Warnings: Mention of eating disorder
Lucky Child
Chapter 45:
"Ringing Endorsement"
When Shizuru answered the door of Kuwabara's house, I almost started to cry. If she noticed, she didn't say anything. Clad in pleated slacks and a boxy suit vest, she leaned against the doorframe, took a long drag off her cigarette, and aimed the resulting exhalation of smoke above my head. Even if she refused to quit smoking around me, she was always careful to keep the worst of it out of my face.
"Keiko," she said, not bothering with an honorific. I'd hung out at Kuwabara's house (and had had my hair trimmed by her) enough times to make the practice feel unnecessary. "Sorry, but as you're probably aware given you should be in school, it's the middle of the school day and my baby brother isn't at home right now—"
"Doesn't matter. I'm here to see you."
Her well-manicured brows rose at once. She had no way of knowing that after the altercation with Kurama, I'd binged, purged, and skipped school to come straight here, riding my adrenaline high on a mad quest to wrest back some small modicum of control. After I'd purged, I'd rinsed my mouth at the bathroom sink and caught glimpse of myself in the mirror. Red nose, flushed cheeks, eyes glaring fever bright with fear, knuckles of my right hand gashed from where my teeth had hit them when I purged—and my hair. My shaggy, oh-so-Keiko hair, pieces hanging by my face streaked with flecks of bile.
I hadn't allowed myself to think too hard about what happened next.
"Well, that's rare," Shizuru said. She leaned against the door frame, eyes intent on my face. "What's up?"
I put a hand to my head. "I need a change."
She nodded, made a small 'ah' sound, and took another drag. "Rough day?"
My eyes pricked, but I tried desperately not to let tears fall. I told her, "You can't even imagine."
One more long, slow, appraising drag, followed by a dry chuckle. "Yeah. You've had a rough day." She stepped back. "Come in."
Shizuru led me straight to the kitchen, where she pulled a stool up to the sink and draped a thick towel over the counter's edge. I watched in silence as she grabbed a bag off the kitchen table; from it she removed shampoo and conditioner, plus a rolled-up cloth caddy of brushes, scissors, and a hair dryer. She tossed her cigarette into the disposal and ran the water, finger held under the faucet to test for temperature. A sullen curl of smoke drifted from the drain before it drowned and disappeared. Still, the scent lingered—but I didn't mind. It masked the bile lingering on my tongue.
"Sorry it's not padded," Shizuru said, gesturing at the sink and stool, "but that's what you get for not coming to the salon. Sit down."
I did as she asked, letting my head loll back over the sink, towel's softness under my neck protecting me from the cold counter. Shizuru's hands, firm but gentle, washed my hair with her typical efficiency, using the sink's spray nozzle to reach the top of my head and around my ears. My eyes fell shut as she massaged my scalp. That was always my favorite part of a haircut: having someone play with my hair, more or less. Felt comforting. My mother had given me head massages in my past life whenever I had nightmares.
The wash ended too quickly, but I didn't complain as Shizuru towel-dried my hair and put a smock around my neck. The woman stood in front of me, dragging her hands over my hair as she combed it this way and that.
"So right now we're working with a bit of a shag," she said. "How much shorter are we thinking?"
I swallowed, mustered my courage, and declared: "Very short. Go nuts."
Her brow shot up again. "Careful. I'll shave you bald."
That got a fearful chuckle out of me. Shizuru walked away and pulled a magazine out of her bag. It was obvious what she wanted when she handed it to me. I flipped through it in silence until I found a short hairstyle I liked—punky, with asymmetrical bangs that framed the face, lots of lift at the roots on top, and one side trimmed shorter above the ear. It was the kind of hairstyle I'd always toyed with getting in my past life, until I hurt my arm and stopped being able to reach my head with my dominant hand. Tough to style a short 'do with just one hand, I reckoned…but now I had two good hands.
It was time. And if it turned out bad, it'd just grow out again soon.
"This," I said, pointing. "Give me this."
"Well, you have the cheekbones for it." Instead of reaching for her scissors and getting started, however, she slipped a hand into her pocket and held out a little green packet. "Gum?" she said, pulling forth a strip of silver-packaged candy.
