Warnings: Bullying, a little blood + tooth trauma in the first section.


Lucky Child

Chapter 29:

"Only Human"


Dr Pepper was the drink of choice for us fourth graders.

They didn't serve it in the cafeteria. We ran around the back of the gym when teachers weren't looking and bought bottles from a vending machine. Usually took a team of kids to pull it off: one to keep watch, another to distract the teachers, the last to make the soda run. My classmates would spend recess pulling this scheme, then surreptitiously sip their ill-gotten gains beneath the jungle gym. Those bottles looked like war badges—testament to bravery, status, popularity.

Unluckily, I didn't have any friends to team up with. I asked my mother to buy Dr Pepper so I could bring it to school. She said no, because it would rot my teeth (my baby teeth, I argued, but it was no use). I was doomed to a Dr Pepper-free existence. I spent recess reading at a picnic table, hot Texas sun gleaming off the pages until my eyes smarted, watching as the other kids worked together to earn their prize.

When Ashley—popular, daughter of our teacher—asked me to be the runner in a Dr Pepper grab, I leapt at the chance.

It wasn't often I was asked to play with others, let alone someone like Ashley.

I was the runner. Ashley fell down and pretended to cry, and when the teachers ran to her, accomplice Christina gave me a nod. I sprinted around the side of the gym like a demon chased me, then fed coins into the vending machine with sweaty fingers. I hid the bottles under my shirt, cold condensation slicking my belly, and waited until Christina started singing a Backstreet Boys song. The signal to sneak back. Perfect.

I brought the bottles to them behind the jungle gym. Christina and Ashley each took one and crowed their delight. I opened my own bottle, careful to tap down the carbonation before twisting the cap. I started to drink, smiling, because I was about to enjoy the soda with two girls who maybe, just maybe, might be my friends after all—

Ashley waited until I put the bottle to my lips before striking. She lifted her hand and slapped the bottom of the bottle like she was spiking a volleyball. I wrenched back, pain firing across my face as Dr Pepper cascaded down my shirtfront.

I tasted blood and soda.

The girls ran off laughing.

Stunned, I reached up.

My front tooth fell apart between my fingers, shards of bone mixed with bright red blood and brown Dr Pepper.

That night, my mother asked how I'd lost my front tooth. She's been wondering when it would fall out. I was late to lose my baby teeth.

"Ashley hit me," I told her.

"Don't say such awful things," my mother scolded.

Ashley's mother was her friend.

I lost three teeth to Ashley's "game". She lurked around corners for the next six months and slapped any drink that neared my mouth. Eventually I stopped drinking at school altogether. My mother watched me guzzle juice and water after school with a smile

She mused over the rate at which I was losing my baby teeth.

I said nothing, to no one—and when I finally smashed Ashley's drink in her face, a desperate attempt to get her to stop, I was suspended from school for a week.

When I came back, Ashley stopped smashing things into my teeth.

She cut my ponytail off with a pair of scissors, instead. But no one saw her do it.


"Bitch."

"Tramp."

"Skank."

Before the start of our last class of the day, I discovered more graffiti on my desk. Junko appeared beside me just as I started to rub the words from my desk with a wet paper towel. I tried to cover the ballpoint writing, but she grabbed my wrist before I could blot the insults from existence. She stared at the words. Read them aloud, one by one. Her brow furrowed above her perfect mascara and precise eyeliner.

"Naoko," she said, as though the name alone explained it all.

"It's fine," I said.

"You call that 'fine'?" She shook her head, ponytail flying. "You didn't even do anything wrong. What a drama queen."

I made sure not to look toward the front of the class, where two girls sniggered in our direction behind their hands. "It'll die down in a day or two, once they get bored."

Junko raised a brow. "You sure about that?"

I wasn't sure. But I wasn't about to admit as much to Junko. I pasted on a cheery smile and made an excuse: flippant, dismissive, and breezy. Then I changed the subject. "We're on for tomorrow night, by the way. My mom said she'd help out. I'll have a friend there for a tutoring session but he shouldn't get in the way."

My ploy worked. Her eyes brightened, concern for my wellbeing forgotten for just a moment.

"Oh, good," she said. "The girls are looking forward to it. Actually—"

She shut up when Minamino entered in the room. Junko, like most of the fangirls, had an uncanny Minamino-sense. We exchanged a knowing nod before she walked off for her desk. I began scrubbing at mine in earnest. Didn't want to spend class staring at graffiti.

Apparently Minamino didn't want me to, either. A pale hand holding a tissue joined mine in scrubbing. When I looked up, Minamino wore a tight frown. For a second I wondered if he was going to interrogate me about my lunchtime puns again—but no.

"Who did this?" he murmured.

I ducked my chin. "Doesn't matter."

"I disagree." His hair swept across his jaw when he inclined his head like an imperious king. "Although I trust you to take care of yourself, I warn you, I will intervene if I sense the situation drifting out of hand."

He spoke with calm assurance—assurance that surprised me. We'd been sitting together at lunch, sure. And I'd been giving him tidbits of intrigue to chew on pretty much since we met, yeah. But that statement, it seemed almost like…friendship, I guess? Like he was watching out for me. But we weren't close enough for that, were we?

