Warnings: None
Cultural Vocabulary: Omiai are meetings in which two eligible people are introduced with the intention of finding a marriage offer. Wagashi are traditional Japanese sweets.
Lucky Child
Chapter 24:
"Just One Dream"
My bed felt like heaven when I got home.
Too bad I didn't get to stay in it for more than an hour.
Felt like Mom came knocking on my door just as I shut my eyes. "You have a friend downstairs, honey," she said through the wooden panel. "He says he needs to talk to you—seems like a sweet boy." She sounded casual. Too casual. "He says he's met your father before?"
Only one person that could be. I emerged like a grumpy butterfly from my cocoon of blankets and called blearily at the door: "Bleached hair, really tall?"
"So tall," Mom said, voice light and glad for reasons I couldn't fathom. "And so polite! He even brought a gift, I think?"
"Huh. That's weird."
"Weird, but so kind!" I could just picture her teasing smile. "You better come down quick, Keiko, or someone else might steal him away!"
Dragging my body out of bed, a monumental feat, took a few minutes. I hadn't slept long enough to have even just one dream, dammit! Eventually I gathered my exhausted self and trudged down the stairs, where I found Kuwabara waiting for me at the ramen counter eating a bowl of pork-toppedramen. I walked into the restaurant just as he took a sip of steaming broth.
"Good, huh?" said my father. He watched Kuwabara approvingly, grinning as Kuwabara's eyes widened and he hurriedly slurped another spoon of broth. "You gotta come visit more often. I'll make you something new next time!"
"Really? Awesome! Because this sure is great!" Kuwabara said with a full mouth.
"Everything made from scratch," my father said with obvious pride. His eyes slid my way, merry and warm. "Isn't that right, Keiko?"
"Of course." I walked to the bar and slid onto a stool next to Kuwabara, who was suddenly coughing and choking on his soup with a beet-red face. "Could I have a snack?"
"Coming right up, sweetheart."
While Dad made me a simple umeboshi onigiri, I swiveled in my seat and smiled at Kuwabara. The boy had recovered enough to clear his throat. He put down his utensils and hunched, not looking at me.
"Um—I'm sorry. This is awkward," he said, eyes on the floor, "but I need help and I think you might be the best person to talk to, if that's OK?"
"Sure. What's up?"
Turns out, Iwamoto was up—up to no good. Kuwabara told me a very familiar story while picking at his ramen, shamefacedly admitting to fighting too much and getting in trouble with the teachers because of it. Ah, so we were at this part of the Yu Yu Hakusho plot. Good to know. I tried to look surprised by his story, rather than please we'd gotten to this part of the story. Didn't want Kuwabara thinking I was glad he was in trouble…
"First they said they'd expel me if I fought any time during the next week," he said, "but then they upped the ante."
I hummed. "How so?"
"I have to pass an exam week after next, too, and not fight until the day I take it."
"Well, that sucks. Half the fights you get in, you don't actually start—right?"
"Right!" He looked relieved, eyes rolling back in his head as he threw up his hands. "I'm the biggest punk at school, with Urameshi out of commission. These vultures're movin' in on his turf, and that means they're movin' in on me!"
"Bastards," I said.
Kuwabara managed to set aside his horror at my cursing long enough to nod in agreement (he didn't like to hear girls curse, a notion of which I intended to disabuse him). Shortly afterward, his expression darkened. His chin jutted in a pout as he stirred his meal with one idle chopstick.
"Thing is, it's not just me I have to worry about," he said. "If I don't pass this test, my buddy Okubo loses his after school job. So this is about more than just me. It's about his family's wellbeing, and it's my honor as his friend on the line."
Much as I wanted to reach out and grab his hand just then, comfort him with a squeeze and a smile, I held back. Too forward. Luckily Kuwabara kept talking, so I didn't stay tempted for long. He lifted an arm, curling his bicep and flexing as he grinned.
"I'm tough, Keiko," he said. "Not fighting is a cinch. I can let myself get punched on for the next two weeks, no problem! Nobody punches like Urameshi. I can't take the pain." And then he slumped once more, wind gone from his sails. "It's the test I'm worried about."
"Oh, really?" I said. "What subject is it?"