I held out my hand. "Sure."
We chewed our gum and Shizuru cut my hair in silence. The mint coated my tongue and throat, climbing into my sinuses and clearing them of the last of the vomit smell. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the subtle weight lifting from my head, hyperaware of every piece of hair brushing my cheeks as it fell. The clip-clip-snip of the scissors filled the silence like a chattering telegraph machine. Every click made me feel a little better, a little more in control.
"You know, you don't need to lose weight."
I eyes shot open. Shizuru—in the middle of combing my hair forward to snip at my bangs—didn't meet my eyes. She'd placed a cigarette between her lips at some point, but it remained unlit.
"I'm sorry?" I said.
Without looking, she tapped my hand where it lay curled atop my smock—right on the backs of my knuckles, and the duo of small gashes above my index finger. I curled my hand under the smock on reflex.
"I know what that means," she said, bringing the scissors to my bangs. "I'm a stylist. I've worked with enough models, actresses to read the signs." Her eyes flashed momentarily to mine. "And don't think I gave you that gum just 'cause I like to share. Your breath gave you away, too."
Cheeks burning, I ducked my head. In my old life I'd employed a cadre of gums, breath mists, perfumes, and flosses to combat the telltale scent of vomit. Hadn't had a chance to amass said tools in this life. I'd only been indulging in this terrible habit for a day, after all.
"It's only been a few times," I mumbled. "I just—"
My words died. Shizuru waited. When I didn't talk, her lip curled with wry understanding.
"You just had a rough day," she surmised. "So it's not about weight, huh."
It wasn't a question, and it was the truth. I almost shook my head, by the threat of scissors near my eyes encouraged verbalization. "No."
"And the haircut is part of it." She stood back to look at her handiwork, hands on hips as she surveyed my hair. "Getting control, are we?"
"I know you're psychic like your brother," I grumbled, both annoyed and impressed by her deductions, "but can you read minds or something?"
Shizuru's eyes widened. "So he told you about that."
"Oh. Um. Yeah." Was it bad that I'd called Shizuru out on her powers? Kuwabara had seemed so shy of his. Maybe I—
But Shizuru remained stoic. Placing her scissors on the counter, she reached for the hair dryer and plugged it in.
"He must really trust you," she observed. Her eyes strayed to my lap, to my hidden hands. "You could trust him with that if you wanted to."
The thought of it—of the shame of revealing what I was doing to myself—instantly made my head hang, avoiding Shizuru's watchful gaze. She let out a low, warm laugh.
"He'd be awkward and not know what to do," she said, affection coloring every word. "He might say the wrong thing. That's my baby bro. But he's there for you if you need anything." Her hand alit on my shoulder, heavy and present. "So am I, believe it or not."
Sincerity drew my attention like a lodestone. Shizuru's eyes were the color of amber, flecks of gold and green touching her iris with luminous variation—but despite their cool expression, I felt comforted. I felt…not understood. Not really. But I didn't feel judged, the most horrible of all sensations when dealing with a budding fixation like mine. That counted for more than Shizuru knew.
I put my hand over hers and squeezed. Her lips crooked, an inviting pirate smile.
"Thanks," I told her.
The word came out in a near whisper. Shizuru didn't reply. She just fired up the blow dryer and chased the water from my hair, smirk satisfied. Then she made a few more stray clips with the scissors before rubbing styling product between her palms and running her fingers through my hair. The product smelled of sandalwood, earthy and strong—not to mention gender neutral, mimicking Shizuru's impeccable slacks and suit vest.
"All done," she said. A mirror availed itself from the depths of her boundless beauty bag. "What do you think?"
I took a deep breath before holding the plastic, pink-framed mirror before my face. The inhale turned into an outright gasp when I saw Shizuru's creation. Punky, maybe a bit nerdy, with tousled layers and an edgy asymmetry, the haircut had transformed my features into…well. I still looked like Keiko, of course, but with the haircut came an odd shift that revealed angles of Keiko's features I hadn't noticed before.