"Sorry to be blunt, but what do you care?"

The words just sort of slipped out, but I didn't mind. Kurama hummed, frown edging a hair closer to a smile.

"I confess I've found my lunch hour…interesting, as of late," he said. "Would be shame if that came to an end so soon."

'Interesting.'

Was this a veiled way of acknowledging, despite his earlier apology, that he suspected me of knowing too much? Or was he merely saying he enjoyed eating lunch with company?

I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I just smiled at him, and watched as under our hands the foul words on my desk disappeared.


Kuwabara sensed something was wrong the minute we sat down to study that night. "OK Keiko, I know you too well to miss that look in your eye. Spill! What the heck's buggin' ya?"

He slurped down a bowl of ramen as I explained, in halting terms, what had transpired at the school that morning. Guy practically choked when I told him about the punks and Naoko's revenge.

"Aw, man—I knew something bad was gonna come of all this!" he yelped. "Darn it, Keiko, this is why I didn't want you getting involved! Street punks might be jerks, but they've got codes. Somebody beats you in a fight, you owe them, or work for them, or whatever."

"And now they want me to be the boss of their gang. What an anime cliché." I ran a hand over my hair and cursed. "Honestly, they're the least of my worries. I can take being followed by them. I'll just kick their asses again if they get weird. It's Naoko I'm worried about."

"I mean, couldn't you just kick her ass, too?" Kuwabara said. I could tell he was trying to be helpful. "That's the best way to deal with bullies. Show them you won't stand for their crap, they back down."

He was right, in a way, but his solution wasn't that simple. Fight back, things could escalate, and I could get in trouble. It wasn't as simple as throwing one punch and expecting the problem to disappear—especially when I had Keiko's reputation to worry about.

Not to mention I'd suffered worse than a defaced desk in my past life. This was nothing. I'd withstood bullying far more dangerous for years. I could handle this. And I could do it without jeopardizing my record.

"The thing is, I just got kicked out of my old school for fighting," I said. Kuwabara grimaced. "And I learned today that people at my school know I was friends with Yusuke. They expected me to be as bad a punk as him when I joined Meiou."

Kuwabara's eyes widened. "Gosh, really?"

"Yeah. So if I beat up Naoko, I'm playing into that reputation. And Meiou might kick me out if they think I'm dangerous." I sighed dramatically. "Naoko isn't stupid enough to pull pranks on me and leave evidence. I can't report her to the school without proof. Waiting it out might be my only option."

Kuwabara hummed. He leaned back in his seat, put down his chopsticks, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I hate that you got caught up in this," he said. His dark eyes narrowed, all traces of my loveable goofball friend vanishing under the weight of concern. "I have half a mind to march down there and put an end to it, myself."

"I thought it was against your code to pick on girls," I teased, but Kuwabara didn't lighten up.

"It's not," he said, "but for you, I'd make an exception." He leaned forward, jaw jutting, eyes intent on my face. "The minute things get bad, you call me. Ya hear that? If I've gotta walk ya to and from school for a year to keep those guys away, I'll do it."

I believed him. I touched his hand and smiled my thanks. He turned bright red, of course, and looked away muttering about his duty as a man to protect his friends. Seemed glad when I changed the subject and we started studying for his English test. He only had a few more days to go, and we needed to make the most of these cram sessions. Couldn't risk Okubo losing his job. Another thing Kuwabara's honor dictated he mustn't allow to occur. Kuwabara had vowed to put the drama with Iwamoto to bed, and gosh darn it, he'd do it no matter what!

I just hoped that by the time the test rolled around, I'd have found a way to put my own drama to bed, too.


The smell had leaked into the courtyard. I knew even before opening my locker that Naoko had done something to my indoor shoes. Sure enough, I found my shoes filled with pickled fish and rotten milk.

Like the day before, Junko appeared at my elbow. Fury radiated off her like heat from a lamp, threatening to burn even me as she helped put my shoes in a garbage bag and take the refuse to the trash furnace behind the school.

"Those bitches," she hissed.

"It'll die down," I said. "I can't imagine they'd go farther than this."

She bared her teeth so hard, her lipstick smudged them with a line of pretty pink. "How can you be so calm about this? They ruined your shoes!"

I shrugged. "I'll get new ones."

"But Keiko—you gotta retaliate!"

"Why?" I said, tone cool. "And play into my delinquent reputation?"

Junko fell quiet, helping me shove the ruined shoes and garbage into the furnace chute without speaking. Winter had arrived without much fanfare, warm weather bleeding into cool days and cold nights so slowly, I'd barely noticed the change in season. But when a chill wind stripped by I remembered how cold a Sarayashiki winter could be, and reminded myself to buy Yusuke a winter coat.

In the manga, he'd remained asleep through Christmas, when he helped a fixated ghost move into the next life.

Still a ways to go before he returned, per my calculations. Still a month or two before my favorite delinquent came back to me.

Speaking of which…

After we dumped everything into the furnace, I turned to Junko. She had trouble meeting my eyes. Idly I wondered if she felt guilty for spreading the reputation that now held me back, but I put the question aside. It hardly mattered. What was done was done.