The question was more for the sake of formality than anything. I already knew what subject the test was for, of course. He'd have to pass a science test. Since I'd turned him toward science as a kid, there was no way he'd fail. I hid a smile behind my hand. I'd fixed this plot years ago on a playground, and—
"English," Kuwabara said.
…say what!?
Kuwabara cradled his head in his hands, elbows on either side of his food. "I have to pass an English test, Keiko—and that's my worst subject!"
Oh, fuck. Goddammit and fuck. Of course Iwamoto wouldn't pick a test in Kuwabara's favorite (and most likely best) subject. Of course he wouldn't! I'd shot Kuwabara in the foot, trying to help him out. Just my freaking luck!
Not letting my emotions show on my face proved to be a monumental task. I couldn't keep from scowling, although Dad delivering a warm onigiri at least provided some a distraction. I shoved a bite into my face and chewed, thinking hard. Luckily a solution to Kuwabara's problem came quickly.
"Well, Kuwabara," I said once I swallowed, "I guess it's a good thing you've got a great tutor on your side."
His eyes practically went supernova, they lit up so much. "Aw, Keiko—you mean it?! You'll tutor me?"
"Of course I will." Seemed only logical. I got him into this, however indirectly, so it was up to me to help him get out of it. "I'm fluent, after all. Come over every day after school and I'll make sure you pass that test."
"Really?" Kuwabara said. He put his hands on the stool between his thighs, shoulders by his ears, peering up into my face like an earnest little kid. "You'd study with me every day?"
"Sure. I mean what I say." I jerked a thumb at my chest and inclined my head, grinning. "This is about more than just your grades. It's about your wellbeing, and my honor as your friend on the line."
Kuwabara didn't react to my parroted words for a second. But then he blinked, and ducked his head, and below the fringes of his orange hair I saw his ears turn pink. He spun on his stool, turning his back on me while he rummaged for something in his school bag.
When he turned my way again, he held a small gold box of artisanal wagashi in his dinner-plate hands—traditional and expensive Japanese sweets my parents only purchased on Christmas. Kuwabara held this flat on his palms and bowed to me, offering it up as though to a queen.
"I was going to give you these and then ask if you'd tutor me, but you volunteered before I could," he mumbled. His next word sounded canned, but sincere. "Please accept this inadequate gift as a humble token of my deepest thanks."
From out of nowhere, somebody started laughing. I jumped; Kuwabara 'eeped' and sat up, clutching the wagashi to his chest—but it was just my parents, laughing as they stood behind the counter, leaning on each other as they slapped their thighs and roared.
"You are the cutest boy I have ever seen in my life!" my mother howled.
Kuwabara's blush as automatic as it was atomic.
"I have never heard a politer thank-you in all my years on this green earth!" my father added.
"Oh, um—my sister taught me to say that!" Kuwabara said, holding onto the wagashi a little tighter. "She said I owed Keiko a lot for this, and that I should be extra special sure to thank her properly—"
Mom rounded on me, pointing a spatula at my face from over the counter. "Don't you dare let this one slip through your fingers, daughter of mine," she commanded. "This one is polite, and kind, and he clearly comes from a good family."
"Mo-om," I moaned, face in my hands. "Stop it. You're embarrassing Kuwabara!"
The aforementioned boy rubbed the back of his neck, self-conscious—but he didn't agree with me. He wore the dopiest smile on his red face, that softie.
Was I seeing things, or did the big lug-head look happy about my parents' teasing? Because that was a preposterous notion when they were being so utterly embarrassing.
"Yeah, we're not embarrassing him. We're only saying good things—like how about becoming my son-in-law, hmm?" my dad said. He tipped an exaggerated wink. "Think about it, kid! I've taught Keiko how to make all my most delicious recipes!"
I froze.
Kuwabara's spine straightened to full attention. The box of wagashi crackled in his iron grip.
To my horror, he blushed all the harder.
My jaw dropped to the goddamn floor. I rounded on my parents and glared. "Mom! Dad! Behave!"
But it was far too late to stop them. Kuwabara shoved ramen in his crimson face, my parents howled, and none of my protests ("He came here for English tutoring, not an omiai meeting!") could quiet them. Our only reprieve came when customers walked in, forcing my parents to put on their best business faces and cater to our guest.