In a way, I felt I looked more like me even if I had never—never in this life nor my past—worn this cut before. The change came from within, from a sense of poise one only feels after a new, much-needed haircut.
"It's," I said, and stopped. My lips twitched with an uncertain smile as my shoulders slid back, spine lengthening in a burst of sudden, cut-wrought confidence. "It's—I look—"
Shizuru chuckled. She took a lighter from her pocket and ignited the tip of her cigarette, speaking around the yellow filter like a gangster from a mobster film.
"You look like a bad bitch," she told me, cigarette bobbing with every syllable—and as smoke curled around my shoulders, I felt inclined to agree with Shizuru's ringing endorsement.
Hopefully this confidence followed me back to school, where Kurama waited in the greenhouse.
Voice muffled by the stillness of the greenhouse I called, "Minamino?"
"Over here," he said.
His voice came from the depths of the building, blocked by ivy, flowers, and herbs. I picked my way through the maze of planters and trellises toward the middle of the space, deeper than I'd probably ever been before. I didn't see Minamino anywhere—not until I stumbled upon a small sitting area in the center of the greenhouse, a grotto hidden amidst the plants like a fairy's secret retreat. A few chairs and a bench littered the space; to one side sat a bubbling fountain. Peaceful, secluded, lush—just the place I would suspect Kurama favored.
Despite the pretty scene, my mouth went immediately dry.
"You weren't in class."
I gasped, spinning to face Kurama as he appeared behind me. He stood with hands loose at his sides, gaze appraising and cool, color of his eyes livid in the jade-tinted light.
"And you're late," he said. His lips curled at the corner. "I suspected you might not even—wait. Your hair."
I put a hand to my bare neck on reflex, stammering, "Th-That's where I was. Not running. I just needed a confidence boost." I heaved a dramatic shrug, flipping the end of my bangs. "Nothing like skipping class and getting a fancy haircut to make a girl feel powerful, am I right?"
Too bad Kurama didn't seem nearly as pleased with my new haircut as I did. He remained silent, looking between my hair and my face for almost a minute. Soon he swallowed, touching his own hair to smooth it from his delicate features.
"It looks—different," he said.
My brow arched. "Wow. What a ringing endorsement. You sure know how to make a girl feel pretty." Laughter bubbled like the fountain in the corner, drawn to the surface by sheer absurdity. "Wow. Seriously, just wow. I go out of my way to—"
"Yukimura." The sound of my name stopped my words at once; his look of cool appraisal had returned. He asked, "Are you nervous?"
"Who, me?" I said with faux innocence. "Why would I be nervous?"
"You babble when you're nervous. You're babbling now."
I started to deny it, then decided it didn't matter. "OK. So I am nervous." Holding up my hands, I said, "You caught me. Sorry, Minamino, I—"
One more, he cut me off. "You know my true name, and yet you still call me Minamino. Why?"
For a moment the only sound came from that burbling fountain. Kurama watched as I weighed my options, calculating a response that would tell him what he wanted to know without jeopardizing our secrecy.
And we had need for secrecy, even if Kurama didn't know it yet.
"I just never know who might be listening." I gestured above us, at the glass roof, hoping my expression said everything my mouth could not. "That's all."
Kurama understood almost at once. His eyes widened, but just as quickly they narrowed again.
"Spirit World?" he asked.
Well, yeah—but that was too direct, wasn't it? Spirit World wanted to keep an eye on me, on us; it wasn't wise to discuss them so openly. Lucky for me, Kurama had that covered.
"You needn't fear their eyes or ears," he said. "Not when you're with me."
My fear collapsed, making room for embarrassment. Of course he had it covered—but how? "What, you got a magic anti-listening device or something?" I muttered.
"One can disrupt their methods, if one knows how," he archly replied, as cryptic and annoying as ever. Kurama then pinned me with a look of darkening humor. "You should know: they asked me about you while I was in custody."
My heart near 'bout burst, at that. "They what?" slipped out of my mouth unbidden. Taking a breath to compose myself, and halfway hoping he wouldn't tell me, I asked, "What did you tell them?"