"I can't risk retaliating, if it means getting in trouble." I offered her a collected smile, to show her I wasn't worried (funny—of all the things I should be worrying about, this wasn't actually that high on the list). "I've already been kicked out of one school this year. I risk that happening again."

She stared at me a second. She repeated: "You can't risk it."

"Yeah," I said.

"You can't risk it." Her odd emphasis stuck in my head like a catchy tune, but I felt less than amused when her lips pulled into a smirk. "Right. I get it."

"Um…I don't think I like the look in your eye."

"Oh, trust me. You like it," she said with a wink. "Naoko, however, won't."

Oh god. "Junko…what are you planning?"

"Nothing," she said, far too innocently for comfort. She skipped around me with another wink and a broad smile. "See you in class!"

"Naoko!" I called after her—but she didn't slow down, and disappeared around a corner.


Kaito sat alone in the stairwell at lunchtime. He looked up at me with a scowl. "Minamino?"

"Not with me," I said. "I figured he beat me here."

"Hmmph." He hefted his book higher in front of his nose, then lowered it just as swiftly. "Perhaps he will spare us the burden of his entirely too perfect presence."

"Perhaps," I said. I walked to the window ledge and set my bento on it. My eyes drifted across the lawn below the window, grass brown and brittle beneath the watery winter sun. The greenhouse at the edge of the school grounds gleamed like jade. "It's not like him to be late." And after his comment the day before about enjoying lunch hour with company, it felt odd that he hadn't shown up. "Do you think he came to school today, or—oh."

A flash of red caught the light, glittering like garnet before disappearing into the greenhouse below.

Well. That explained it. But what was Minamino doing down there during—?

Behind the tinted glass panels of the greenhouse, something moved. A dark shape, a silhouette, tall and lean: Minamino, probably. It cast a shadow over the glass as it moved…and then another shape appeared beside it.

A short shape.

A short, dark silhouette of someone much smaller than Kurama.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh my fucking god, don't tell me…!

"Hey Kaito—wait here," I said.

He muttered something about being unceremoniously abandoned, but I ignored him and trotted down the steps to the landing on the first floor. I pushed through the door at the bottom and walked outside, onto the school's back lawn, and jogged across the dying grass toward the greenhouse. It occurred to me that I might be doing something incredibly, unpardonably stupid, but I wasn't worried. There was no way Kurama would let me see anything he didn't want me seeing. And no way would he allow a mere human to take him by surprise. There would be no accidentally stumbling upon a meeting between criminals—

—but there was absolutely no way I could pass up this chance, either.

Because what if—?

The greenhouse door swung open beneath my hand, silent on oiled hinges. A wash of warm, humid air sluiced across my face. I tried not to think about how badly my hair might frizz as I stepped inside.

"Minamino?" I called.

He stepped out from behind a tower of ferns. All traces of red had vanished from his mane, washed out by the filtered green light above. He held a large bento box wrapped in a kerchief in one hand. The kerchief's color lost itself in the green gloom, but even so, I recognized Amagi's handiwork when I saw it. Had he just come down here to get his lunch?

No. I hadn't imagined that other figure. That short, dark shape that maybe, just maybe…

"There you are," I said. I peered past him, but I saw no one standing amid the rows of potted plants at his back. "I thought I saw you come in here."

"What sharp eyes you have," he said, cool and pleasant as a spring day.

"All the better to see you with." I gestured at the plants. "What're you up to?"

He replied smoothly, without any trace of hesitation. "Merely enjoying a moment of solitude during a hectic school day, is all."

I studied him. He wore a polite smile, warm yet mechanical. But I'd seen that other figure in here with him, and I knew those cold green eyes far too well to get taken in by Kurama's would-be deception. Sly fox, sure, but not when you knew how to read his tracks through the forest.

"Solitude," I said. "Right."

He blinked, innocent and yet totally untrustworthy. "Why, Yukimura. You sound skeptical of me."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Though I cannot fathom what I've done to earn your distrust."

His stare chipped at me like hail. Maybe I'd said too much. If short-dark-figure was who I thought it was, I might be stepping over a line. Time for a cover story. I made a show of looking under the nearest table, pushing aside a hanging tapestry of vines as though expecting someone to pop out from behind them.

"So there aren't any fangirls hiding in here with you?" I said. I nodded at his bento. "That's Amagi's handkerchief."

I'd expected a smooth reply. Maybe a knowing glance, or a comedic quip about his own popularity.

I was not prepared to see Kurama freeze and look away, hands cupping the bento with self-consciousness I'd never before seen from the self-possessed fox. I watched with puzzled interest as he cleared his throat and shuffled his polished shoes awkwardly against the concrete floor. Seemed he was only human and got awkward sometimes, too.

After a spell of prolonged quiet he said, "Ah. No. She's…not here."

He didn't say anything else. He looked embarrassed, though I couldn't figure out why. It was just lunch. Maybe his demon pride made accepting favors difficult?

Though I somewhat enjoyed seeing Kurama thrown off-kilter, his refusal to meet my eyes didn't gratify me. I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. "You coming upstairs for lunch or what?"

The awkwardness cleared immediately. "Yes," he said. "But I'm afraid I'll be delayed. Some plants need attending to, and I will be busy after school, so lunch provides my only opportunity."