As soon as they were distracted, I made Kuwabara shovel down the last of his food and follow me upstairs, out of the reach of my parents and their teasing. We sat at the kotatsu in the living room and began the task of assessing his English prowess.
He could barely look me in the eye while we worked, I noticed.
I tried very hard not to think about what that meant. It was time to focus on teaching him.
Kuwabara, much to my chagrin (and to the contrary delight of my inner fangirl), had scored—you guessed it—a mere 7 pointed on his last English test.
Talk about starting from scratch.
We spent that first evening reviewing his old tests so I could get a feel for his current understanding of English as a whole (spoiler: he didn't understand much). Once armed with a starting point, we prepped flashcards and began drilling the alphabet. He knew the letters, thankfully, and some basic words, but his overall vocabulary and his grasp of grammar were abysmal. Passing this test would take remedial study, that's for sure.
I wanted to talk about our plan of educational attack that night, but soon Kuwabara said he needed to get going—something about making it home before dark. He mumbled that part, so I wasn't sure.
"Want me to walk you home?" I said.
"Oh, no." He shook his head emphatically. "Don't want you getting into trouble."
"Think people might pick on you while you can't fight?" I asked. "Because that's even more reason to bring me along."
He looked positively horrified at that prospect. "Nuh-uh, no way! I'd not letting you get hurt on my account!"
"Hey—I'm offering, and remember how I dodged Yusuke that one time?" I raised my fists and gently swung one at his face, stopping short of touching him. "I've gotten good. Bet I could stand up to anyone who might come at ya."
He swatted my hand away. "I'm sure, but the answer's gotta be no. And besides—the no-fight challenge just started. No one knows I can't fight yet. I'll be fine if I can just avoid people!"
Watching him trot off into the fading twilight, I wondered if spoke the truth. I'd accidentally changed what kind of test he'd take. Hopefully the beatdowns he'd suffer wouldn't get tougher like the test had…
I was still thinking about this when I went indoors and nearly smacked into my mom, but she didn't seem to mind the near-miss collision. "Oh, Keiko, honey—I meant to ask," she said. "Those flowers in the laundry room. Are they yours?"
Oh, shit—Kurama's forget-me-nots. I'd gone home and put them down on the first flat surface. No time to put them in water; I'd felt too tired, and napping came first. Hopefully no one had touched the plants. Didn't want my mother getting eaten by a demonic Venus flytrap…
"Yeah, they're mine," I said. "Sorry, let me go get them and—"
"Did Kuwabara give them to you?"
Mom asked the question innocently enough, but the way she'd blurted the inquiry—as if she just couldn't hold it in any longer—gave her away. I rolled my eyes.
"No, they aren't from him," I said.
"Oh." Mom could not hide her disappointment. Apparently she really liked Kuwabara. "If they aren't from him, where did you get them?"
Oh, shit. I'd been too fatigued to come up with a passable excuse. Clearly I couldn't mention I got them from a boy (telling her about Minamino would only invite more teasing). Crap, crap, come up with a lie, Keiko, c'mon—oh. Wait. I didn't have to lie. Mom has asked where I'd gotten them, not from whom I'd gotten them. Hooray for technicalities…
"Um—there's a greenhouse at Meiou," I said, because it was true. "I got them from there."
"Oh. How nice! Meiou has all the best amenities," Mom said. But then her brow knit. "Why did you want flowers, though?"
"They're for Atsuko." The best lies spring from truth, as they say, and Kurama had instructed me to give these flowers to the bereaved. Who was more bereaved than Atsuko? "I heard forget-me-nots are a sleep aid, and last night she was having nightmares, so I thought…"
Mom's eyes softened. "What a lovely gesture, Keiko. I'm sure she'll appreciate them very much." She touched my arm, pride evident in her warm smile. "I have a cute vase you could give Atsuko, too. Why don't you and I bring her dinner tonight, and deliver those flowers while we're at it?"
