Warnings: None
Lucky Child
Chapter 17:
"Wouldn't It Be Nice"
Yusuke died before I was ready.
But death never waits till you're prepared.
The day after I discovered I was not alone in this world, all I wanted to do was sleep through lunch.
Eimi—the pig-tailed friend of Keiko's from the anime—gave me a pitying look before I pillowed my head on my school bag. We sat in a knot of desks at the back of the class while other students dragged desks together and ate their midday meals. Yusuke was absent today, not that that came as a surprise. He'd been coming to school less and less lately. Since I hadn't seen him over the weekend, I hadn't been able to guilt him into attending. Too busy with Genkai and Kagome, although Yusuke was probably relieved to get me out of his hair…
"So where exactly did you go, again?" Eimi asked.
"Sleep," I groaned. "I want to go to sleep."
"Oh, c'mon, Keiko," said Michiko. She was, as you might recall, the short, bespectacled friend from the anime. "You look like a zombie. Now give us the details!"
I lifted my chin and set it on the bag, staring at my friends with expression most baleful. How the hell was I supposed to explain the events of the past two days to these two? "Oh hey, girls, I trekked into the mountains to talk to a crotchety old spiritualist in pursuit of psychic powers, and then I stayed up half the night talking to my mother about my savior complex, and then I took aikido lessons from a maniac and met a girl from an anime series that existed in another world I used to call home and stayed up all night again. Isn't that interesting?"
Something told me they wouldn't understand, much less approve of my hobbies.
"Look—I was up late studying two nights in a row, that's all." I put my forehead back on my bag. "It's no big deal."
"Uh-huh. Sure," said Michiko.
"You'd tell us if there was a boy, right?" said Eimi.
I sat up. I glared. The girls were not intimidated.
"Because Yuhata from class C said she saw you in the shopping district last night," Eimi said.
"You'd tell us if there was a boy, right?" said Michiko.
"A boy who isn't Yusuke, we mean," said Eimi.
"He doesn't count," said Michiko.
Oh my god. Were they stalking me? Was the entire school invested in my private life? Could a girl not have some privacy, I ask you?!
"People are starting to talk, Keiko," Eimi said. "You're always with Yusuke, and you turned down that upperclassman…"
I winced. A month ago, a ninth grader had asked me out. The guy hadn't taken it well when I said I wasn't interested in dating. Rumors started spreading shortly thereafter: Keiko is frigid; Keiko is stuck up; and, apparently, Keiko is dating the school's resident delinquent, which was so untrue it was almost funny.
The rumors hadn't persisted, thank the fates. Michiko and Eimi had dispatched them like a pair of Yakuza hitmen. Nobody spread rumors about our friend group on their watch. They just wouldn't stand for it. Friends for life, as they'd say. We have to stick together.
Within our friend group, however, asking about those murdered rumors was fair game.
"People think you and Yusuke are together," said Michiko. She held a finger aloft as she made a solemn decree. "You need to go on at least one date, Keiko, preferably with an upperclassman. People are calling you an old maid, or worse—Yusuke's girlfriend!"
Took every ounce of self-control I possessed to not snark at them. I tamped down the urge and plastered on my most patient, warm, Class-Rep-Keiko Smile. It fit my face like a glove made for a child's hand, but I wore it well. I'd had practice.
"Girls, I know you're worried about me, but I'll be fine," I said, with warmth and patience and firm determination. "You know I'm not interested in dating. Yusuke is no exception, I promise."
"I refuse to believe someone as smart as you doesn't date because of their grades," Eimi said. She crossed her arms. "What's the real reason, hmm?"
"Are you and Yusuke secretly dating, after all?" Michiko asked. "Is that it?"
I cradled my head in my hands. These two never gave up when it came to my love life—not that I could blame them. My excuses for turning down dates weren't very good. 'I worry dating will affect my grades' was only plausible for so long, since my grades never dipped below straight As no matter what I did. And asking them to just lay off wouldn't work. These were teenage girls who cared very much about reputation. Perfectly normal for their age, to obsess over stuff like this.
Too bad it wasn't perfectly normal for mine.
They had no idea I was actually closer to 40 than 14. Dating anyone Keiko's age simply felt too pedophilic for comfort. So, nope. No dates for me, much as it drove my friends crazy.
Luckily they didn't get to interrogate me for long. Soon one of our classmates class asked me to help with her English homework. So much for my nap. I tried my best not to yawn while assisting her with her exercises. Grateful for the distraction, really. At least this kept the questions at bay. Wouldn't it be nice if this distraction lasted forever?