"Right," I said. I turned for the door. "See ya up there, I guess."

He nodded, eyes expectant. Before I walked out, however, I put my hand on the door and looked at him over my shoulder.

Couldn't let an opp-PUN-tunity pass. Ha ha.

Sorry.

"Don't worry," I said with a conspiratorial smile, "I won't tell anyone you're down here."

He looked uncertain. "While I appreciate your discretion, it's no secret that I spend much of my time—"

"I'll let you steal another moment of solitude in peace." I pushed the door open and waved over my head. "Ciao!"

Kurama didn't have time to react to that one. I was out the door and running in an instant.


Kurama looked somewhat troubled when he finally joined Kaito and me for the midday meal, but he didn't address my thief-related pun. We parted ways for class with congenial goodbyes and no hidden meanings, and when I saw him later in class, he merely afforded me a polite nod before sitting at his desk.

…were my puns not working? Maybe he really was buying that they were too stupid to be made on purpose, and had decided I was making them on accident, and therefore I wasn't an interesting puzzle, after all.

Damn. I wanted the game to go on longer than a few days!

I sulked for the remainder of my classes, until last period. I beat Minamino there. Man, he was normally so punctual—was this a sign of brewing trouble? Of his descent into the Artifacts of Darkness Case from Yu Yu Hakusho? That shadow in the greenhouse boded as such…

As I set my school bag on my desk, I paused my pondering to note a conspicuous lack of graffiti on the desk's surface. Interesting. I dragged my finger across the smooth plane and smiled. Perhaps ignoring the situation had worked, after all.

"Did you hear?"

"About what?"

"About what happened to that Naoko girl!"

I froze, finger stuck to a faint tracery of blue writing I hadn't quite managed to scrub away the day before. Fearing I'd draw attention, I turned my head in increments until I saw the speakers from the corner of my eye. Two girls and a guy, standing a few desks away, spoke to each other in hushed voices.

"Someone cut out the back of her skirt during PE, when it was in her locker!" one said.

"Oh my gosh!" The other girl put her hand over her mouth. "When?"

"Just last period."

"She walked down the hallway with her butt hanging out!" said the boy. "Practically the whole school saw!"

He looked both mortified and just a little pleased by the aforementioned events, that asshole. I didn't like Naoko, but I didn't like the thought of her getting leered at, either.

"Oh my gosh. Poor girl."

"And that's not all," the boy said. "Akemi, Chiyo, and Momoko had all their skirts torn, too!"

The first girl's eyes widened. "Aren't those Naoko's friends?"

"Yeah. That's why they're not in class today. They had to go home and get clothes!"

I remained very carefully neutral as I looked around the room below my fringe of bangs. Sure enough, the girls who had defaced my desk the day before weren't present. But who had—?

"How awful!" said the second girl. She echoed my internal monologue when she asked, "I wonder who did that to them?"

"Beats me."

"But it was clearly someone who didn't like them very much," said the guy.

My skin crawled, but thankfully none of them so much as glanced in my direction. It wouldn't be illogical to suspect me, but it seemed word of my (one-sided) feud with Naoko hadn't spread too far. I put my back to them and sat at my desk, holding a book up to cover my face. Don't look awkward, don't look awkward, don't—

"Hey, girl!"

My desk shifted as Junko settled her weight atop it. A well-manicured finger hooked over the top of my book and gently pulled it down. I don't think she'd been expecting my dead-fish expression, however, because she pulled back and looked at me like I was wearing clown makeup.

"Junko," I intoned.

"Hmm?" She inspected her nails. "Keiko?"

"What period do you have PE?"

Her innocent expression reminded me, quite uncannily, of a certain crafty fox demon. "Why do you ask?"

My dead-fish stare intensified. "Junko…"

She giggled. Her index finger rapped against my book's hard cover.

"Let's just say you've got friends all over this school," she said—and she winked, miming a pair of scissors with her fingers.

Class started before I could demand she explain herself, but something told me the sly-smile Junko wouldn't give up her secrets so easily. She seemed to be enjoying herself far too much for that.


Took me most of class, but I decided not to ask Junko too many questions about the how, the when, and the why of what she had done to Junko and her friends. Like my grandmother used to say: Don't look a gift horse in the mouth unless you want a face full of horse spit.

I appreciate her twist on that old idiom. I let it play in my head, recalling her warm, warbling voice as I tuned out the day's lecture. When class ended I offered Junko a peacemaker's smile. Behind her, the other students filed out of the classroom, eager to leave school for the day. I caught Minamino's eye over her shoulder; he nodded in my direction but said nothing as he left the room to pursue his own ends.

Maybe he was off to meet a certain fire demon.

Much as I wanted to know for sure, I couldn't follow him. I already had after-school plans.

"Hey." Junko jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm gonna run and grab Amagi and the others."

"They meeting in the empty classroom?" I asked—the same classroom where we'd had our first fangirl confrontation. Apparently it functioned as the de facto boardroom of Minamino's fangirls.

"Yup." Junko glanced at my desk "Still working?"

"Unfortunately." We'd been asked to write a short essay during class, but I'd been distracted thinking of Junko's skirt-tearing and still needed to pen a conclusion. "I can meet you over there if you want."