A certain risk accompanied giving Atsuko the flowers. Any flowers from Kurama I considered suspicious on principle. However, Kurama's story about a bereaved mother had clearly come from a personal place, especially considering his own mother's condition. Now that I'd had a nap and my head felt clearer, I doubted Kurama had laced the flowers with poison or anything similarly dangerous—not when they had the potential to be given to a grieving mother.
And if these flowers would indeed help someone who was grieving…well. Atsuko deserved them far more than I did.
Kurama and his mother complex. Gotta love it.
"Sure thing, Mom," I said. "Let me call her, warn her we're coming.
Atsuko sounded happy, in her own way, when I called. Only took a few minutes to whip up a hot meal, gather my flowers, and walk to Atsuko's apartment. She greeted us at the door in a pair of blue pajamas that came up short on her long limbs, slender wrists and ankles exposed to the chill night air.
I recognized those PJs: they belonged to Yusuke.
"Good evening, Atsuko," Mom said, bowing.
"We come bearing gifts," I added.
"Heh. You're a couple of regular magi." Atsuko stepped back. "Come on in."
Her apartment, cluttered and dark, smelled of cigarettes and cleaning products. A high-pitched beeping from the back bedroom counted off the pulse of Yusuke's heart. Didn't look any different from the day before…aside from a few extra beer bottles by the couch. Oh, Atsuko…
"Heading to bed?" Mom asked with a look at Atsuko's pajamas. "We can drop this off and—"
"No. Stay a while." Atsuko gestured vaguely at the couch. "Sit."
"I'll go put these in water," I said.
Mom and Atsuko sat together on the couch, unwrapping the food on the coffee table while I ducked into the kitchen to put the flowers in Mom's contributed vase. Atsuko and I were friends, yes, but over the years Atsuko had developed a rapport with my mother of a distinctly different tenor. I was much younger than Atsuko, after all, and Atsuko's family had disowned her. I didn't begrudge her time with a mother figure—especially one as lovely and supportive as mine.
Once I finished arranging the forget-me-nots in the vase, I headed back to the living room. Voices floated low and soft through the archway between the rooms; I paused, just barely out of sight, and listened.
"…if he's coming back," Atsuko's smoky voice intoned. "It's just so unbelievable when he never even moves."
"She dreamed he told her he was alive, and his heart was beating," Mom replied, trying to soothe Atsuko's frustration. "We have to remember that."
Atsuko snorted. "Maybe Yusuke lied."
"Yusuke was many things," Mom said. Beneath her perfectly kind, patient tone ran an undercurrent of steel. "A punk, a fighter…but he wasn't cruel. He'd never give false hope to someone he loved. Not when it counted."
"If you say so," said Atsuko.
I peered around the edge of the arch. Though I could only see their knees from this vantage point, I could tell my mother had put an arm around Atsuko's shoulders. Atsuko pulled a leg to her chest, hands tight in the pantleg of her pajamas, and leaned a bit. Probably putting her head on Mom's shoulder, if I had to guess.
My mother's voice came so soft, I barely made out her words.
"I believe he's coming back," she said. "I believe that with all my heart."
A long, wet sniffling sound.
"I just wish he'd come to me, you know?" Atsuko said. Her voice wavered, smoke turned to cracking, pleading cinders. "Just one dream, like Keiko had. I'd feel better after just one dream."
My heart ached when I heard more sniffling, accompanied by a muffled sob. Poor Atsuko. Stupid Yusuke, not visiting her more often! I'd have to chew him out next time he showed up in my head.
"Oh, honey. I know. I know, sweetie," Mom crooned. "I'm so sorry. So sorry. But it's OK. He'll come home soon. Just let it out…"
Atsuko cried. I stood with my back to the wall in the kitchen, hands tight around the vase of flowers. Eventually the couch creaked beneath the weight of them moving apart.
"Thanks," Atsuko said. Though her voice still sounded thick, her crying had ceased. "Thanks for being here, I mean. I don't have anyone else, and…"
"Atsuko—we might not share blood, but we are family," said my mother. I heard the beatific smile in her voice, felt the warmth of her gaze and the cradling kindness of her hand even though I wasn't the one holding it. "We always will be."
I went back into the room after that. The three of us ate dinner together on the sofa. Mom made me tell them all about Meiou to pass the time. I happily provided a distraction from Atsuko's red-rimmed eyes. She ate quietly, watching me from beneath her bangs. Soon a smile twisted her lips; her sly expression reminded me of happier times, before Yusuke's uncertain death.