Too bad it didn't. When our classmate walked away, my friends picked up right where they left off.
Or they tried too, anyway. Just as Eimi opened her mouth, someone called my name from the classroom doorway. I looked up—
Oh.
What was he doing here?
Kuwabara stood outside, staring at me from the other side of one of the windows overlooking the hallway. He waved when I caught my eye, broad face alight with an eager smile.
He also had a black eye, bruise green at the edges and purple at the heart. Contrasted magnificently with his carroty hair and cerulean uniform. I was almost impressed. That amount of clashing took talent.
Beside me, Eimi and Michiko gave identical, muffled shrieks.
I lurched to my feet as my heart did a handspring. Eimi and Michiko whisper-screamed after me as I stiffly walked toward the door, asking who is that guy and why is his face all messed up, that's so indecent! I ignored them, stalking out the door as basically every eye in the classroom descended on me.
The hallway was nearly deserted, excepting Kuwabara—everyone eating in classrooms or the cafeteria, I guess. He turned to me when I walked up, but his grin faded a little when he saw my face.
Over his shoulder, I saw Eimi and Michiko. Watching. Whispering behind their hands as they stared.
Pretty sure I'd've been a nervous wreck if I'd been in my old body. Luckily Keiko's skin held firm around my spirit, wearing her best Class Representative Smile with aplomb.
Bless you and your nerves of steel, Keiko. Bless you.
"Hello, Kuwabara-san." I performed a polite, shallow bow. His smile faded into uncertainty. "It's good to see you. How are you doing?"
"Oh. Um. I'm fine?" He pointed at the green and purple halo around his eye. "It's not as bad as it looks, if that's what you mean." A bumbling laugh. "Urameshi's given me a lot worse than this before, that's for sure!"
"I imagine he has," I said. "So how can I help you?"
His smile dimmed further.
"I, uh, thought you might like this," he said—and he took a book from under his arm and thrust it toward me. "It's a 'thank you' for the weekend." The boy rubbed the back of his neck when I took the book, pleased. "Hope that's not weird."
"Not weird at all. And thank you." I bowed again. "I'll return it quickly."
His uncertainty shifted into outright confusion.
"Are…are you OK?" he asked.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," I said, with a beatific smile for good measure. Eimi and Michiko's scrutiny weighed heavy on my shoulders—and then I got an idea. Angling so it wouldn't hurt the object, I let the book slip from my fingers.
"Oops!" I said as it hit the floor. "So sorry!"
Ever the gentleman, Kuwabara stooped to pick up the book. I knelt beside him, ducking below the line of classroom windows.
The second Eimi and Michiko couldn't see me, I dropped my Class-Rep-Keiko act and grabbed Kuwabara's shirt sleeve. He did a cartoonish doubletake between my face and my hand and blurted, "Yukimura!?"
"Hey, um, sorry—just act normal."
"Oh. OK?" Despite his consent, his expression was anything but normal. I'd never seen his narrow eyes so round. "What's wrong?"
"I'll explain later, just not now. After school." I pleaded with both my voice and my eyes, begging him to understand that this was a teenage girl thing and it was stupid and please don't think I'm too weird to be your friend! "Meet me by the back gates after last period?"
"S-sure." Genuine concern softened his stony face. "Really, though. Are you OK?"
"Peachy, just—my friends are nosy." The boy looked utterly mystified. I patted his elbow and tried to look apologetic. "It's dumb. You'll see. I'll explain later."
I plastered my Class-Rep-Keiko Smile back on and stood. Kuwabara followed suit and, with all the wariness of a person trying to feed a snarling dog, handed me the book again. I took it and beamed.
"Sorry for my clumsiness, and thank you very much for the book, Kuwabara-san." I gave him a deeper bow this time. "Please have a nice day!"
Then I turned on my heel and marched back inside.
Kuwabara's voice drifted after me like a misplaced wind.
"Um…you too, Yukimura?"
I didn't dare look back at him through the windows, but I didn't need to. Eimi and Michiko stared at him as he walked away down the hall, heads moving in unison I would've found comical if I wasn't so sure they'd pounce on me as soon as Kuwabara got away.
My predication came true when their heads snapped back to me.
"Who was that?" Eimi demanded.
"Kuwabara," I said as I sat at my desk. I put down the book and picked up my chopsticks, hoping if I began to pointedly eat they'd leave me be.
No such luck.