"I told them you were a classmate, human and nothing more." He spoke with clipped assurance; I sensed no lie from him. "I told them I knew nothing, because that is the truth. I know nothing about you."
Although his words gave me some comfort, I didn't like the emphasis of that final sentence, nor his look of intense, razor-edged inquiry. I stammered a thank-you, dropping into a habitual bow of gratitude—but Kurama held up a hand, skin tinged like new leaves in the greenhouse's odd light.
"Stop," he said. His eyes burned into mine like flares. "This is a warning, Yukimura. Spirit World suspects you, in some capacity or another. They suspect you of the same sin I suspect you: of being far more than you seem." He stepped forward; I stepped back, foot crunching over a bit of fallen foliage on the concrete floor. "Tread lightly if you intend to keep your secrets."
I said, "Thank you, Kurama."
He stopped moving, head listing to one side as if pushed by insistent wind. Amusement—dangerous, silken amusement I didn't understand—slipped over his face like a veil.
"You keep thanking me," he said, "but you need not do that."
He took another step closer; I backed up again, rabbit retreating under the predator's glare. Every step he took, I matched with one of my own, until we circled each other around the clearing like wolves fighting over scraps…only I knew there was only one wolf here. Or a fox, rather. Fear lapped at my veins, prickly and rough. Metaphors did not come easily.
"Allow me to be clear," Kurama said, each word as smooth as his gliding steps. "You saved my mother's life. For that, I owe you a boon. I will keep what I know of you from Spirit World. However…" At this his eyes narrowed; he walked faster, just enough to make me flinch, and in his mouth my name sounded like poisoned silk. "Do not mistake my gratitude for weakness, Yukimura. I intend to learn everything you know about me, just as I intend to learn everything I can about you. Now that my mother is well, I will not have my secrets jeopardized. Not by anyone, even if they've saved her life."
"I understand," I said, practically stumbling on my wooden legs. "I do, really—but you have to know I don't want to hurt you. Neither you nor your mother." I shook my head so hard it's a wonder I didn't give myself whiplash. "That's the last thing I'd ever want. Ever. You have to believe me."
Kurama stopped walking. I did, too, but only after putting more distance between us. Kurama watched as I rounded the nearest bench, hands clenching around the backrest like it might shield me from Kurama's wrath…only he didn't look like he wanted to attack. Not like before. The tightness behind his eyes had slackened like the unfurling petal of a flower. The demon looked me up and down, long and slow, as if searching for a detail in my uniform that would tell him everything he needed to know.
I did not delude myself into thinking he had become harmless. Kurama was many things. Harmless was not, and never would be, one of them.
"In spite of myself, I believe you." Even he seemed surprised by that admission, pausing as I reeled. Then he shook his head. "Still. I must be certain. How much do you know about me, and how did you come to know it?"
I inhaled; held the breath like a stone inside my chest. Kurama waited in silence. Dark hair curled over his shoulders, glossy and muted in the tinted light like ink spilled along the curve of his pale throat.
"That's…a very long story," I eventually admitted. Because it was the absolute truth, I added, "I'm afraid I don't know where to begin."
"Start with my name," Kurama said. "How did you know that name?"
"Yusuke told me." I shrugged. "You were part of his case. He saw your uniform and asked me to make introductions."
Although the lie slipped easy off my tongue, because I'd rehearsed it enough times before (and because there was some truth to it), Kurama wasn't fooled. At once his eyes narrowed, feet shifting below him as if he meant to pounce. At once I recoiled; Kurama saw this and smirked.
"Based on your behavior when we met, you knew about me long before Yusuke did." His jaw inclined above his broad shoulders, a regal king regarding an unworthy commoner. "You're lying to me, Yukimura."
Because it was pointless to argue, I didn't even try. I just said, "Yeah. I guess I am."
A moment of silence followed. Kurama's lips pursed.
"But…some of what you said was true. Partly so, at least." He hated feeling confused, and channeled the emotion into another imperious stare. "Sit down."