"Sure. See you soon!"

She trotted out of the room, last of the students to leave aside from me. Much as I felt anxiety about the coming evening (I wasn't accustomed to hanging out with so many girls at once) it promised to be fun. I smiled to myself as I wrote the final paragraph of my essay. When I finished and handed my paper to the teacher, she grinned.

"You're in a good mood," she said.

"I'm hanging out with friends after school," I said, basically beaming.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" She looked like she meant it, oddly enough. "It's nice to see you making friends."

Yeah, it was. Friends who stood up for me, even in dubious ways, were worth their weight in gold. But were they actually friends? My smile faded as I left the room and walked down the hall toward the meeting room. Perhaps I was overthinking this. If Junko really had stood up for me, that pointed toward friendship. But I couldn't shake the illogical thought that maybe, just maybe, the other shoe would drop. She'd turn on me after an overture of comradery. Knock out my tooth as I took a sip of Dr Pepper, as it were. But that was silly, and—

"You bitch."

I stopped walking.

Naoko stepped around a corner. She wore sweatpants and her uniform shirt—and on her face a ferocious scowl.

"How dare you do that to me?" she growled. She took two steps forward; I stood my ground, feet squaring under my body, hands fisting at my sides. "How dare you cut my—"

"Back off," I barked when she came just within striking distance. She halted at my harsh words, eyes popping wide. "I didn't do anything to you."

"Oh, please. Spare me. Who else would do this to me?" She sneered, lips curling around her straight, white teeth. "It's not like you have friends."

My face—which I'd arranged into lines of firm, do-not-fuck-with-me gravitas—spasmed, beyond my control as she unknowingly pressed a sore spot I had only just been irritating. She grinned as I faltered. She ran a hand through her bleached hair, smug satisfaction turning her dark eyes bright.

"Oh, that's right," she said. "I know all about you. You transferred here because you got kicked out of your old school for punching a teacher."

I did what I always did when I felt awkward: I fell back on humor. I'm only human, after all.

"Technically, I withdrew," I said. "And technically, I didn't punch him." When she frowned I added, "Oh, I tried to punch him. But someone intervened, you see. Which is a pity because I'm certain he'd have come out the other side of my fist better-looking, and they wouldn't have wanted me gone if that had happened, because I'd have done them a favor. So it's their loss, really."

My word-vomit, flippant monologue rendered her speechless for just a moment. Then she shook her head and made a wordless sound of mounting frustration.

"Whatever!" Naoko spat. "I know you're behind this! I checked your schedule. You eat lunch the same period I have PE." Naoko looked quite satisfied by her detective skills; maybe she should change her name to Nancy, as in Drew. "So during lunch you could have—"

"Sorry to blow a hole in your theory," someone interjected, "but that's impossible."

Relief flooded me like a sip of cool water at the sound of Minamino's voice. He appeared at my side as quietly as…well, a fox on fallen leaves, to call a spade a spade. He didn't look at me, though. He stared at Naoko with disdain he did not care to conceal, green eyes as edged as nettle strands.

"She was with me during lunch," he continued. "I can vouch for her whereabouts. I suggest you keep scurrilous accusations to yourself.

"Minamino!" Naoko said, surprise draining some of the malice from her features. "What are you—?"

"Naoko-san," he cut in. "I suggest you leave."

Pink lips curled, malice returning as quickly as it had dissipated. "Why should I?"

Minamino—no. Kurama's reply came simple, quiet, and as weighty as a stone.

He said: "Because you're outnumbered."

Kurama was no liar, of course.

Only a moment later, the cavalry arrived.

They marched around the corner, then. Every last fangirl, from Amagi to Junko to even the taciturn Hotaru, strode down the corridor and hemmed Naoko in, glaring at her as they caught her like a rabbit in a trap between themselves and the fox demon at my side. She gasped, spinning in a circle as she realized the situation—and then Hotaru grinned.

"Nice pants," she said, simpering and not at all sincere. "Pity about your skirt."

"Yes," Amagi agreed. Her lovely oval face held nothing but cold disdain. "A pity."

"Pity about what's gonna happen to your ass if you go anywhere near Keiko again," Hotaru finished. Her hip cocked, hand resting on it with indolent nonchalance. "Think this was bad? This was nothing."

It dawned on Naoko at last. "It was you!" she said, pointing at the gaggle of girls. "You did this to me, and to my friends!"

She was right, of course. Achingly, painfully, glaringly correct. But the girls weren't about to admit as much outright. They looked between each other and exchanged an unspoken agreement—one to keep mum, I was sure. Strength in numbers, and in plausible deniability.

"Prove it," one of them said.

"Yeah," said another.

"Go on."

"Prove we did anything to you."

"And which one of us, exactly, is supposed to have wrong you?" Amagi said.

"Yeah, which one?"

"Who are you accusing, exactly?"

Naoko's jaw dropped as the barrage of questions struck home. There were too many people here, too many taking credit, to accuse them all. She sputtered and stammered, then eventually pointed at me over her shoulder.

"She stole my boyfriend!" she said, as if that explained everything.

