumbling through the looking glass or toppling down a rabbit hole where up was down, purple cats talked in riddles and snide caterpillars puffed letters drawn in hookah smoke.
Only instead of Wonderland, Yusuke had come across a wasteland.
Shoes cluttered the entry hall, each one avoided by careful steps on Yusuke'a part. The narrow hall opened up into the living room, which was strewn hapzardly with clothes - some crumpled on the floor, others thrown carelessly over the back of a black leather sofa. Every inch of the wooden coffee table tucked in front of it stood covered in crinkled documents and half-emptied mugs of stale coffee.
The dirtied white carpet bled into tile to the right of him, where the creak of a chair alerted Yusuke to another presence. Slumped over the dining table pathetically sat the man - well, demon - he'd come all this way to see. His arms were folded across the worn cherry wood, creating a lean nest for a crimson-topped head to rest upon as if to hide from sun dappling through the kitchen window.
"Kurama," Yusuke said, and winced - he'd promised himself he wouldn't sound pitying but failed nonetheless.
And the creature hijacking his friend's body deserved to be pitied, perhaps. The once-tan hands of the kitsune were sallowed, and even from where he was standing Yusuke could tell that the man's frame had thinned too much; his clothes, a simple mauve sweater and dark jeans, sagged around his body.
Sluggishly, Kurama raised his head to meet Yusuke's concerned gaze. Small thrills of fear jolted up down the Toushin's spine when he saw the lifeless sheen spoiling the jade of Kurama's brilliant eyes, not to mention the deep purple shadows beneath them. His once silky hair looked matted and dull, framing his too-thin face and sticking to the sweaty column of the man's neck.
The fox cleared his throat once, and whispered a hoarse "hello."
Yusuke took that as his informal cue to sit so he padded forward, pulled back a stray chair close by his friend and plopped down, shucking his bag to the floor - then regretted it immediately as the stink of strong liquor assaulted his nose. Warm brown eyes darted around, glimpsing trash littering the marble counters here and there, before landing on the translucent glass near the edge of the table filled to the brim with thick, amber spirit. The long, thick-cut bottle stood by its side, nearly empty.
"Makai liquor," slurred Kurama, tipping his wobbly head in the direction of the cup. "It's akin to drinking gasoline, I imagine, but it's practical enough for my purposes."
"You're coping well then, I see." No real bite coated his words, only concern, dripping like honey from every syllable. "Have you been eating? Kuwabara said he dropped off some groceries yesterday."
A flicker of warmth from behind flat, sullen green gave Yusuke's heart a little rush of hope, but it was gone before it even had a chance to spark into something like life.
"He's a good friend, Kuwabara," Kurama deflected, predictably. "So are you. How are your children? It must've been difficult to leave them to travel this far out of the city."
Crossing his arms over his chest Yusuke huffed, shooting the fox a knowing look. Still, he picked up the segue with no verbal complaint, unwilling to push his friend too hard so soon. "The kids are fine. Little hellions, but you can bet your ass that Keiko has them under control. I see them every weekend so you don't have to feel guilty about taking me away from them or something. It's Tuesday."
With a blank face, Kurama gave a jerky nod. "And the divorce? Is it finalized?"
A jab of anger stole the Toushin's breath away - a sore subject had just been breached, but he forced himself to swallow the venom thickening his tongue.
"I'm not here to talk about my issues, man." Yusuke leaned forward against the edge of the table, sure to catch the unfocused, bleary gaze of his friend before he continued, "I'm here to talk some sense into you."
A twitch of a smirk met his statement; a tightening of wary eyes. "Are you?" Kurama drawled, tipping his body forward as well. The putrid smell of alcoholic breath fanned across Yusuke's face, crinkling his nose, but he did not retreat. "You always did have quite a way with words."
"I also have a way with my fists, but you know that too."
