X Amount of Words
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He is so proud of her — I can see that in his eyes. How he just stands there, watching from across the crowded room as she mingles with the rest of the guests, flitting about like the social butterfly he knows she is. The people crowded into the small family room are not friends, exactly. No, she would have time for them later, he had assured her; these people are her family, or the closest thing to it that she has, although perhaps the word is slightly unconventional. She is enjoying herself despite this however, her bright voice bouncing joyously through the entire enclosure as she talks to one of her younger cousins, Yukiko, Kuwabara and Yukina's youngest daughter. And as he watches her, with so much self-pride, so much satisfaction, so much love spilling from his russet gaze — so too, I watch him.
I smile fondly at the scene before me. No, a full-house is not uncommon here. It never has been. Not in all the years I'd come to live with him, with her. But, by the same notion, it is a rare thing to see him smile so freely, so sincerely. And I positively treasure the sight.
He is not old, being only thirty-four, and his semi-demonic heritage makes his aging process almost as slow as my own. But despite this, silver shoots through his otherwise charcoal-black hair, and there are lines set in his face that I know had not been there only a decade and-a-half before. And I know, as does he and everyone else in this room — except perhaps the young woman he watches now — that the silvering hair and the age lines are not a result of the natural progression of one's age. If anything, they are the remnants of all the stress and hardship he has weathered in the foregone decade.
This thought makes me sigh, however; I had not been as present as I should have or could have been during several of those years. Knowing this, and knowing that I am here now, after so much neglect to him — to her — to them both, makes me feel slightly undeserving to be standing here.
These thoughts heavy on my mind, I shake my head slowly and let a dry chuckle roll off of my lips.
Now of all times is not the time for me to be bemoaning anything, I remind myself, still mildly amazed at how, even after so many years, my pessimism still comes so naturally. Then I turn my attention and my footfalls towards the man and the girl that I love.
Noticing that he has slipped away from my immediate line of vision I search the room for him again amid all the other familiar bodies. I am not worried about him — no one in this room would dream of hurting him — but I wish to know where he is.
Me, protective?
Never.
When I spot his outline moving into the kitchen, followed by the smaller silhouette of Moriko, I sigh. Probably, I tell myself, he has finally managed to pull her aside to congratulate her, and in this mindset, I begin to follow their steps. They are heading into the kitchen, no doubt to escape the noise and crowd that presses upon them in the living room.
As I draw nearer, the two have already situated themselves around the kitchen bar. He is sitting on one of the stools, elbows slumped on the counter, head in his hands, and she is standing before him, biting her lip and fidgeting uncertainly.
Slightly bewildered, because this is so far from the scene I had expected to come upon, I stop and duck behind the arched door that leads from the living room into where they are. Perhaps eavesdropping is wrong — and this mortal coil finds it more appalling that his demon counterpart, rest assured — but these people are ones I love; they are my family.
Of course I can give them a moment alone, their relationship considered.
But I cannot pull myself away, my relation to them considered.
"Oh, Ba," she addresses him, her voice soft, tinged with sadness. "I'm so sorry." I can see her shuffle from foot to foot, a normal, nervous gesture of hers
"Don't be sorry, not for your old man," he laughs dryly, head still hung in his hands.
"But Ba, what am I supposed to be, if not sorry?" she asks, with all the innocence of a child still as young as she, at merely fourteen.
She does not like to see her Ba — my Yuusuke — in pain any more than I do, but she does not know how to go about comforting him, either.
"Nothing, my Moriko-hime," he assures her, shaking his head in his hands and spilling loose strands of charcoal between his fingers with the motion. "Nothing."
At this, she hangs her head for a long moment sending a spill of long chestnut hair over her slumped shoulders and into her eyes. "But Ba———" she whines then, deciding on an alternate route of nipping his sudden melancholy in the bud. "Today is a day of celebration—" she enunciates. "You should be happy for me, not moping around."
This brings a sigh to his lips and forces him to raise his head. With a horrified start I realize there is dampness on his face and he wipes it away with a gruff "Hrrmph" as he nods and concedes to his wily daughter, "I know, I know," with a course laugh.
"Ba," she mumbles, suddenly ashamed at herself when she sees his face, "I'm sorry — I guess — I guess I just — uhm. Well… Oh, I don't know, Ba…" she stumbles over the words, leaves the sentences unfinished.
"You know," he chuckles, and the sound is slightly more lively. "Keiko would be so proud of you, Moriko. She really would be… Just having been accepted into one of the most prestigious all-girl schools in the country — she would be thrilled for you. I know she would be."
This praise brings tears to her own dark eyes. I cannot see them, but I can guess at their presence by noticing how her shoulders begin to shake silently as she takes in the words.
