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.
How odd, Kurama thinks, the human body's penchant for taking sensory input and inexorably tangling it with feelings, memories. People.
He pours his stepbrother a glass of milk and thinks of Kuwabara – the warm, sweet smell reminding him of the gentle smile on the human boy's face as he watches his kitten lap from a shallow dish. Kuwabara, for all his size, has always been so very gentle, and that has always come through his gaze. Eyes are, after all, the windows to the soul - how well Kurama knows that.
At lunch, he bites into an apple and his mother comes to mind – that sickening hopelessness in his gut at the sight of her pale skin against paler sheets. Along with that memory is that of the healthy flush in her cheeks at her wedding, paler than the skin of the fruit cool in his hand, but just as lovely.
He visits the local shrine and the bright red, sweeping gates remind him to pay a visit to Master Genkai – he smiles as he pictures her sitting outside her temple with a cup of tea. She is slight, but powerful - Kurama has never once made the mistake of underestimating her (he has seen, after all, what has become of those who do) - and in her own way, she cares for all those who cross her path. Though, he thinks amusedly, some of them might have a slightly different idea about that.
The nights grow colder and he sits before the fire crackling behind the grate, wondering what has become of Hiei – recalling his fierce and challenging stare, the bitter flare of his temper, the passion and determination that have kept him alive through it all. The little fire-demon burns with an inner fire that Kurama has never seen equaled. The things he has been through have toughened him to the world - yet with the appropriate application of care, that hardened exterior can be gently rubbed away, revealing a heart that gleams like the best of jewels.
And he avoids beaches as best he can, because the sound of the surf – the subdued roar as the waves crash onto the sand – makes his heart ache. He cannot hear it without thinking of Yusuke, of his wicked grin and his unfailing spirit, of his long-awaited return from the Makai. He cannot hear it without remembering the day he lost the Spirit Detective; the day Yusuke made his choice, kept his promise, and returned – only to leave Kurama behind.
It was an outcome he expected, and a wise decision on Yusuke's part. But Kurama knows full well that intellectual understanding does not mean much in the face of human emotion – why else would these everyday things, the inputs of his five senses, nothing at all extraordinary on their own, evoke such powerful feelings? So he accepts the illogical nature of it all, good and bad, and marvels at the beauty of a sunset over the water – at a distance from which he cannot hear the sound of waves.