"So," she said with an exaggerated waggle of eyebrow. "Meet any cute boys at Meiou?"
"No," I said—but for absolutely no reason, the sight of Atsuko's dark hair reminded me of Amagi's, and the arch of my classmate's neck popped unbidden into my head. My cheeks heated. I curled a lock of hair behind my ear. "Nope. Nobody cute. Not yet."
Atsuko stared at me a minute—and then she rolled her eyes. "Liar liar, pants on fire!" she said in a singsong voice.
"What?! No I'm not!"
"Then why you blushin', girl?" She jabbed her chopsticks at me, grin feral and amused. "C'mon. Spill. Who's the boy?"
I waved my hands as if trying to ward off mosquitoes. "Nobody, nobody, sheesh! The no-dating-until-college rule has not been compromised, I swear!"
Atsuko's brow furrowed. She looked at my mom. "Wait…is Keiko's not allowed to date?"
Mom sighed, exasperated. "Oh, no. She's allowed, all right. She just talks like I made the no-dating rule, when she's the one who made it up! And she's the only one enforcing it, too!" She crossed her arms over her chest and mock-glared at me. "You know I wouldn't get mad if you went on a few dates, right? It's only normal for a girl your age!"
"Mom, I just jumped two grades," I said. "Now more than ever, I have to focus on school!"
"Wow," Atsuko said in disbelief. "Wow, seriously, Keiko?" And then she was laughing, clapping my back with an open hand. "Keiko, you're a gigantic nerd!"
Atsuko's familial resemblance to Yusuke had never been more apparent than in that moment. They had the same laugh, the same jaw, the same eyes that glittered with mirth when they made fun of me. Even though this moment of levity came at my expense, I didn't mind. Any indignities to cheer Atsuko up I would gladly suffer.
I bore their teasing for a few minutes more, but soon Atsuko's eyes began to drift. Mom noticed the same time I did and put a hand on Atsuko's knee.
"Bedtime?" she asked.
Atsuko nodded. "Sorry. Let me help clean up—"
"Nonsense. Keiko and I can do it. You just head on to bed, sweetie."
Atsuko's eyes fluttered shut.
"You're good to me," she said. One eye cracked open, wry. "Hell if I actually deserve it."
Mom swatted her arm. "Oh, hush. Of course you do. Now go to bed."
As Atsuko went to her room to sleep, Mom and I performed a brief sweep of the apartment. We collected empty cans and bottles, put clothes in the hamper, and threw out the moldy food in the fridge. As my mother settled in at the sink to wash Atsuko's mountain of dirty dishes, I snuck a peek at Yusuke's room. The nurses kept it clean enough. The boy himself looked fine—no changes since the last time I'd seen him. I gave his monitors the once-over and adjusted his bedding before smoothing his bangs off his forehead.
"You look more like yourself with your hair slicked back," I murmured as I combed back his hair. "You'd probably bite me if you saw me fussing like this, though." Screwing up my face, I pitched my voice high and whiny, an imitation of Yusuke's imitation of me. "Stop being such a nag, Keiko! You're not my mother, Keiko! Buzz off, Keiko!" My chuckle sounded faint, lost amid humming machines and the creeping dark. "Too bad. For once in your life, you can't run away when I fuss over you. Gotta get while the gettin's good, ya little twerp."
I paused a moment. Brushed a hand over Yusuke's cheeks, hollow in the skeletal light of his heart monitor.
"But no matter how fun it is to mess with you while you sleep," I murmured, "this whole situation sucks. So wake up soon. And maybe throw Atsuko a bone in the meantime. Just one dream, OK? She could use some reassurance." I couldn't help but smile. "Not everyone has the same blind faith in you that I have. They're smarter than me in that regard."
I didn't know if Yusuke could hear me. I had no idea if his ghost hovered overhead. But I hoped my words reached him nonetheless.