"What did he want with you?" asked Michiko.
"To thank me.
Eimi said, "What for?"
"Helping him with his homework."
"Right. So why did he have a black eye?" Michiko asked.
"Why does everyone have a black eye around here?" I grumbled. "He ran afoul of Yusuke."
"Is that so."
"Yes."
"And you're sure you're not dating Yusuke?"
I stabbed my chopsticks into my bento. Eimi and Michiko exchanged a look. Then Eimi picked up Kuwabara's book. Her brows lifted.
"Butterflies of South America?" she said.
"Yeah." I lifted a lump of rice to my lips. "You know I enjoy entomology."
The girls looked supremely unconvinced, but they didn't say anything more on the subject...for now. Something told me this wouldn't be the end of it. They'd dig into the rumor mill and confront me with the stuff they learned about Kuwabara before really doubling down on the interrogation.
In their own way, they were trying to protect me. I'm sure I would've appreciated it if I was their age, not a grumpy adult stuck helplessly in middle school.
Class resumed shortly thereafter. When it ended everyone headed for their respective afterschool activities: sports, clubs, and similar. I had duties as the Class Rep to attend to (filing, mostly, which I could do practically in my sleep). Time oozed like molasses, and when I finally got to leave, I all but sprinted to the back gate. Would Kuwabara even be there? I'd been pretty weird to him earlier, so it wouldn't surprise me if—
I couldn't keep from smiling when I saw his copper hair from a distance. He leaned on the gate, chin tucked to his chest as students passed him. Most gave him a wide berth, I noticed, but he didn't acknowledge them aside from a few bold stares to those who looked at him too long.
I was reminded, then, that despite our budding friendship, Kuwabara was still regarded as the second worst punk at this school. No one else thought he was as cuddly as I did.
Kuwabara saw me from the corner of his eye, and lifted a hand in greeting. He didn't smile, which made my heart lurch. I skidded to a stop before him and immediately started babbling. Nerves. Keiko had a steadier constitution than I did, but there were some habits I just couldn't break.
"Wasn't sure if you'd show up!" I said. "Thanks for the book, it looks awesome. Butterflies are cool. And I'm so sorry about earlier. My friends are really weird and they just pry into everything. As soon as you left they started asking who you were, so I played it off because otherwise they'd corner you and ask how you knew me and it would make your social life really, really awkward, trust me. It sucks. Anyway." I held up the book and beamed. "Thanks for this. It looks cool. A few weeks ago I was watching this documentary about Anaea nessus conservation efforts—"
Kuwabara stepped back and lifted a hand, index finger pointing directly at my face.
"There you are!" he declared, like he'd located the lost treasure of Davey Jones. "I knew you were in there somewhere!"
I moved back a step. "What?"
"You're back! It's you." He waved at the school. "Whoever I was talking to at lunch today was a totally different person." Then his face flushed. He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at my shoes. "Oh, uh, sorry. It's just…between out here and in there, it's like two different people. I was wondering where the girl I met last week was."
"Ah." I didn't blame him one bit for feeling confused. I gave him an apologetic smile—but not the kind I'd give to people at school. "Today you got to meet Class Rep Keiko. She's polite, helpful, kind, firm, and a teacher's dream." A shrug. "I can't keep that up all the time, I'm afraid. Too exhausting."
"Oh, I don't mind," said Kuwabara. "I think I like this you better, anyway."
He'd spoken without thinking, if his chipper, innocent expression was anything to go by. I bit the inside of my cheek. Oh, shoot. This was just too good. Sly teasing edged my smile as I sidled up and nudged him in the ribs.
"You like me better, huh?" I said.
"Yeah, I—" He stopped. Thought about it. And then he was blinking and sputtering and the color of a fire engine. "H-hey, don't take that the wrong way! I—"
I slapped his back and nearly doubled over laughing. Kuwabara stared like I'd sprouted antlers. The joke sank in a moment later. His jaw dropped.
"Hey! That wasn't funny!" he said.
"Nah. It was actually pretty hilarious." I wiped away a tear. "Sorry. Couldn't resist. I know what you meant." When his scowl didn't fade, I clapped his shoulder. "But hey—as an apology for subjecting you to the polite stylings of Class Rep Keiko as well as my dumb jokes, how about we get you those albums we talked about the other day?"
The scowl evaporated. "Really? Because I was super mad I walked off without getting them last time!"
"Eh, it's OK. Yusuke practically dragged you." I nodded toward the street. "C'mon. Follow me."
