Disclaimer: I claim no rights to Yu Yu Hakusho, nor any related characters or merchandise, and make no profit from the writing or distribution of this work of fiction.

It's been a while, Yusuke realizes, as he collapses bonelessly into his favorite armchair, his dejected sigh remarkably loud in the pressing silence of the empty house, since he's had a proper birthday.

And it's funny, he muses further, letting his head drop back against one arm and lets his feet hang over the other, how the meaning of the phrase 'proper birthday' seems to keep changing over the years.

As he closes his eyes and relaxes into the chair, he remembers being a kid. How his mom would always somehow manage to have a cake waiting for him when he came back – well, not from school, usually, but from wherever he'd been that day, at least – more frosting than anything else, and with enough sugar to choke a horse. He'd get as much as he wanted, and his mom would have a slice, too, and while it might not have been perfect by anyone else's standards, it was plenty for him.

Getting older, he thinks Atsuko might have thought he'd stop liking sweets as much – part of that gangbanger image, you know; can't be seen with anything as girly as a white-frosted cake – but she still always managed to pull a little something together, left in a small envelope under his pillow, and no warning not to spend it all in one place (which, of course, he nearly always did anyway – the arcade, naturally: a convenient excuse to skip school one more time). She had to know what he was doing with it – Atsuko was no half-wit herself – and still, every year came that envelope, filled with whatever she could spare, and sometimes more.

For a good long while, birthdays had become all about entertainment – usually by means of the consumption of large quantities of alcohol. Without fail, Kurama and Kuwabara had always turned up, and sometimes Kurama would even manage to drag Hiei along. And for a night, they were a team again, like nothing had ever happened. Like they'd never split apart to go their separate ways. And that was the nice thing about being a demon – the hangovers never seemed quite as bad the next morning.

If you'd told him, back then, that his idea of a proper birthday would later be an evening with his wife and children, in the ramen shop he'd taken over from Keiko's parents, Yusuke probably would have laughed. And yet, that's just what it had come to mean – not so much the presents (though, those were always nice – Yusuke suspected Keiko played a large part in the gifts that were presented in small hands that grew steadily larger and stronger) but the family. God, when had he gotten so soft?

But really, he realizes, opening his eyes, not knowing when he fell asleep, is that what it's been about the whole time? Had Atsuko, and later Keiko, and even – in their own way – Kurama and Kuwabara, been trying to teach him that birthdays weren't really about gifts or money, but about the people you spent them with?

He arches and twists and does his best to crack his spine in about eighteen different places – and that's when his gaze finally falls on the single, red rose sitting on the coffee table, looking as though it's just been cut from the bush. Which, of course, it hasn't – Yusuke can tell that by the aura he feels pulsing through it, keeping it lush and bright. And isn't that the old familiar smell of something sweet in the oven, and warm sake?

Grinning, Yusuke stands, gives one last long stretch, and pads silently into the kitchen, where he knows he'll find Kurama, nearly unchanged after all these years – still all lithe body and long hair and a warm smile.

And maybe, he thinks, with the equally satisfying and unsettling idea that maybe – just maybe, he's finally done some growing up – it hasn't been as long as he'd originally thought since he's had a proper birthday.

Maybe he's been having them all along.