I left the room. Mom wasn't nearly done with the dishes yet (and the sink was so tiny she shooed me away, rather than ask for my help) so I checked in on Atsuko. The woman had already fallen asleep. Exhausted from the sleepless night before, I had no doubt. I yawned into my arm as I watched her slumber—but my fatigue took a back seat when her head flopped to one side, dark hair fanning across the pillow in a black tumble.
"Yusuke—no!" she said. Her hands fisted tight in the futon comforter. "Come back. Yusuke—"
She thrashed, sweat slicking the grooves in her brow. Pity rose high and hot in my chest. There were few things in life more gut-wrenching than watching a parent mourn a child, even a child who stood a chance of returning to life. Atsuko was the mother in Kurama's fairytale made flesh, restless with grief over the loss of—
Oh. Right.
I left the room and shut the door behind me. Kurama's flowers sat right where I'd left them on the kitchen counter, petals still clamped tight around hidden stamens. When I picked them up, Mom shot me a glance.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
I held the flowers up a little higher. "Sleep aid, remember?"
Mom nodded. "Right. Good idea. Oh, and once you're done with that, I'd like to sort Atsuko's mail. Would you help me?"
"Of course."
Walking down the darkened hallway to Atsuko's room, I offered up a silent plea—to whatever force in the universe, if any, might be listening—that Kurama's flowers did nothing more outlandish than give Atsuko a decent rest. The blossoms' sweet fragrance crowded my nostrils, soothing and mellow as I gently opened the bedroom door, crossed the room, and placed the flowers on Atsuko's bedside table. The scent filled the air with perfume as I left, threading through every breeze in the enclosed bedroom until I could smell mothing but forget-me-not. Crazy, that these buds could produce so much scent. They'd smell super obnoxious once they bloomed…
Nothing noteworthy happened, of course. I watched from the bedroom doorway, but the plants didn't climb up the walls. The forget-me-nots sat motionless in a shaft of moonlight filtering through the curtains: plain and ordinary flowers, not worth undue attention.
Like I said: Kurama rather underwhelmed me in real life. More's the pity.
Mom called my name, then. I helped her sort the mail spread across the kitchen table in silence. When we finished, we folded the clean laundry sitting in the dryer. Not much to do after that. We'd done all the chores we could, so Mom declared it time to go—but then she paused.
"Actually—wait," she said when I shot her a curious look. "I couldn't find Atsuko's purse, but she needs her checkbook to pay bills. Did you see it when you were in her bedroom?"
"No, I didn't. But I wasn't looking for it, so…"
"Drat. Well, I'll go look, see if I see it. Wait here."
Mom trotted off down the hall to Atsuko's bedroom. She returned after about a minute, purse in hand.
"Found it!" she said. She dug through the bag until she found the checks. "Go put these on the table, please."
I did as told. As Mom and I walked to the front door, she took my arm and squeezed, gentle and affirming.
"Before I forget—those flowers of yours appear to have done the trick," she said, smiling. "They smell amazing, and she's sleeping like a baby! We have to bring her more when those die."
Mom said my name when I pulled my arm away and scurried toward Atsuko's room, but I paid her confusion no heed. I pushed open the door, heart in my mouth, and stared—and at first I didn't see anything other than Atsuko lying still and serene on her side in the middle of the futon. But that in and of itself was actually sort of miraculous, so I stood there with my mouth open, in awe of her quiet form, free of nightmares for the first time in the two weeks since Yusuke had died.
Only after I recovered from that joyed shock did I noticed the forget-me-nots.
Their scent wrapped around me like an embrace. They'd bloomed in the last half hour, golden hearts glistening in the moonlight, color rich and deep against the pale blue petals. Their scent had indeed intensified since they'd bloomed, but I'd been wrong to think they'd smell obnoxious. The scent had somehow softened, matured into a relaxing miasma of appealing aroma I tasted on the back of my tongue. I let the aroma lave against my palate as I stared at the flowers, drinking down a scent that was both brand new and achingly familiar all at once.
I almost didn't notice the fine mist of light swarming off the flowers, flowing like a silver river toward Atsuko's bed. Too easy to mistake for moonlight or a trick of a hopeful eye…but I had seen reiki suffuse Hideki-sensei's hands before. I knew what energy looked like, even if my eyes couldn't discern it clearly.
