Botan stares at the boy. He looks deep in thought, seated on thin air.

"Kagome made you change your mind?" Botan asks, breaking the silence.

Yusuke's brown eyes dart towards her, a grimace on his youthful face. For a human with such a short life, he really was interesting, and managing to grab her attention despite only having lived fourteen years was no small feat.

The boy shrugs one shoulder. "He made me think about it. I just felt bad, seeing him cry. Anyways, I guess I promised him…"

The two sit in companionable silence, Botan enjoying the small break. It is only a matter of time before her duties call her back to work, and she doesn't mind it spent watching Yusuke sort through everything. The affairs of humans always amuse her. In comparison to most other species she dealt with daily, humans had such short lifespans that they had to stuff all of their experiences into a few decades. A century, if they were lucky enough.

Yusuke hadn't even had two.

Botan hums, then nudges Yusuke gently. "Come on," she says, "I need to take you somewhere."

It made for interesting characters, to be quite honest.

Yusuke's wake is going to be, for lack of better words, heartbreaking. Kagome slips her shoes off at the door next to Keiko's, taking the dazed girl by the elbow and guiding her over to who she assumes to be Yusuke's sister.

"Atsuko," Keiko says haltingly. The woman doesn't seem to see them, but her eyes emptily follow as a teacher from the school- Takenaka, Kagome recalls- bows to her and kneels in front of her brother's altar.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kagome spots the man of honor. She can't really blame him for the curiosity of wanting to see the proceedings. Of wanting to see the After.

Her chest still aches with grief, because he did die. Death or Botan or Koenma, someone still has the fourteen year old boy's life in their hands. Someone still wants Yusuke for something, whether their plans or prophecies or wills dictated it. She knows better than most that the realization will strike him when it's too late.

"What a surprise, Yusuke," Takenaka says. "To have heard that you had saved a child." Takenaka pauses, trying to summon up the right words. The older man trembles with emotion, and although Kagome can't see his face she knows exactly the expression he must be wearing.

Takenaka's tone is heavy as he continues, "But… for some reason, I can't find it in me to praise you for it."

Kagome slings an arm over Keiko's shoulder as the girl weeps, murmuring soft nothings to calm her friend. She hands Keiko off to another one of the girl's friends, in her eyes a quiet warning to watch over her. Kagome's eyes dart up to glance at Yusuke, but his attention is elsewhere.

From the corner of the room where there had been silence comes a low, keening sob. Kagome turns at the sound of Atsuko's whine, padding over to her and kneeling in front of the petite woman. Atsuko's eyes dart to hers, and she whimpers her brother's name mournfully. Carefully, like the woman is made from spun glass, Kagome cradles one of her hands and murmurs to her.

"It'll hurt for a bit," Kagome tells her with quiet honesty. "But it'll get better. If you need anything," She looks for words that sound sincere, but they are a rarity in the face of death. "I am here. I will attempt to do my best to help you through this if you need me, Miss Atsuko."

Atsuko doesn't say anything, but Kagome feels her fingers twitch a bit, and the two grieve in silent solidarity.

Yusuke is silent, but she can't expect the boy to be coherent in the face of his sister's sorrow. Kagome looks up to meet his eyes. "I made a promise to him," she says, maintaining eye contact. "I will take care of you and Miss Keiko."

Yusuke nods once, shaken. Kagome continues to tend to his mother.

The wake stretches into the night.

Keiko is… nice. She's sweet in a way that reminds Kagome of her old self, and she's fiercely protective in a way that makes Kagome immediately fond of her.

Kagome thinks of the time two boys- humans, children, really- began to tease her about not having a family. Keiko had moved before she could, furiously slapping one of the boy's cheeks so hard even Kagome winced.

"You didn't have to do that," Kagome tells her. "I don't listen when people talk about me."

"It isn't right," Keiko says. Her jaw juts out stubbornly. "It isn't right for someone to make fun of someone else's family issues."

It clicks. Ah. So she's done this for Yusuke, too. And since Kagome had registered in school as a boy, Keiko must see something of her friend in her.

"Miss Keiko," she says gently. Her hand, still scarred, still the proud owner of torn knuckles and crooked fingers, comes to rest on the young girl's shoulder. "It's okay to miss him, you know. Urameshi."

Keiko blinks, her eyes suddenly wet. She sniffs, and accepts the handkerchief Kagome offers her.

It's strangely feminine for a boy, Keiko thinks. Her fingers brush along the soft material. She says, "I know it's okay. Everyone else has forgotten that, though."

The cruel whispers of their classmates and teachers ring in their ears. Kagome can feel her hackles rise against the insults, but she stops herself short of baring her teeth.

In the past, she would have whirled around to confront them. In the past, she was not as intimate with loss as she is now, was not as experienced to realize that Keiko and Yusuke's sister needed to grieve- and any fights would only interrupt the process, unnecessary as it was.

Yusuke was coming back, after all.

Still, she files away as many as the faces she can be bothered with.

Keiko cries when they reach his body. Kagome doesn't, because they were acquaintances, and nothing more. But God, one look at his too-young face is all she can stomach and still remain stone-faced.

Enma may have messed with memories, but hers were left untouched. She remembers blank eyes and blood and her mother, backing away in fear. Of her brother, confused and afraid but oh, so bravely standing in front to guard their mother from the violent intruder.

Kagome takes a shuddering breath, and brings herself to the present.

All Kagome can think of is Kuwabara's shattered expression when he found out the news, of Keiko telling them about the wake, about the girl's quiet admittance of grief.

Kagome reaches up to place a loose strand of hair back into place, and gives an exhausted sigh. It's the calm before the storm, she thinks. She focuses on Keiko; the girl deserves that much.

"If I were a gentleman of any sort," Kagome says sheepishly, "I'd allow you to keep it. As it is, it's one thing I have left of my mama."

Keiko's gaze softens, and she traces her thumb over the monogrammed K. "I'll wash it and bring it right back," she quietly vows.

"I know you will," Kagome smiles, and walks Keiko home.