"No, I didn't," I said. When she looked at me, I held her gaze with the firmest, yet most patient and placid, look I could muster. I didn't let myself look angry. Anger might read as deception. "I beat him up and now he's following me around. It's part of his honor code, or something. He has one, right?"

I saw the 'yes' in her eyes, even though she didn't speak. I shook my head and sighed.

"Look—I don't want him," I said. "If you want him back so badly, go kick his teeth in. Trust me, he seems into it."

(At my side, Kurama breathed the daintiest of snorts. I ignored him.)

Naoko didn't react for a moment. She just stared at me. Emotions flickered across her face, complicated and perhaps contradictory. Then her mouth worked, and the barest beginning of a sentence slipped free.

"I…" she said, and she felt silent. Uncertain. Unsure. Her passion drained before us, water from a broken sieve.

Amagi appeared to run out of patience at that point. She stepped out of the crowd of girls and touched Naoko's shoulder.

"Naoko," she said. "Let me make something clear for you." Her eyes blazed bright and clear, allowing no room for argument. "You are not the only girl in school who has friends to fight on her behalf. Do you understand?"

I sucked in a breath.

Friends.

Call me dramatic, for treasuring that word the way I did. But never in my life had anyone fought for me quite like this.

Naoko didn't reply. I saw the defeat in her face, then, and hope the girls would back off their intimidation tactics—but they didn't appear to get the memo.

"Just think," Junko said. "If we got to your skirts the way we allegedly did, what else could we do?"

Naoko looked very much alarmed. Hotaru tossed her hair.

"Go get your boyfriend back and leave Yukimura the freaking hell alone," she said. She flapped her hands as if warding off an annoying pigeon. "Now shoo. Don't bother us anymore."

For a moment it seemed Naoko wouldn't take Hotaru's sage advice. She stood in the hallway, staring at Amagi, and me, and the others for far longer than anyone should when they were so outnumbered—but then her head dropped.

"Fine," she said. "Whatever."

And with that…she left. As soon as she rounded the corner, the fangirls started high-fiving and giggling. Some even started forward to talk to me, eyes alight with mischief and triumph—but then all of them, almost as one, went quiet.

Their eyes fixed on Minamino.

Oh god.

This…was about to get awkward, wasn't it?

Lucky for me, Amagi took the wheel at that point. Good ol' Amagi. Pretty and poised. She took a few steps toward me, expression composed and serious. Not at all giddy like you'd expect of a fabled fangirl.

"Minamino-san," she said. Her eyes scanned me before returning to the boy she so admired. "Thank you for looking after our friend."

"It was nothing," he smoothly said.

"We value your efforts, regardless." Her head tilted, frown tightening her full lips. "We hope you've been well, lately?"

An unspoken question lingered in her words. A subtle urgency, a light emphasis I understood more through instinct than logic. She was, in a veiled way, asking about his mother, or at least his health in relation to that situation. And Minamino appeared to understand.

"Yes." His throat moved when he paused and swallowed. "Thank you, as well. For…"

He trailed off—and for the second time that day, I witnessed Kurama looking…awkward. His eyes dropped to the floor. He took a deep breath. But he didn't start speaking again, and only smiled a small, tight smile as he regarded the floorboards with off-putting interest.

Amagi appeared to understand.

"Yes," she said. "Say no more. Girls…?"

As one, every single young woman in Amagi's retinue clasped their hands and bowed in Minamino's direction. He bowed back, a jerky bend at the waist, and said nothing as the girls straightened up and turned away. Some shot him looks of ill-concealed longing, but Amagi spotted this and touched their arms in subtle warning. Amagi herded them down the hallway like a sheepdog. I started to follow on reflex.

Because this…was my pack, I supposed. Found through unconventional means, forged in spite of misconception and miscommunication.

My pack. My people.

My friends.

"Yukimura."

I'd been so caught up in following the girls—the girls who were my friends—that I'd quite forgotten about Kurama. I stopped walking when he murmured my name. He stood with hands in pockets, lips pursed, but despite the cool arrangement of his features, tension pulled his shoulders taut.

"I was not aware you were friends with…them," he said once the girls were out of sight. He spoke with razor delicacy. "You recognizes Amagi's lunch, and I wondered, but…"

"It's a new friendship." The words sent a tumble of pleasure through my chest. "And I have you to thank for it."

Green eyes narrowed. "In what manner?"

It was my turn to choose my words with care. "They thought we were dating," I said, "and they took exception to that."

One of his eyebrows lifted, almost imperceptibly. "Interesting. What gave them that idea?"

"You stalking me at lunch, mostly." I laughed when surprise parted his lips. "Don't worry. I set them straight."

"How so?"

"I…told them you aren't interested in me in a romantic capacity," I eventually informed him.

His eyes gleamed in a way that defied description. "Is that so."

"Yes."

"And they believed you?"

His phrasing—lightly skeptical, obviously intrigued—gave me pause. I said, "As far as I know, there are no reasons for them not to believe me." Then I smiled, sly and joking. "Unless there's something you aren't telling me? Hmm?"

Damn fox didn't miss a beat. Voice like silk, he said: "Do you think there's something I'm not telling you?"

"Well, you do follow me around a lot." I opted for raw logic undercut with a teasing grin. "And I definitely wasn't the one who initiated our little lunchtime powwow."