Illumination as fine as bridal lace drifted off the flowers, tangling like a caress in Atsuko's hair. I held my breath, heart pounding in my chest like a boxer's punch, scared one wrong move or one breath too harsh might blow the mist away.
I needn't have worried, though.
The mist curled around her, and Atsuko breathed Yusuke's name.
In her sleep, she smiled.
It was the first real smile I'd seen on her features since the day her son got killed.
My eyes pricked. I scrubbed a hand over my lids, throat catching on a swallow.
Let this be a lesson to never doubt Kurama, I guess. Just like his fairy tale had promised, these flowers had brought respite to a grieving mother. I didn't know what dreams Atsuko's dreamed, but I didn't need to see them to know they were good. And I didn't need any more proof to know Kurama's flowers had caused those dreams.
When I got home that night, the scent of the forget-me-nots clung to my hair and chased me into sleep. I dreamed of Yusuke. We went to our favorite arcade and played together, laughing and snarking and goofing off—a reconstruction of a happy day we'd shared years ago before, in times less complicated, in times far brighter than the ones we lived now. I woke refreshed, the last trace of the flower's aroma fading from perception under the harsh light of brilliant day.
If I'd dreamed a dream like that—hope-igniting and warm—after brief exposure to the flowers, Atsuko's dreams must have been very sweet indeed.
"Hey there, Minamino. Got a minute?"
He looked at me over the top of his book, brow raised above one glimmering green eye. Around us classmates performed their typical pre-class socializing. It wasn't normal for anyone to ask Kurama to participate. A few students looked our way curiously, unused to seeing either of us engage in pre-lesson chatter, but I ignored them. So did Kurama.
"Yukimura," he said, pleasant and polite (and fake) as always in class. "How are you this morning?"
"Fine," I said. I hefted my schoolbag higher, bracing myself for the fallout of the potentially stupid-ass thing I felt I had to do. "I wanted to say thank you."
His lips pursed. "I can't help but notice, this is two expressions of thanks in as many days. Is this becoming a pattern between us?"
"If you keep giving me flowers, then yeah. Maybe."
At that he smiled, eyes bright behind lowered lashes. A demure look. Oh, don't thank me, I'm just a humble human citizen. He wore that look for the benefit of the people around us, not me. He knew I knew about his social masks. If I'd confronted him privately, would he speak more plainly?
On the subject I intended to broach, something told me he'd still keep secrets. His placating expression all but screamed it.
"Ah," Kurama said, ducking his head with humility appropriate for accepting thanks. "Your thanks are unnecessary. I assure you, the flowers were little more than a mere token—"
"We both know the flowers were more than that."
Kurama blinked. He set his book aside, smiling fading in the wake of my firm and quiet words. I met his verdant gaze head on, not deigning to blink or back down even when his brow furrowed. Wheels turned behind his eyes—dangerous, calculating wheels I feared and admired all at once.
"Thank you, Minamino," said in that same calm voice. I bowed long and low and grateful, smiling when I rose and met his eyes again. "The flowers…well. You'll be happy to hear that they had their intended effect."
Kurama paused.
Delicate as razor wire, he repeated: "'Their intended effect?'"
"Yes," I said, trying not to quake at his careful tenor. "And for that, I offer you my deepest gratitude."
Before he could reply, I turned and marched away. Class began before he could chase me down. When class ended, I ran out the door before he could catch me. But I felt his eyes on my back as I skittered down the hall, away from the fox who hunted my scent.
To hell with caution. To hell with not giving myself away. To hell with all of that.
Kurama had brought peace to a woman who had none.
For that I owed him endless thanks, consequences of those thanks be damned.
NOTES
Well. Keiko's politeness might've hurt her just now. We'll see!
I can't get over how nice all of you are to me. I owe you enormous thanks. THANK YOU: Kaiya Azure, Melissa Fairy, FireDancerNix, DiCuoreAllison, Marian, xenocaanan, Lady Hummingbird, Amezialy, DarkDust27, Guest (x2), Just 2 Dream of You, AnimePleasegood, milleniumrain16, Ink Winged, Bruja Chess, Yunrii, SirisDerp, SanguineSky, Miqila, giant salamander, EVA-Saiyajin, and nevvy!
