Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho, etc., etc.

This is the sequel to I Love the Flower Girl, which is the sequel to Until Death. And before anyone asks, no, I have never cut myself. On purpose. I do it on accident a lot because I'm clumsy, though.

So no, I have no idea what I'm talking about, and yes, I do write shitty fanfiction. Feel free to flame me. I really don't care anymore. Really, I just wanted this off my computer but I didn't want it to go to waste.

Errm, that's it, I guess. Here's chapter one of "Blood of a Rose". If you like it, good for you. Review. And if you hate it and think it's shit, good for you. Check out the poll in my profile to a link to Project A.F.T.E.R. And review.

He sat on the edge of his bed, slightly hunched over, playing with the knife in his hands. It wasn't really a true knife – it was more like something a boy scout would carry around, a pocketknife. But it was still sharp... and one would hope that a boy scout would not be using this tool for the same purpose that the redhead had in mind.

He was thinking, slipping the knife in and out of each hand and through his fingers, occasionally turning it over, absentmindedly.

Why? Why couldn't Spirit World give her back to him? Surely their grand, master plan did not include cutting the girl's life so short. After all he had done for them, why did they want him to suffer like this?

They could not have been planning on the death of their precious Detective, either. He was too indispensable, too vital to everything they wanted.

The world is not a stage, and the people are not mere players. In truth, life is the ultimate chess match, and every living thing a chess piece. Spirit World was but the chess master, thinking about where to move each piece, and deciding what could be sacrificed to save others. The Detective would be their queen, the piece that once gone signaled a loss for the player.

And as the redhead had found, he was a mere pawn on this majestic chessboard called life, something taken for granted because there were so many others who would do just as well. There was a virtually limitless supply of them.

But there was only one queen, and no piece could do more.

He abruptly stopped this train of thought, turning his total attention to the knife in his delicate, slender hands. As he contemplated taking his own life, a twisted, demonic grin formed on his lips. He thought of the effect this would have on his human mother; now she would be truly alone, with both of her children gone.

Surprisingly, he found he didn't care.

His gaze turned almost loving as he continued to look at the sharp blade sleeping innocently in his cupped hands. He had killed countless others without thinking, but this was something completely different. He simply lacked the strength required to kill himself.

There were other reasons, as well. There was his demon pride and vanity, and the human unwillingness to die. And he knew that in some deep, buried part of himself that he did still care for his human mother.

He took the knife in one hand and pressed the metal down against his flesh. He hesitated, then with one smooth, fluid motion drew the knife against his skin. The faint pink trail it left slowly turned to a deep, thick red, and streams of faint red trailed down his arm, almost like raindrops.

He expected himself to be repulsed by the sight of blood – his own blood – that he himself had shed. Frighteningly, he found that he enjoyed it in a sickening way.

But a friend approached silently in the darkness, unnoticed, until he landed on the windowsill.

His head jerked upward. "Hiei," the redhead said in surprise, clamping his other hand over his wrist, and as he did so, the knife fell softly through his lap to the bed between his legs.

The sudden movement brought the fire-koorime's eyes to the wrist.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he screamed, in an unnatural display of the fact that he cared. He had seen the blood.

"I'm cutting myself, Hiei," he replied now in his cool, calm, even tone. "It's what people who are depressed do."

Hiei merely narrowed his eyes. He wasn't sure whether he was serious or being sarcastic.

Kurama made a sound between a laugh and a cough. "Believe me, Hiei, I am depressed. I am not the only one who knows how to hide their emotions."

He continued to glare, though now a soft "hn" escaped his lips.

"Hmn, maybe I should kill Mukuro," the redhead continued, picking up the fallen knife and turning it over in his hand. "Then you would understand how I feel."

Hiei narrowed his eyes even more into a death glare. That was simply over the line.

The redhead completely ignored this new silence and was unaware of the glare of death. Glancing at the wrist of the hand holding the knife, he saw that he was no longer bleeding, though it had left a scar. He swore internally. Sometimes being a naturally quick healer was a nuisance.

He pressed the blade to his other wrist, to make another cut. But Hiei took advantage of his unnatural speed and took the weapon away. As he returned to his place on the windowsill he threw it up with a flick of his wrist and then caught it, the grin of a victorious thief on his face.

"You know I will find something else to hurt myself with," Kurama commented dryly.

He could tell by his tone of voice, his expression, his body language. Something was bothering him. And he knew what it was, of course. But there had to be more to it than just that.

Hiei did not scare easily, but the memories of that night sent chills up his spine.

"You've lost your mind."

"No," the redhead responded after a moment. "I've lost the only thing I've ever cared about." And then he lifted his head, and stared past him, past the forest… to the night sky, beyond the stars.

It had been the look in his eyes. Anyone could tell he was unstable; there was insanity and desperation in those green eyes where before there had been nothing.

He was both sane and insane. Was there - is there - any way to deal with such a person?

But having nothing to say and no idea how to help him, Hiei left.

Kurama smiled as his friend left with a soft, fluttering sound, and he turned to grab the darkness Hiei had once occupied. He had left the knife.

Once it was back in his hand, he swiftly cut the other wrist, and before falling asleep he watched his self-inflicted wound bleed until it stopped.

- Kuramastrass -