Vile, hollow laughter bit at Yusuke's ears and he had to wonder, who was this man? He'd known Kurama for 16 years now. Maybe they had never been particularly close, maybe he'd never even really seen the true spirit behind the guise of his many masks, but this man? It simply could not be Kurama. He was an imposter. A fraud. An empty husk of skin wearing the face of a strong, beautiful man who had saved his life on more than one occasion.
If he was who he truly should have been right now, untouched by crippling grief, he would have still been beautiful. Even age couldn't rob him of that, human shell or otherwise.
The laughter had twisted into small, uneven hiccups, which might have been rather cute if not for the dribble of saliva that snuck past the plush parting of Kurama's lips. Sighing softly, Yusuke reached out and dabbed it away with the sleeve of his light Spring jacket, watching a patch of the green fabric darken with spit.
Kurama turned his head away, suddenly ashamed. "I don't need your coddling," he whispered distantly. "You should have stayed away. You belong with your children. Your...family." His breath hitched at the tail end of his sentence, eyes stained dark with grief.
The dark-haired man extended a hand to place gently on the redhead's shoulder. He wanted to avoid bringing this up just yet, but the words tumbled from his tongue despite his better judgement: "She wouldn't want you living this way, Kurama."
A cold, hard glare fixed him in place as the fox jerked his shoulder away roughly.
"Don't," Kurama hissed, bristling on the edge of despair. "Don't speak of her."
Before Yusuke could take an opportunity to apologize Kurama had the glass of alcohol in the grasp of his shaking fingers. He poured half the liquid down his throat, every feature of his face distorted by disgust while he retched on it, then forced himself to down the rest.
The glass slipped from his hand to the floor, shattering in a symphony of twinkling notes. Yusuke could guess the only thing keeping the kitsune from vomiting was sharp teeth clenched down on the soft pink flesh of his quivering bottom lip.
"It's okay," the Toushin said gently, "if you puke. I'll clean it up."
Kurama flinched; shook his head. Yusuke waited for what seemed like endless minutes, watching for the inevitable loss of control. He hoped the fox would at least have the sense to lurch towards the floor to yak instead of aspirating on the dinner table.
Instead splotches of red rose to the fox's otherwise pasty cheeks, finally releasing his bottom lip with another soft hiccup once he seemed sure he wouldn't lose his drink.
"I'm fine," he whispered in a haunted voice that sounded anything but fine. "I just needed a moment to collect my bearings, that is all." Peering at Yusuke with heavy, glazed eyes he asked, "how old are your children now? Haven't seen them in years."
"Kenji is nine, Kai is seven. But like I said before, I didn't take two buses and hike twelve miles just to chat about my fucking life with you, Kurama. I could have done that over the phone. Not that you answer it half the time."
Kurama leaned back into his chair, sporting a helpless smile that didn't color his eyes with anything but sadness. "I apologize. I would have answered if I had known it would have spared you the trip."
"I would've come anyway," Yusuke growled. He, too, sat back, glaring menacingly at a spot of sticky residue on the far corner of table. It was going to take him ages to clean this place up.
Just like it took him ages to get out here. The house itself was a quaint, two-story cottage, tucked in near the edge of the forest. He surmised that's why the fox picked it after all - lots of land for a garden of fresh greenery to tend to along with a forest to wander. Three years ago the house had emanated a warm, homey feel and the trek into the countryside hadn't bothered him (Keiko's car also might have had something to do with it).
Now it felt rather like a tomb.
When Yusuke broke away from his thoughts to regard Kurama, the fox was slumping terribly against the table again, his frail body unwilling to hold him upright any longer. Yusuke let out a long sigh of breath and reached for his large black gym back, hulking it up onto the table with a hearty 'thunk.'
Kurama didn't jump. Didn't move.
Panic rose like bile in his throat and commandeered his body - before he was aware of his movements he was striking out with nimble fingers, nudging the fox's shoulder with force.
"Nnngh...quit that, Hiei."