"You — you really mean that, Ba? Really? Mama would be proud of me?" She asks slowly, the words coming out entirely unsure, as though she is afraid to believe them.
He nods and gets up, probably more stiffly than normal, and pulls his daughter into a tight embrace as he assures her, "Yes, she would, hime-chan. I know it."
And now I know for a fact she is crying because I can hear the silent sobs choking their way past her throat as she wonders, forever innocent, "Ba, do you think she's here now?"
"Of course she's here now," he nods firmly, his chin bobbing against the top of her head as he does. He gives her another squeeze and repeats, "She's here now and I know she's looking down on you and thinking, 'that's my girl and I'm so proud.'"
More quiet sobbing is the only thing to greet this statement of fact from him. He sighs into her hair and holds her for a long moment. The agony in his eyes as he gazes down at his daughter is palpable, even after fourteen years, and a dagger of pain rips through my very soul as I acknowledge just to what degree he still continues to mourn for his late wife, so many years later.
"And you know what else she's saying, Moriko?" he asks gently, coaxing his daughter's face up to meet his so that her watery eyes lock with his. "She's saying 'and I love her so much and I wish I could be with her' — I know she is, hime-chan."
"I know, Ba," she admits quietly, pulling away, suddenly huffy, tired of the fatherly affection, no doubt. "And you know," she adds, insightfully, "she's also saying, 'and I love and miss my husband,' because you know, Ba, she would be here for you, too."
A quick pat on her small shoulder is all I catch before I turn away and pull myself from the curve of the archway, to hurry through the crowd in the living room. No, it isn't jealousy at hearing Moriko refer to her father as his late-wife's possession — he truly is her Yuusuke — but, he is mine too.
I know Moriko has accepted this a long time ago. No, I am not nor will I ever be her "Ba" or "Tou-chan" or even "Uncle Kurama", but she has known about and encouraged my relationship with Yuusuke from the very beginning, and I know she loves me as I love her.
But, of course, I will never take the place of her mother.
And of course, I will never take the place of his Keiko.
And while I know this, and have come to accept it over the past several years, the pain this knowledge incites is unbearably acute and vicious. It is not so much because I am not and will never be Yuusuke's true love. And it has little to do with knowing that I will be forever a second in both of their hearts.
No.
The pain, while partially acclaimed to the prior reasons, has more to do with my own lingering unrequited feelings for a certain person. While not Yuusuke's first love, or even family to Moriko, their love for me is genuine and wholly reciprocated. And I am not so greedy as to deny that emotion solely on a second-handed basis.
But the love that I gave freely and unconditionally to Hiei…
At the thought of his name alone a sharp stab of pain doubles me over inside. Mentally, I cringe. After so long, that I should still feel so vibrantly the sting of his nonchalant rejection is both misery incarnate and a testament to just how truly and thoroughly I loved him.
Without my having realized it, my feet have carried me through the over-crowded living room and out onto the porch. And although startled to find myself suddenly surrounded by the red-pink and golden hues of a day soon put to slumber, I am rather grateful to be standing here, in this moment.
The dusk moves in slowly, gold threads weaving through sparse cloud cover and streaks of pink, red and orange melt together seamlessly, a mosaic of watercolors brushed against the horizon as the sun dips slowly, ever-gradually, beneath the earth. A light breeze stirs through the trees and it whips through my hair, raising a line of goose bumps along my neck. In the past, such a breeze would whip long carmine threads about my face in a seductive frenzy, my flesh untouched by the lustful brush of dusk's hand. Today, however, my hair is cut short; typical of a man in his mid-thirties. With the wave of nostalgia that the fading spring day ushers on, a small smile curves my lips, and I close my eyes and let my breath escape me on a long sigh.
What a day for remembering… recollecting…
"Kurama."
The name is familiar, I register it as my own, and the voice is one I never let myself dare to believe I would hear again. My placid smile thins slightly and I shake my head, eyes remaining firmly closed, as I berate myself for letting the set-in nostalgia turn into a full-blown auditory hallucination.
"Kurama, stupid Fox, get that constipated smirk off of your face, open your damn eyes, and look at me, will you?"
Strange, I muse dryly, still refusing to feed my insanity further by opening my eyes. My hallucination sounds positively viable…
"Aisai…"
At this, my eyes snap open reflexively, a cold bead of sweat trickling down the side of my face as I haltingly question my sanity at this point. Because for as much as I was enjoying my hallucination — his voice as endearing to me even now as it was almost fifteen years ago — even my subconscious should not be so willing to spite me physically with sweet murmurings of a pet name now long dead to me.
"It's about time, Kurama," snaps the man before me, satisfaction evident in his tone.