The restaurant wasn't too far from the school. Kuwabara and I maintained a steady stream of chatter, mostly about the book he'd given me and the bands I was about to give him, until we walked up to the restaurant. A few customers were exiting through the front doors, so I tugged on Kuwabara's sleeve and bade him follow me around back.
As soon as we entered the alleyway, I saw my father. He sat on an empty vegetable crate near the fence way at the back, hand clenched around a length of pipe he was using to stir something inside a large plastic bucket. The man looked up when we came around the corner.
"Keiko, honey, welcome home!" he said—and then he spotted Kuwabara. His lips thinned at the sight of the Kuwabara's black eye. "Who's your friend?"
"Dad, this is Kuwabara Kazuma. He's a classmate." I nudged Kuwabara forward. "Kuwabara, this is my father."
Kuwabara 'eeped,' face reddening, and dipped into a 90-degree bow. I hid my laugh behind a hand. This guy would eventually stare demons in the face, but right now he was intimidated by my dad.
"It's nice to meet you, Yukimura-san!" Kuwabara said. "Your daughter is very nice!"
A smile slipped across Dad's mouth. "Isn't she, though?"
"Yes! The nicest!"
If there was any way to get on my father's good side, it was to compliment his only daughter. Even seemed to erase the stigma of a black eye. Dad grinned, stood, and walked over so he could clap Kuwabara on the shoulder. Kuwabara looked uncertain until my dad declared, "Bring your family by the restaurant sometime—any friend of Keiko's eats for free!"
"Oh, uh—that's too kind! I couldn't—"
"Nonsense." At age 14 Kuwabara was already taller than my father. I could see Dad was impressed by this as he looked Kuwabara up and down. "You seem like a strapping fellow. Carry Keiko's books sometime and we'll call it an even trade."
"Oh! Um. Yes sir!"
Although watching Kuwabara bumble around my dad was great fun, I was curious about something. I gestured at the bucket. "What're you working on, Dad?"
Dad trotted back toward the bucket, reached behind the crate he'd been sitting on, and dragged out a large plastic box printed with a colorful picture of a concrete Buddha surrounded by a greenery.
"Making an idol for the new restaurant," he said, showing us the box containing the concrete mold. "We're opening a second location next week. New place won't feel like a real restaurant until I pour up a new patron!"
Dad was more concerned with decorating the new restaurant than my mother, funnily enough. Here he went again with more décor. Mom would shake her head and sigh when she found out he planned on adding something else to the new place. We'd been prepping it for months and were just a few days from the grand opening. Seems Dad had forgotten one final touch.
I glanced at the Buddha sitting near the back door, the one that had watched over me all my life. That one sported a mild, serene smile, but this new idol grinned so hard, his cheeks threatened to come detached from his face.
"He's certainly a happy Buddha," I said.
"Buddha?" Dad said, blinking at me in surprise. He tapped the idol on the box. "That's not the Buddha!"
"It's not?"
Dad rolled his eyes. "I didn't read you enough fairy tales as a kid. This is Ebisu—god of fortune and food." He winked. "Perfect god for a ramen shop, don't you think?"
Kuwabara put his hand to his chin and leaned toward the box. Then he pointed at the figure's hands, and the object held within them.
"Why's he carrying a fishing pole if he's the god of fortune and food?" Kuwabara asked.
"Um…good question." Dad laughed, head throwing back. "Looks like I didn't read enough fairy tales, either!"
I giggled. "Nice going, Dad!"
He shooed us inside shortly thereafter, saying we should go study (I guess he assumed that's why Kuwabara was here—I got the feeling that if I'd been so inclined, sneaking a boyfriend or girlfriend into the house would be easy if it was just Dad at home). I showed Kuwabara through the back door, where we removed our shoes before climbing the stairs to the second floor. My bedroom was at the end of the hall. He walked behind me until I opened the door and stepped over the threshold, but as soon as I did I heard him let out a little strangled sound of consternation.
"What?" I said, turning to look at him.
He stood with toes on the threshold, staring into the room with mouth agape. His mouth slammed shut when our eyes met.
"What's wrong?" I said.
"Is it—is it OK for me to be in here?" Kuwabara's voice had climbed at least two octaves. "I mean, is it OK—"
"It's a girl's room, not a minefield," I said. There he went being all needlessly chivalrous again. "Come on in."
When he remained unmoved, I grabbed him by the sleeve and tugged him forward.
"Relax," I chided. "Seriously. It's fine. Nothing will bite you."
