Us
A Yu Yu Hakusho fic
Chapter 1: Speechless
Why did it seem different?
During dinner I could see something was bothering him, but I wasn't sure what.
I could find out that answer readily enough, and I had a pretty good guess at what it was
too, but I bide my time. He would tell me sooner or later, and I didn't want to push him.
It was probably just an early calling from Mukuro to go back soon to Makai because something
had happened there. This troubled me a little, because he wouldn't have been so agitated
on such a little thing; in fact, he would've just ignored the call and say his full two
weeks here. That is, unless it was something very threatening to Mukuro's territory of
land. Then he would be practically dragged back there to fight and get scars and Inari
knows what other trouble he would get into. I smiled at the thought of the word 'trouble';
there was trouble that followed the Urameshi Team wherever they went. We hid, Trouble
sought, and found. There was no hiding. But it looked serious this time, and it also
looked like I wouldn't be seeing him here for much longer. He only came around a few times
a year, and in those times I was determined to make the best of them. I tried to please him
(he's very, very hard to please), but even when I did absolutely nothing and stare into
those eyes that x-rayed through me, seeming to read my very thoughts I could feel a tinge of
content in his ki, and I was happy. I was always happy if he was. Trying so hard to make
him completely happy was hard, but when it seemed I couldn't think of anything, he would
just take me aside and look at me, just look at me, and his gaze would seem to soften.
Whether this was just my imagination or not I was not quite sure, but he convinced me that
it was real that night (*snickers*). Some months back he touched my shoulder lightly and
then we seemed to see each other as we never did before. My eyes welled up with tears when
I saw that feeling in his eyes, mirroring back at me, so pure as I never knew he could be.
Every meal prepared, every walk we shared, every coin and dollar saved and spent it was
worth it all if it was for him. I loved him and that was it. Plain and simple as that.
He was worried now, his eyebrows frowning a little as if he just thought of an
unpleasant thought. At this I felt I had enough of this hiding thing and put down my
chopsticks with a slight, but firm 'clink' perpendicular to the bowl, thus signaling I
wanted to talk. When he didn't look up, I knew he was listening, so I went on ahead and
opened my mouth and started to clear my throat when he looked at me with those brilliant
eyes. And I was startled, frightened by that foreign look in his eyes, and for a moment my
guard was down and scattered and broken on the ground as his eyes seemed to fasten on and
zoom in on me like a camera lens, as if I was his next target to kill. The hostility that
seemed to block all escape from me seemed to tie me up and beat me as I tried to turn away,
but found I couldn't, I was so shocked. The air around seemed just to freeze, and though my
mouth was open and ready to speak, no words came out, and I'm sure that if there had been
words, they would've been gibberish, nonsense. Then it kicked in that I could do something
about it, and over my face the guard fell again, and again I cleared my throat.
And he looked away, and that aura of tense feeling disappeared, vanished. As I
cleaned up plates and chopsticks and ran the damp cloth over the surface of the table to
wash it, I could feel his eyes, his gaze hot on my back, and it made me giddy and nervous.
There was something wrong, terribly wrong now, and it had to do with me. All thought of
'Mukuro' were erased from my mind, and instead I was thinking, thinking hard of what I might
have done wrong these last few visits. Had I done anything in the last few days? I had
gone along with anything he said (although he usually had no opinion for 'ningen'
activities), taken to eat the 'sweet ice' that he loved, taken him to a festival and just
generally spent time with him. There was nothing wrong with that, right?
Right?
Absently I turned the sink faucets full on the hot, half on left, and pushed up my
sleeves. I emptied just enough dishwasher soap into the sink and carefully dipped my hands
into it, wincing slightly as it burned a little. I adjusted the cold faucet a notch more,
and then dipped my hands in. Taking a plate from the rack, I felt him approach, and knew he
was coming to tell me now what was wrong. I was afraid now, just a bit, because I knew
this couldn't be something small and trivial. So I did what I usually did when I was
washing the dishes or feeling scared. I talked, and out of my mouth came the ridiculous
story a few days ago about Yuusuke's failed attempt at cooking for a sick Keiko. In the
very end, part of the kitchen wall blew up and gave way to nature, all sorts of animals of
all shapes and sizes, inviting them to open the refrigerator and grab something to eat. It
was disastrous, and Yuusuke was given more than enough slaps to last him a lifetime from his
furious wife. I described in detail, half-listening to my murmur, half-wondering. My
hands did the dishes automatically; I didn't worry about the dishes, only about what he had
to say. I could feel a bit of puzzlement, and I realized he didn't know I was listening or
being serious in my words or if I really couldn't hear him over the clink and clatter of
dishes. I chattered on, the sink almost overflowing with bubbles, and I let the drain out a
little, all the time talking about Yuusuke and Keiko. Unwitting the subject turned to the
newly-weds' unborn little girl, but I wasn't listening to what I was saying at this point,
and I could tell that neither was he. He had seen through it, and now I braced myself for
his words, whatever it maybe.
"Kurama", he said softly, his voice almost unheard over the dishes, soft and
apologic. "It's over."
The heavy plate currently in my hand slipped, fell through the water, bubbles rising
from the flip side of the dish, and promptly shattered against the bottom of the sink.
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
Author's note:
Well, this isn't my first attempt at YYH fanfiction, but this IS the first one I
deem worthy enough to put online. Please enjoy. This is a songfic, but lyrics come in the
next chapter. I didn't originally plan the first chapter to be this long; I was just going
to write about the dishes part, but I then I thought, "What the heck? Add the dinner in
there too!" and so I did. But I hope you like it so far.