I stare blankly, not willing to believe my eyes, even as they focus unerringly on the familiar silhouette standing not three feet before me. I feel my mouth fall open in a small 'o' of disbelief as I take him in — nearly fifteen years have come to pass and not a thing has changed; he is just as I have always pictured he would be: from the sharp angular planes of his face to the swell of his silky raven-dark hair and the startling and sinister beauty of his vermillion eyes.
"H-Hiei?" I croak, my voice cracking as the word chokes itself from behind a hard knot in my throat. And all at once there is a thunderous wave of relief that washes over me at seeing him — at living this reality — and a swelling of emotion—
And just like that, the spell is broken.
As soon as the realization of the swelling feeling in my chest registers with my backlogged brain, I bite my lip, quiet the barrage of words that I would have no doubt laid upon him.
No, my conscience tells me. I will not put myself through this again.
It's more than that, it continues to nag me, as I concede that the surge of feelings I had almost loosed upon the hiyoukai standing — unwelcome as a rat infestation — upon this property, does not need to be waylaid solely because I know, should I be hurt again, that I would be unable to put myself back together again.
No…
Yuusuke…
After all I have gone through since Hiei's flight… After everything Yuusuke and I have been through together… What right do I have to make light of our pain, our heartache, when it stems the love we now share? What right do I have to throw that away just because the ghost of my past wants to come haunting my present?
"What do you want, Hiei?" I finally manage to get out, my voice suddenly tight in restrained anger. The question leaves my tongue cold as ice, smooth as steel, and with a hint of venom.
What right does he have to encroach upon my happiness like this?
For the briefest of moments a look close to pain flashes across his features as my cold words breathe over him. But before I can register it surely for what I take it to be, he has arranged his features once again into a carefully constructed blank mask.
"Hn," he spits, eyes narrowing into a glare as he crosses his arms across his chest and regards me with a long upward sweep of ruby eyes. "Checking up on things. You have a problem with that, Kurama?"
Actually, I do, I think mutinously, but voice a suspicious, "After fifteen years? How thoughtful of you, Hiei," instead.
At the inquisition, he shuffles his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable at my having brought up the fact; as though fifteen year's worth of nonexistence can be so easily overlooked, so easily forgiven.
And, perhaps, to him, fifteen years is an insignificant time — hardly worth counting as any length of time against the backdrop of a demon lifespan. But when most of us have human lives to live out, mortal coils to exhaust, fifteen years is startlingly significant.
And perhaps this doesn't matter to him, which I think may be the case when he finally answers me with an indifferent, "Hardly important. I'm back, aren't I? Who cares at what length?"
The words 'I do' lay in wait at the back of my tongue, waiting to coalesce into the space between us, but instead the more accurate, "No one, Hiei," takes their place.
"What?" The word is a dangerous hiss, a mere whisper of breath, and the anger in the single syllable is overwhelming.
Calmly, I repeat, "No one, Hiei," watching as a curious wash of emotions shifts over his sharp face at the words. "No once cares anymore."
Suddenly there is an edge to his voice as he asks, haltingly, "What? What do you mean, Kurama?" And, if I'm not mistaken, there is a taint of fear in the words. It elicits a small, derisive smile from me.
"You left, Hiei," I tell him evenly, crossing my arms before my chest to match him. I pause a moment to look behind my shoulder, through the glass doors separating the porch from the living room, to search out Yuusuke or Moriko. No sight of them, yet.
"But I came back, Kurama," he amends sharply, causing me to look back at him with a look that makes him cast me a disgusted look. No doubt, he does not appreciate the pity in my gaze.
"Fifteen years too late to make a difference, Hiei," I tell him softly. "Everyone here—" I gesture to myself with a sweep of my arm, and behind me to the house full of people, a mere glass partition away. "—Everyone has moved on."
His eyes are suddenly regarding me in an all-too-familiar way, a fire so hot burning within their smoldering depths as they travel the length of my body to lock unblinkingly upon my own harsh viridian gaze. When he speaks his voice is soft. "Even you, Kurama?"
Before I can answer him — before I can even think about forming the words to do so — I feel a too-strong, too-abrupt breeze. And before I can fully comprehend it — before I can make sense of his sudden flight — I feel the harsh push of his lips against mine and the slightly desperate pull of deft fingers as one hand twines itself in my short hair and the other moves to cup my face to keep me from backpedaling.
A moment comes to pass in which I regain use of my extremities and I force my arms between us, laying my palms firmly against his black-clad chest and pushing. My fingers may well be feathers for as much effect as they have in moving him. All the action elicits from him is an angry grumble against my lips and a clenching of his fingers against my jaw as he tries to force me open.
"Hiei, stop this!" I demand angrily, continuing in my attempt to push him away as he presses himself more firmly against my front, refusing to relinquish his position. "Hiei!" I snarl, my voice cracking as I feel the rough wet tip of his tongue dart out to trace a wet line around the contour of my bottom lip. At the sensation a feeling of warmth seeps into lower parts of me and for a moment I lose my string. I am so tempted to give in to this wily, demanding demon. So ready for this after fifteen years of negligence…
Yuusuke...