After a moment's hesitation, he gingerly sat down at my desk, hands folded carefully on his lap. I suppressed a laugh at his prim posture. Ever the gentleman, despite that carved-from-granite face and tough-guy attitude.
I walked to the foot of my bed, where a short set of shelves houses my collection of CDs and vinyl records. The record player on top of the shelves gleamed with polished brass accents—super retro and awesome-looking. Played music like a dream. Kuwabara let out a low whistle when I lifted the lid.
"That's a nice rig," he said.
"Thanks. It was a birthday present." I knelt and dragged a finger down the spines of my records, arranged neatly by band name. "OK, so what did I say I'd pull?"
"Buddhist heaven," said Kuwabara.
"Nirvana, right." I pulled out their latest and set the record in the player. "And if you're going to listen to In Bloom, you've gotta try—"
As music filled the air, I walked my fingers over my collection and pulled out a few choice records. I described each of them aloud, listing genre and influences, and Kuwabara returned the favor by recommending bands with similar sounds. Soon I found myself with my back to my record collection so I could look at Kuwabara while we talked. He had the most interesting mannerisms, characterized by wild gesticulation and exaggerated facial expressions. I found it hard to do more than just let my favorite anime character wax poetic about his favorite bands. He got especially animated when he talked about Megallica, and about the concert they were supposed to play in town early next year.
"I really, really want tickets," he told me, jaw jutting dangerously close to a pout. "Don't think I'll get to go, though. Dad says I can only go if I start getting better grades." He huffed. "Fat chance of that."
"What are your grades like, anyway?" I asked. Please tell me he scored better than a 7 on most tests.
"I'm good at science and I'm not bad at math," Kuwabara said, eyes drifting away from mine, "but literature and history aren't my best, and man, English is tough. I think I'd be OK with literature and history if I studied, but English…"
"Well if you need help with that, English is my best subject."
His voice pitched high again. "Really?"
"Yes," I said in Japanese—and then I switched over to English, letting my American accent run amok. "Truthfully, I'm actually fluent because I grew up in America. I'm a 40 year old woman from another reality trapped in the body of a middle school anime character. It's confusing and weird but hey, at least I can ace English class without trying."
Kuwabara's eyes opened wider and wider with every word. When I finished, he looked almost awed.
"Wow," he breathed. "You're pretty much fluent, aren't you?"
"Yeah. She is. Keiko likes to show off."
Kuwabara and I flinched at the sound of this new voice, but it was only Yusuke leaning against my doorframe, hands jammed deep into the pockets of his jeans. I slumped, relieved it was him and not someone fluent in my native language, Kuwabara lurched to his feet.
"Urameshi?!" he yelped.
Yusuke lifted one lazy hand, the very portrait of does-not-give-a-damn.
"When did you get here?" I asked from my spot on the floor.
"Why?" Yusuke slunk inside and sat on my bed, leaning nonchalantly against the headboard. "Afraid I saw something I shouldn't?"
My eyes rolled of their own accord. "Ha ha, Yusuke. Very funny."
"Yusuke, what—what are you doing in Keiko's room?"
Yusuke's lips pursed. He looked Kuwabara up and down, slowly assessing the other boy, sizing him up inch by inch—and then he shrugged. Kuwabara scowled.
"Why do you wanna know?" Yusuke said. "Somebody's nosy."
"It's not nice to just barge into a girl's room whenever you want," Kuwabara said. He shot me an apologetic look before leaning toward Yusuke and dramatically whispering, "What if she'd been changing? Huh? What then?"
Yusuke scoffed. "Oh, please. Like I haven't seen that before."
Kuwabara let out a startled "What?!" of shock and horrified surprised. I cursed. I reached out a toe and nudged Kuwabara's calf. He looked down, and the second our eyes met he looked away again, cheeks and ears turning bright pink.
"Yusuke doesn't know how to knock," I explained, glaring at the boy in question. "Asshole skipped that day of kindergarten. It was the same day they taught us basic human decency. He missed both lessons, as you can see."
"Aw, shut up," Yusuke snapped.
"That's not a nice thing to say, Urameshi," Kuwabara said. "Be nice to Keiko!"
"Who died and made you the authority on being nice to Keiko?"
"Nobody, because nobody had to." Kuwabara preened. "I'm better at being nice to her than you are!"
Yusuke sat up and glared. "You only just met her three days ago, asshole!"
I said, "You guys know I can hear you, right?", but neither of them reacted. Great. So I was furniture, then.