And just like that, Yusuke's heart dropped like a stone into the deepest pit of his stomach. Hiei. He should have been here - why hadn't that clicked before? Why hadn't he thought about it?
Where the fuck was Hiei?
"Last time I saw Hiei was here, remember?" The memory burbled up from the depths of his mind, illuminating his eyes with a sort of nostalgic fondness. "Three years ago when Keiko and I brought the kids out for a visit. Kenji wouldn't stop grabbing for his hair." And surprisingly, Hiei hadn't said a word against it. He had been his same old grumpy self but softer somehow, more content.
Yusuke had kinda figured that to be Kurama's doing.
The Toushin prodded at Kurama's shoulder again until the man lifted his head, face pinched in pain but otherwise unreadable.
"Where is he now?"
"Who?" the redhead asked, drunkenly stupid. Unbelievable.
"Fuckin' Koenma." Kurama blinked at his sarcasm, opened his mouth to speak, then shut it once Yusuke snapped, "Hiei, dumbass! Where is Hiei? Shouldn't he be here to help you through this?"
It was amazing how quickly Kurama sobered at the namesake, going from a slobbery, heaping mess to a hard statue of ice.
Good, Yusuke thought. At least he looks more like himself when he's pissed.
If the Toushin had expected anything more than a vague answer, he would have been disappointed.
"He...left," Kurama slurred, eyes flashing dark and dangerous for a fraction of a second. "I don't suppose I need to ask that you please not speak of him, either."
Yusuke wanted to argue about it, to tell him he couldn't avoid his feelings forever, but this was a page from his own book, repression at its finest. How could he say those things without being a complete hypocrite? He, too, had subjects he'd rather not elaborate on, held tight and secure in his heart.
And if Kurama wouldn't talk about it while absolutely trashed, how could he get him to open up when he got sober?
Defeatedly, the Toushin took his head in his hands and groaned. He knew before even traveling out here that this wouldn't come easy - firmly the opposite, in fact. He just wished so fiercely that it hadn't come to this. Kurama, brilliant, beautiful, powerful Kurama, taken down to this level by the untimely death of one human woman?
A quiet snuffle caught his attention and he blanched, expecting to witness the unflappable fox finally broken down into tears - but no, he remained a blank slate, staring dumbly out into the ether without a glimmer of emotion touching him.
Tiredly - not from the walk, just from bearing witness to this mess - Yusuke stood, shuffling to the counter and clearing away the debris cluttered by the stove (empty liquor bottles mostly, with the occasional untouched takeout carton). He had to scavenge around a bit for a boiling pot; no dishes sat unwashed in the sink, but he didn't know where Kurama kept his pots and pans.
When he found one he filled it with water and set it on the stove to boil over a warming burner. Then he turned to his pack and retrieved the basic ingredients for a decent stew he'd brought with him on a whim, deciding that even if Kuwabara had stopped by just yesterday the food could be sitting at the bottom of the trashcan for all he knew.
He was halfway through chopping up carrots to add to the broth when a ghostly whisper of a voice caressed his ear - Kurama, asking him what he could possibly be doing.
"I'm making you some food, idiot. Don't worry, I won't burn your house down. I know how to cook."
"But - why are you - what are you really doing here, Yusuke? You have...a bag." Rays of fear, suspicion and confusion shone through the cracks of his muddled words.
Yusuke paused to twist around, not surprised at all to see that Kurama had turned his head to stare at him incredulously. When their gazes brushed, Yusuke flashed him a smug grin.
"I'm moving in."
A/N:
So! Last night this plot hit me full force and I had no other choice but to start it - it's going to be angsty, but hopefully not too out of character on Kurama's part (don't hesitate to tell me if he is, even in this chapter). Hiei will be a major element of the story as well, eventually. Anything not touched upon as of yet - Yusuke's divorce, how Shiori died, what happened between Hiei and Kurama - will all be revealed in due time. So if you want to see more or just tell me how bad this is, please don't hesitate to leave me a review!
Until next time!