"Ah." His amused smirk made my toes curl, my cheeks heat—uh oh. Bad sign. Curb your hormones, girl. "Perhaps I'm pining for you, and you don't even realize it."

Once more, I covered my sudden nerves with humor. Because if I didn't, I was pretty sure I'd blush like a radish and make a stammering fool of myself.

Gosh, Kurama was pretty. His red-dark hair curled around the line of his jaw, falling to trace his throat and shoulders, highlighting hard muscle hiding under his bright uniform—

Oh god, no. Stop. Focus, Keiko.

"Oh, yes," I said, words laced with liberal sarcasm—and a spontaneous pun. "You stare at me from across the classroom and think, 'Maybe, in another life…'"

I clasped my hands under my chin and gazed wistfully into the distance, painfully aware of Kurama staring at me like I'd just pointed a gun at him. I shot him a confused look and let my hands drop.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I said. "Is there rice on my face?"

He stared a moment longer. Then he seemed to shake himself, as if out of a trance.

"No. Sorry," he murmured. No trace of his earlier levity remained, replaced instead by intense, soft scrutiny. "I admit I'm looking for a mask. But I don't believe you're wearing one right now."

My pulse sputtered. "Astute of you to notice."

Because I wasn't wearing a mask, just then. Dancing around Kurama felt dangerous and thrilling—but it was fun. I didn't need to wear a mask so much as merely choose my words with care. I guess Kurama could sense that lack of deception. Good for me, I reckon.

"Anyway." I ran hand over my pigtail, toying with the end of it between two fingers. "Apparently those girls have been feeding you without much variety. They're coming to my place tonight for a cooking lesson."

I think he'd been on the verge of asking about my relationship with them, because his eyes cleared at my words. He said, "Right. Your parents own a restaurant."

My correction came automatic and prideful: "Two restaurants and a fleet of food trucks."

"Sorry. Two restaurants and a fleet of food trucks," he amended, tone placating. He hesitated a moment. "Those girls. Did they tell you about—?"

He stopped, words almost catching in his throat. He didn't need to speak for me to know what he meant to say. Did the girls tell you about my mother? For a private person such as him, the question felt only natural.

"Yeah. They did," I admitted. "I'm sorry."

Green eyes fluttered shut. A spasm of pain—barely visible yet unmistakable—cast his ethereal features into raw relief.

"Don't be." I sensed he'd said these words before, a script he repeated often. "It's not your fault that—"

"I'm not sorry as in apology. I'm sorry as in sorrow."

He stopped talking. We traded a long look, silent but not empty. My voice came soft when I spoke next.

"Cooking lessons are the least I can do," I said.

He spoke stiffly: "I do hope you don't go out of your way on my account."

What a very Japanese thing to say, asking for someone not to inconvenience themselves on your behalf. Kurama had adapted to human culture pretty well, after all. I smiled at him, enjoying this little discovery.

"I won't," I said.

Kurama's hands came out of his pockets. Something I said agitated him. His lips pursed, brows lowering above narrow eyes.

"I did not ask for their help," he said. "I did not ask for them to cook for my family. I did not—"

Pieces clicked together like engine parts while he spoke. Certainty rumbled in my chest. His awkward looks when asked about the bento. His reaction to my cooking lessons. These protests, unnecessary and repetitive—

"Does being cared for make you feel uncomfortable?"

Kurama stopped talking.

Ah.

So that was it, then.

"Those girls cook for your family because they care about you," I said as gently as I could. "They want to support you."

His head rose, regal and resolute. "I did not ask for—"

"Oh, I know you didn't ask for their help," I said. He fell quiet, uncertainty painting his features. "Sitting on their asses and watching you take care of your mother alone would make them feel bad. In some ways, they're caring for themselves as much as they're caring for you, when they make you food."

Kurama's eyes widened—and internally, I realized that maybe he hadn't adjusted so well to being human, after all. Judging by his shock and doubt, Kurama hadn't come to this conclusion on his own…and it was a very easy conclusion to come to. Offering to help, helping when it wasn't even necessary, was human nature when someone was dying. People wanted to help because not offering to help made them feel like a bad person. Sure, they wanted to care for the person in question. But that's not all there was to it.

Did some aspects of human nature still elude Kurama, after all these years spent in human skin?

"If you have trouble accepting help," I said in the spirit of helpfulness, "think of it in reverse. You're making them feel better by accepting their generosity and care."

He admitted the truth like coaxing a snarl from his hair. "I…I hadn't thought of it that way."

"I figured," I said.

"But I still do not require their assistance," he repeated. "I can handle my mother's illness on my own."

His insistence grated on me, opening up trails of thought I hadn't trekked before. Kurama acted bound and determined to reject help, to reject care. But why?

Was he simply not accustomed to accepting help?

It made sense, when I thought about it. I couldn't imagine demons spent much time altruistically helping each other. He probably wasn't familiar to being cared for, for placing even one small part of his wellbeing in the hands of another (he'd rejected his mother's care as a child, after all). It more than likely rankled his demonic pride, to have a gaggle of weak human women catering to his needs. He hadn't asked for the help. Far as Kurama was concerned, he probably didn't think he needed it.