The merest, briefest, most chaste thought of him snaps me abruptly back to my senses, and I try once again to pry my face from Hiei as he moves his hand from my cheek to meander down the curve of my spine and rest appreciatively on my rear.
"Hiei!" I all but yell his name. And for as much as my body responds to his ministrations, and for as much as I want to give myself in to them, his name is screamed with not a hint of pleasure. It is a snarl of pure rage as I shove hard against him. "Hiei, stop this!"
And finally, finally he has the leverage he needs to force his sleek little tongue into my mouth. My stomach flutters at the sensation, but thoughts of Yuusuke keep me from sinking quite so far, and I struggle anew, desperate to disengage him from around me. Inari! I need a moment to think. Perhaps…
I squirm my arms from between us, giving up trying to push him away — wrapped around me as he is like a constrictor — and bring them around his petite form, twining slender fingers in the raven tresses of his hair. And then I yank, good and hard. For all my effort, all I get from him is a low, guttural moan as he presses himself against me more firmly, his erection starkly obvious to me through the thin layers of clothes separating us.
I pull once more against those silky tendrils of hair, hoping to pry his face just far enough away for me to spit in it, or something equally vile to make my utter distaste known. And I manage it. Barely. When I pull him back he looks up at me, eyes clouded with lustful fire, breathing labored, and a contented smirk angling across his smooth face.
"Hiei," I snarl, my eyes pulled into a harsh glare, voice a deadly whisper. And then he is on me again, taking advantage of my lapse to force his way into my mouth again and press upon me and—
"Ku—Kurama?"
Oh, Inari no! No!
Yuusuke!
His voice washes over me like a knife cutting a whole new set of scars into my soul with the sheer hurt radiated in that single word.
Instinct clamps my jaw together and I hear a startled "Owwwwwww!" from Hiei as he pushes back from me holding his nearly-severed, bleeding tongue between his thumb and forefinger and regards it with furrowed brows. But I pay this little mind as I find myself spinning back to the porch doors just to see Yuusuke pushing his way back through the crowded living room, the glass door slamming into the wall pane with a loud crash!
"Yuusuke!" His name leaves my lips as a strangled sort of sob and I turn back to Hiei, who's staring at me with wide, innocent eyes, and spit at him. "Bastard!" I scream, the word barely discernible as a wave of panic floods my system and I howl like the wounded animal that I am. "Bastard, bastard, BASTARD!"
Hiei watches me quietly, his expression remarkably composed for having someone scream at him as I am. There is something marginally different about his eyes now, though. The fire is still there, buried somewhere deeper down, but the certainty has left them.
The words are a broken whisper as he tells me, "Kurama, I love you."
And this stops me cold for a moment, cutting me off mid-rant, as I regard him anew with wild, disbelieving eyes. "You… what?!" I ask flatly, blinking hard and shaking my head violently enough that my neck cracks in angry protest.
He takes a deep breath and exhales the words again. "Kurama, I love you…"
And still, still the words mean little to me. Faintly, my conscience nags me that there was a time, long ago — fifteen years ago — that I would have died to hear those words. Today? Well, now I hardly register them over the buzzing in my skull.
To answer him, I form a barely coherent, "Well, it is just a bit too late for that now, Hiei," as I cast a pained look over my shoulder again and turn on my heel to march inside and find Yuusuke. My Yuusuke. And apologize.
From behind I hear a prickly laugh that raises the fine hairs at the nape of my neck to abrupt attention and then, in a silky whisper, I hear Hiei say:
"Sure it's too late now, Kurama?"
And at that moment, I snap.
I forget about wanting to run to Yuusuke to apologize. I forget that the longer I take to find him, the more I delay baring my soul to him, the harder it will be to reclaim him and reclaim his trust. I forget about the sudden gaping hole in my chest and he pain coursing through me, like thorny vines piercing into my heart, bleeding me dry from the inside out. I forget about the room full of people behind us and I forget that I am, indeed, a thirty-six-year-old man.
Nothing matters except the words that spring from my lips as I scream "Burn in Hell, Hiei!" and lunge for his throat.
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Disclaimer: I don't own Yu Yu Hakusho, unfortunately. Just the twisted mind that comes up with these plot bunnies.
Notes:The term "Aisai" means "beloved wife." A play on the fact that of the H/K relationship, Hiei is normally considered seme, so the fact that his endearment refers to Kurama as "wife" is a play of that.
Ramblings: Leave a comment at the door, honest opinions intact, yes? And keep an eye out for future chapters and for Enigma to be updated soonish-ly as well.
Blackrose