A/N: After reading all of the really fantastic KB stories this website has to offer, I felt motivated to write and contribute something of my own. I lack the creativity of Yoshihiro Togashi, to whom these characters and timeline belong, but I hope you enjoy my first attempt at a YYH story regardless.

one: circle of error

Three…

The sound of feet padding softly through the thickly carpeted floor of the hallway rang in his ears and he shuddered slightly…

Two…

He glanced down at his hands, their paleness a stark contrast against the black silkiness of his bed sheets.

One.

The door opened seconds after he dropped beneath the sheets, pretending sleep so as to not worry the woman standing in the doorway.

"Oh…you're asleep."

He could sense the smile in her words, just as he could imagine the love shining in her eyes. His fingers fisted together tightly and he realized with shame just how unworthy he was.

The door closed again with a soft click and the lights in the hallway faded to darkness. Moving quietly and swiftly, he locked the door to prevent any future intrusions, and nearly tripped as his foot caught on the edge of something…

His first instinct was to attack. But from beneath the cover of black silk sheets, pale hair tumbled out, the disheveled mess picking up and refracting the soft white light of the moon that trickled in through the slats of his window blinds. Crouching down, he prodded the figure gently, and listened as the person lying at his feet moaned softly, obviously caught between the twin realms of dream and nightmare.

His second instinct was to wonder. And with shaking hands, he picked up the edge of the bed sheet gingerly, so as to not disturb the figure lying beneath. The creature shifted slightly, still moaning, and his sensitive nose was assaulted by the faintly metallic scent of blood. What could have possibly entered his domain without his sensing it?

Finally managing to extricate the bed sheets from the mysterious creature, he stared down at it, his breath catching as the overwhelming need to protect and possess rushed through him in fierce waves.

His last instinct, followed by memories that flooded his mind, left him senseless and surprised that he should feel such a thing, especially now.

"Kurama! Please…we need to talk!"

"Not now, Botan. There's something I need to do."

"Wait! Please…just wait!"

He had been too busy that time to listen. Too caught up with the emotions churning within him. His mother was remarrying. After so many years of living with just him…was she tired of him? Did she regret the years spent with just him? Wasn't he good enough to fill the loneliness in her heart?

Apparently not.

That day, five months ago, Botan had asked—no, she had begged—for a few seconds of his time. Just to talk. But he had been busy, far too busy, to be concerned with another assignment from the toddler Koenma. So he had brushed off her words, never thinking they would be the last words he ever heard from her.

Until tonight.

After all this time, what was she doing here? And why was she on his floor, huddled and bleeding beneath his sheets?

"Botan!" He shook her gently, afraid of causing her further injury, but her only response was a muffled moan. Standing up, Kurama turned on one of the lamps in his room, half-afraid of attracting his mother's attention, half-afraid of what he would find once the lights were turned on.

There was no blood.

How could this be? The air was now so heavily saturated with the scent of blood, Kurama feared he would faint from it. Shaking his head in confusion, he bent down only to be overwhelmed by the scent of a freshly made wound. He shook Botan again, more roughly this time, but could garner no response from her. Realizing that any attempt of waking her was futile, Kurama picked her up as gently as he could and placed her on his bed.

What he saw next was something he would never forget, and he knew instinctually it would be a memory that he could play over and over again in the future, when wishing and reaching for something that would never be. It was the sight of Botan laying on his bed, her deathly pale beauty illuminated by the black silk sheets, and it was almost enough to make his resolve crumble.

And it might have, had Kurama not remembered the wound he suspected her of having.

Kurama inspected the bleeding deity as closely as courtesy would allow but could find no wound whatsoever. Yet, he knew this to be impossible for with his heightened demi-apparition senses he could smell the blood, could almost taste it. And although he was sorely tempted to strip Botan down in order to prove his senses correct, Kurama could not bring himself to violate her in such a way.

Which left only one other option, one he'd rather not exercise, but…

"Koenma." The name was but a whisper but the toddler quickly heard and responded. Kurama smiled thinly. Must be nice, being the Prince of the Dead.

"Yes, Kurama? What can I—Botan?!"

Though the faintly accusatory look in the prince's eyes made Kurama ashamed of himself and of his callous treatment of Botan five months ago, now was not the time to dissect the reasons for his past behavior.

"I'm uncertain as to why Botan is here, bleeding from a wound that I haven't been able to locate, but I thought it best if you knew about her condition."

Kurama's words were left to hang amidst the tension that filled the air. Both Koenma and he were aware of each other's feelings for the bed-ridden maiden and for each other, but as he had reflected earlier, now was not the time.

Koenma sighed. "I'm surprised you haven't yet figured out, Kurama. That's not like you."

Ever since Kurama had first agreed to work for Koenma and his Spirit Detectives, there had never been anything but respect shared between the young prince and he, and yet Kurama couldn't help sensing the resentment that was now emanating forth in waves from the toddler prince.

But why now?

It was a puzzle, to be sure, but one Kurama didn't have the time or desire to solve. He just wanted an answer, now. Yet Koenma's words indicated that he should already know the origins behind Botan's condition and quite possibly, the solution.

"How is it that I can smell her blood but not see it?"

Koenma sighed, pity now replacing the accusation that had once clouded his amber-brown eyes. "We-ell…"

His voice trailed off and with it, Kurama's patience. "Koenma, I would suggest that if you know the answers to my questions, you begin talking. Now."

The little prince refused to look at Kurama, instead staring a hole into the carpet at his feet and twiddling his fingers the way he always did when he was nervous. Finally, after what seemed a human eternity, he looked up at Kurama, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

"Well, you see, Kurama," Koenma paused, taking a moment to lick his lips and clear his throat, "Botan…well, she's…

"Spit it out, Koenma."

"She's dying."