Andrea Weiling
A Yu Yu Hakusho fic
Chapter 1: Speechless
Why did it seem different?
During dinner I could see something was bothering him, but I wasn't sure what.
I could find out that answer readily enough, and I had a pretty good guess at what it was
too, but I bide my time. He would tell me sooner or later, and I didn't want to push him.
It was probably just an early calling from Mukuro to go back soon to Makai because something
had happened there. This troubled me a little, because he wouldn't have been so agitated
on such a little thing; in fact, he would've just ignored the call and say his full two
weeks here. That is, unless it was something very threatening to Mukuro's territory of
land. Then he would be practically dragged back there to fight and get scars and Inari
knows what other trouble he would get into. I smiled at the thought of the word 'trouble';
there was trouble that followed the Urameshi Team wherever they went. We hid, Trouble
sought, and found. There was no hiding. But it looked serious this time, and it also
looked like I wouldn't be seeing him here for much longer. He only came around a few times
a year, and in those times I was determined to make the best of them. I tried to please him
(he's very, very hard to please), but even when I did absolutely nothing and stare into
those eyes that x-rayed through me, seeming to read my very thoughts I could feel a tinge of
content in his ki, and I was happy. I was always happy if he was. Trying so hard to make
him completely happy was hard, but when it seemed I couldn't think of anything, he would
just take me aside and look at me, just look at me, and his gaze would seem to soften.
Whether this was just my imagination or not I was not quite sure, but he convinced me that
it was real that night (*snickers*). Some months back he touched my shoulder lightly and
then we seemed to see each other as we never did before. My eyes welled up with tears when
I saw that feeling in his eyes, mirroring back at me, so pure as I never knew he could be.
Every meal prepared, every walk we shared, every coin and dollar saved and spent it was
worth it all if it was for him. I loved him and that was it. Plain and simple as that.
He was worried now, his eyebrows frowning a little as if he just thought of an
unpleasant thought. At this I felt I had enough of this hiding thing and put down my
chopsticks with a slight, but firm 'clink' perpendicular to the bowl, thus signaling I
wanted to talk. When he didn't look up, I knew he was listening, so I went on ahead and
opened my mouth and started to clear my throat when he looked at me with those brilliant
eyes. And I was startled, frightened by that foreign look in his eyes, and for a moment my
guard was down and scattered and broken on the ground as his eyes seemed to fasten on and
zoom in on me like a camera lens, as if I was his next target to kill. The hostility that
seemed to block all escape from me seemed to tie me up and beat me as I tried to turn away,
but found I couldn't, I was so shocked. The air around seemed just to freeze, and though my
mouth was open and ready to speak, no words came out, and I'm sure that if there had been
words, they would've been gibberish, nonsense. Then it kicked in that I could do something
about it, and over my face the guard fell again, and again I cleared my throat.
And he looked away, and that aura of tense feeling disappeared, vanished. As I
cleaned up plates and chopsticks and ran the damp cloth over the surface of the table to
wash it, I could feel his eyes, his gaze hot on my back, and it made me giddy and nervous.
There was something wrong, terribly wrong now, and it had to do with me. All thought of
'Mukuro' were erased from my mind, and instead I was thinking, thinking hard of what I might
have done wrong these last few visits. Had I done anything in the last few days? I had
gone along with anything he said (although he usually had no opinion for 'ningen'
activities), taken to eat the 'sweet ice' that he loved, taken him to a festival and just
generally spent time with him. There was nothing wrong with that, right?
Right?
Absently I turned the sink faucets full on the hot, half on left, and pushed up my
sleeves. I emptied just enough dishwasher soap into the sink and carefully dipped my hands
into it, wincing slightly as it burned a little. I adjusted the cold faucet a notch more,
and then dipped my hands in. Taking a plate from the rack, I felt him approach, and knew he
was coming to tell me now what was wrong. I was afraid now, just a bit, because I knew
this couldn't be something small and trivial. So I did what I usually did when I was
washing the dishes or feeling scared. I talked, and out of my mouth came the ridiculous
story a few days ago about Yuusuke's failed attempt at cooking for a sick Keiko. In the
very end, part of the kitchen wall blew up and gave way to nature, all sorts of animals of
all shapes and sizes, inviting them to open the refrigerator and grab something to eat. It
was disastrous, and Yuusuke was given more than enough slaps to last him a lifetime from his
furious wife. I described in detail, half-listening to my murmur, half-wondering. My
hands did the dishes automatically; I didn't worry about the dishes, only about what he had
to say. I could feel a bit of puzzlement, and I realized he didn't know I was listening or
being serious in my words or if I really couldn't hear him over the clink and clatter of
dishes. I chattered on, the sink almost overflowing with bubbles, and I let the drain out a
little, all the time talking about Yuusuke and Keiko. Unwitting the subject turned to the
newly-weds' unborn little girl, but I wasn't listening to what I was saying at this point,
and I could tell that neither was he. He had seen through it, and now I braced myself for
his words, whatever it maybe.
"Kurama", he said softly, his voice almost unheard over the dishes, soft and
apologic. "It's over."
The heavy plate currently in my hand slipped, fell through the water, bubbles rising
from the flip side of the dish, and promptly shattered against the bottom of the sink.
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
Author's note:
Well, this isn't my first attempt at YYH fanfiction, but this IS the first one I
deem worthy enough to put online. Please enjoy. This is a songfic, but lyrics come in the
next chapter. I didn't originally plan the first chapter to be this long; I was just going
to write about the dishes part, but I then I thought, "What the heck? Add the dinner in
there too!" and so I did. But I hope you like it so far.
Andrea Weiling