I didn't want to sit. Staying on my feet, where it was easier to start running, felt infinitely preferable to the vulnerable state of sitting—but how far could I even run when it was Kurama who would give chase? If I hadn't been so completely freaked out, I'm sure I would've found the futility at least partially amusing. Certainly ripe for puns, commentary, or mockery, if nothing else.
I clamped my teeth around my tongue to hold back the laugh, rounded the bench, and sat, instead.
Kurama waited for me to get settled before moving. He grabbed a chair and dragged it, metal legs squealing, over the concrete floor to the space in front of me. There he sat with leg draped over knee, hands laced together and hooked over his thigh. The urge to scoot away to a safe distance was difficult to ignore, but somehow I stayed still.
"Now," he said. "Tell me how you knew my true name."
"Well." My fingers tangled in the hem of my skirt, fighting with fabric the same way my mouth fought lies, truths, facts, and fears. "Well. You see. I—"
Something brushed my wrist.
Light, feathery, like a dragonfly alighting—I didn't think much of it until I tried to shift my hand away. A pressure looped around my arm; I gasped, and this time I yanked my arm toward me. The tension pulled taut, cutting into my flesh like a policeman's cuff, and I tried to stand, to wrench my arm away, but when I looked down with a cry of fear, my body numbed.
A leafy vine had lashed itself around my wrist.
Somehow, over the rapid beating of my heart, I heard Kurama chuckle.
I don't know how I managed to stay calm as the vine—thick as my index finger, festooned with deep green leaves that shivered despite the calm greenhouse air—tangled around my wrist and crawled up my arm like a creeping snake. Watching plants move boggled the brain, a lifetime of associating plants with stillness rendering my perception of a moving plant totally unbelievable. I watched with my mouth open as the vine moved of its own accord up to my shoulder before stopping, one leafy frond just brushing my cheek.
It goes without saying that this was Kurama's doing…and despite the way my heart throbbed in my mouth, a spark of glee lit up inside me. A fangirl to the end, that's me.
"Oh," I said. "Oh, wow." I flinched when another pressure looped around my ankle below the bench, vine wrapping around it like a manacle. Kurama's cool eyes betrayed nothing when I looked at him. My breathing hitched; my mouth twitched; Kurama's assertion came true when words tumbled nervous from my mouth. "Um. So. I know I should be scared, but this is really cool to see in person."
His brow lifted, skepticism apparent. My hysterical smile widened—but when something brushed the nape of my neck, my grin crumbled into a horrified gasp. More vines tumbled over the back of my bench, pooling in a writhing mass next to me on the seat, rattlesnakes balling up for the winter. The hiss and shiver of the leaves even sounded like the warning signal of those venomous reptiles.
Too bad for me those plants homed a monster infinitely more dangerous than a mere snake.
From the center of the mass of vines rose a single, curling stem. Like a video played at high speed, the stem grew, and grew, rising above the vines and unfurling broad leaves edged with sharp tines. A bud formed at the tip of the stem, small as a fist at first, but with every second it swelled larger and larger, growing weed-like until the bench's metal legs groaned with the strain of its great weight.
"Interesting," Kurama said.
I glanced his way, a monumental task given how the flower had transfixed me. "What is?"
He chuckled. "You are."
"…y'know, in some cultures, calling someone 'interesting' is a grave insult."
He blinked with manufactured innocence. "Is it? I merely meant that it's interesting you aren't screaming," he said—and he smiled like the fox he was inside. "Yet."
A ripping sound tore my eyes from the fox (who looked much more like a wolf, just then, but oh holy shit now is not the time for pretty metaphors). Brilliant vermillion cracks formed over the surface of the massive bud, green leaves twisting and splitting until they unfolded with a trembling heave of sweet, woody aroma. A flower bloomed, heart a bloody red, petals edging into yellow at their serrated tips—and then those serrations grew longer, folded inward, thickening until they resembled pointed teeth more than the accoutrements of any flowers.
Because they were teeth.
It wasn't until I saw the violently violet tongue undulating in the center of the flower, and noticed the ropy saliva dripping off the petals to puddle on the fabric of my skirt, that I realized what Kurama had summoned.
"OK, so this isn't cool to see in person anymore," I babbled, voice like a cat's frightened whine. "This isn't cool at all."