"Yeah, I might've just met her, but I'm already nicer to her than you are," Kuwabara said. "So why don't you shut up and—"
Yusuke shot to his feet. "Gimme a break! What are you, some kind of knight in shining armor swooping into save—?"
Kuwabara loomed over Yusuke, glaring at the shorter boy like he was a bug. "Keiko doesn't need saving, like she said last time! I'm just—"
"You're just what, trying to prove you're some white knight so she'll date you?" Yusuke said—and Kuwabara's face turned an alarming shade of scarlet. He pulled away from Yusuke, dinner-plate hands waving in awkward dismissal.
"What?! No! Keiko and I are just friends!"
"Really?" Yusuke said, arms crossing over his chest. "If that's the truth, then why are you calling her by her first name?"
I blinked at that. Kuwabara sputtered. I hadn't noticed Kuwabara had started calling me by my given name instead of my family name…but Yusuke had? Normally I was the observant one…
"Did you even ask her if you were allowed to do that?" Yusuke said, taking advantage of the awkward silence. "Even I know Miss Manners would say calling a girl by her first name is disrespectful. Wanna rethink that white knight status? Huh?"
"Well, no, I just—" He turned to me, eyes downcast. "Sorry, Yukimura, I should've asked—wait. What are you doing?"
While they were distracted, I'd stood up and walked toward the door. The pair of them had been too wrapped up in insulting each other to notice. Grabbing my purse from a peg by the door, I looked over my shoulder at them and shrugged.
"I'm getting out of here," I said.
"What?" Yusuke said.
"Why?" said Kuwabara.
"Well, since the two of you are apparently about to make out with each other, I thought I'd be nice and give you some privacy." I turned my back and marched out the door with a chipper, "Bye, lovebirds!"
I was halfway down the stairs by the time they finished processing what I'd said. I knew they'd finished processing because I heard twin, horrified yodels cut the air behind me. Smirking, I hit the bottom of the stairs and turned around. Soon footsteps pounded the floor and the boys appeared at the top of the stairs, pushing and shoving as each tried to get down the steps first. An elbow to Kuwabara's face declared Yusuke the winner—but then Kuwabara lost his balance, and the dingbats fell down the steps in a tangle of limbs.
I regarded the moaning mound of teenage boy at my feet a moment.
"Wow, full-on cuddling," I deadpanned. "I didn't know you two were so attached."
They immediately squawked and pulled apart. I threw back my head and laugh.
"That's not funny, Keiko!" Yusuke said, scrambling to his feet.
"Yeah, you shouldn't make jokes like that!" Kuwabara said.
"Nothing wrong with being gay," I said. "And now look. The two of you just agreed on something!"
Yusuke and Kuwabara exchanged a look of horror, then as one shoved their hands in their pockets and slouched, scowling with their backs to each other. I laughed again.
"C'mon," I said. "Let's get out of here."
They followed me in sullen silence to a nearby karaoke joint, where we rented a small booth and spent the next few hours screaming Megallica songs in each other's ears. Kuwabara and Yusuke fought for the microphone more often than not, until Yusuke stole another mic from the booth next door so they could have a proper battle. Turns out Yusuke was tone deaf, and Kuwabara had a voice like a personified boulder. Keiko's crystalline soprano floated above their deeper tones like a bird riding the fringes of a gale.
Watching the two of them fight for the mic, and steal food from each other when we ordered chicken wings, I found myself wondering if Yusuke and Kuwabara could've been friends sooner in life. Seemed like they were having fun, despite the insults and punches and glares. Yusuke had been getting moodier and moodier as of late. This was the first time I'd seen him smile so much in months.
"Wouldn't it be nice, if this could last forever," I said during a lull between songs.
Kuwabara looked curious. Yusuke scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
"Oh—nothing." I curled a lock of hair behind my ear—and suddenly I felt shy, like I was looking at Yusuke and Kuwabara for the first time, and we didn't know each other, and I didn't love the two of them more than I could say. "Just that I'm having a good time. Middle school will be over soon. We have to make nights like this last."
Yusuke snorted and called me a sap. Kuwabara nodded, earnestly, but I wasn't sure he actually understood just how much I wanted this moment of light in a dark karaoke booth to last forever.
Too bad 'forever' just isn't meant to be.
Two weeks later, Yusuke died—and everything changed, completely.
NOTES
Calling someone by their first name in Japan is fairly intimate, and people generally ask permission first. Cultural tidbit.
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