Call me patronizing, but I knew better than that.

If your mother is dying, you need support—even if you don't feel like that's true.

We stood in silence for a time, just sizing each other up. My brain conjured images as I watched him stand there: Aunt Diana in her bed, fireworks popping in the night, face contorting as she screamed in pain. My grandmother on the couch in her last days, unable to walk, resigned to a fate she'd watched her sister die from mere months prior. My best friend's mother, a waxy yellow skeleton, crying as cancer ate her from the inside out.

I thought of my father, my best friend, myself—crying. Clinging to each other. Needing desperately to be supported even as we watched over someone whose suffering eclipsed ours like rising moons.

The silence wore thin after a while. Words bubbled in my breast like water in a heated pot.

"It can be difficult to remember, when someone you love is suffering," I said, slow and searching and deliberate, "that you are suffering, too."

Kurama frowned. I smiled. My lips trembled the merest nanometer.

"When we juxtapose our pain with the pain of another, and judge their pain as greater, we run the risk of discounting our own needs," I said. "We forget that we, too, could use support sometimes. That we could use some help."

He interpreted the need for support with weakness, that demon. I could tell because he barely managed to suppress a sneer when he said, "I'm handling my mother's illness, thank you."

"I don't doubt that," I said.

"I appreciate Amagi's help," he continued. "I do. But the thought of involving others…"

He trailed off, discomfort with the notion obvious—and yet his eyes reflected a spark of pain. I took a deep breath.

Kurama might be a demon, but he was still human. More human than he knew.

Perhaps more human than he liked to admit.

"I'm not going to say anything you don't already know," I said. "But sometimes, I think a reminder doesn't hurt."

He quirked a confused brow.

"The next time someone's care makes you feel uncomfortable, I'm giving you permission to accept it," I said. I met his eyes with urgency and sincerity; taken aback, his eyes widened. "You're allowed to ask for help and support. You're allowed to need to be cared for. Even if you're caring for someone who has it worse than you do, you deserve support."

I might've raised my voice a little on those last words. Luckily Kurama took it in stride. He ducked his chin, chuckling while he briefly shut his eyes.

"I wasn't expecting a pep-talk today," he murmured.

"I wasn't expecting to give one, but here we are."

"Yes." He looked at me as if I were a particularly challenging puzzle. "Here we are."

While I enjoyed knowing Kurama still thought of me as a mystery, I didn't like being alone with him when he looked at me like that. I gestured down the hallway with a polite smile—the first polite mask I'd worn that afternoon with him.

"I should go," I said. "They're waiting for me."

"Ah. Yes." And then his mask returned, as well, polite and cool and perfunctory. "I apologize for keeping you."

"It's fine. See you tomorrow?"

"Yes. See you tomorrow."

Breaking eye contact felt like breaking a bone. I turned and walked away, cognizant of the eyes fixed on my retreating back—and then Kurama spoke.

"Yukimura."

My name on his lips sounded like a cool wind. I stopped. Looked at him over my shoulder. He hadn't moved from his spot, nor had he taken his eyes off me. A lock of hair brushed his cheek, red-black silk contrasting with his flawless porcelain skin.

"Why is it so important to you," he said, "to tell me I deserve support?"

For a moment I didn't know what to say…but when in doubt, I make jokes. I looked at him and smiled. The pun came as readily as breathing.

"You're only human, after all," I said. "But maybe sometimes, you need a reminder of that."

I will carry the memory of his stunned face with me until my dying day.


NOTES:

Another life. Stealing time. You're human, after all. The puns keep rolling in.

PLEASE FOLLOW "CHILDREN OF MISFORTUNE." Soon I'll be posting a bonus chapter that's in Kurama's POV. Might feature a cameo of a certain grumpy fire demon…but my lips are sealed!

SUPER PISSED. Wrote a lot of nice lines during editing, computer died, I LOST THEM ALL. Sorry if this seems bare. I'm just mad and want to get this out there and out of the way.

Wow, didn't expect this to turn into a Kurama character study, but the story ran away with me.

The punks-want-Keiko-to-be-their-leader storyline gets put fully to bed next chapter, and then we're in Yusuke Returns to Life territory. At last!

SO MANY THANKS TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED. I was well and truly nervous about the pun chapter, but y'all blew me away with the support. Cried a little. I'm a crybaby. LOVE YOU: rezgurnk, brave-story, DarkDust27, SirisDerp, DiCuoreAllison, Maester Ta, rya-fire1, La Femme Absurde, xenocanaan, sousie, Lady Hummingbird, Marian, srirachacha, 2000kate, greymouser, giant salamander, CaelynM, Freaky Shannon-igans, ballet022, SunnyStormCloud, Yunrii, hbossette, Dec Jane, read a rainbow, kittenfood, .3, Miqila, musicisalifestyle, Leahcar-Soutaichou, reebajee, FireDancerNix, chocolatecoffees, Kaiya Azure, Just 2 Dream of You, CrystalVixen93, Guest (x3) buzzk97, MetroNeko, kimchi759, AlunaGray, SanguineSky, Heve-chan, , Counting Sinful Stars, Stoneboss, and HereAfter!