Atop its stem, the enormous carnivorous plant listed forward, more of its saliva dripping onto my bare knee. Its tongue wriggled and squirmed in the depths of its goopy maw, petals snapping together like eager jaws. I gave a little shriek as spittle flecked my face, hauling my leg up onto the bench so I could use it as leverage to put some distance between myself and the thing that probably, definitely wanted to eat me.
"I could think of no better company to include in our soiree," Kurama remarked. He hadn't budged from his spot, lounging as if he hadn't just summoned a plant that could probably bite my leg off if it wanted. "It can sense deceit. It has a taste for it, in fact." His eyes narrowed, dangerous but amused. "Pray you don't provide it any food."
"Right," I said with a vigorous nod. Fuck my petty pride; just then I was willing to do whatever Kurama asked to save my sorry skin. "No lying, or else Mr. Chompy has a snack. I got it. Crystal clear. Mm-hmm."
"Good. Let's try again." Now Kurama moved, uncrossing his legs so he could brace his elbows upon them and stare me down with eyes that were somehow far more threatening than any carnivorous demon plant. "How did you know my name?"
Well. Shit.
Before the addition of Mr. Chompy, I could lie to my heart's content. Now, though, if what Kurama said was true (and I definitely didn't feel like putting Mr. Chompy's lie-detection skills to the test) lying wasn't an option. I hadn't counted on this. I knew Kurama could probably tell when I was lying—being a horrible liar wouldn't help—but I at least figured I could bend and stretch the truth. Now, though, a bend too far might leave me with fewer limbs…or, y'know. Dead.
I couldn't get out of telling the truth, unless I wanted to test Kurama's bluff…and I really, really didn't want to do that. But just how much could I risk telling him without ruining Yu Yu Hakusho entirely?
Kurama watched, patient and silent, as I analyzed my options. Eventually I lifted my eyes to his and tried my best to seem brave. Did a shit job, I'm sure, but at least I tried.
"I heard a legend," I said, every word careful—and then I held my breath. Luckily Mr. Chompy didn't move. Relaxing, I continued: "This legend told the story of the renowned bandit, Youko Kurama the fox demon, and his death…including the day he became Minamino Shuichi."
Minamino would win the gold medal and the Brow Arching Olympics, especially for his efforts when he replied, "Are you serious?"
Words failed me. Instead I pointed my free hand at Mr. Chompy, who hadn't murdered me, and gave an emphatic nod. This story had worked on both Genaki and Mr. Chompy—hopefully Kurama would get on board, too.
Kurama scowled. "Even if my plant hasn't bitten your head off, you must realize that is hard to believe. Only the demons who met me in this life had any inkling I had ensconced my soul in human skin." His lip curled, so subtly I wouldn't have noticed if not for the telltale gleam in his eye. "Most who discovered the truth have been rendered unable to spread rumors."
There could be no mistaking the implication—that Kurama had killed all who'd found him in this new life. My breathing sputtered, but Kurama merely smirked. He knew his attempt to intimidate had worked, damn him, and he wasn't so humble as not to show it.
"In any case," he said, "how did you hear this so-called legend?" When I didn't reply right away, his lips pursed. "You hesitate. I would hate for 'Mr. Chompy' to become impatient."
On cue, the horrible plant swung close again, fanged petals swirling around that fat tongue. I aimed a kick at the thing, tailbone planted firmly against the armrest on the opposite side of the bench, but the creature pulled away and I missed.
"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, I'm just trying to—" I shook my head, a strangled 'urgh!' humming in my chest—and then I pinned Kurama with the most pathetically sincere look I could muster. "Look, I'm sorry, but I don't know what I'm allowed to tell you. I don't know what I'm allowed to do or say. Because the last time I let my guard down, bad things happened." Squeezing my eyes shut, I shook my head so hard it hurt. "I want to tell you everything. I figured this day would come eventually—if not with you, then with someone else. But after what happened with your mother—"
"My mother?" Kurama said.
I opened my eyes. Kurama's shoulders had tensed, hands clasped tight where they hung between his knees.
"I…I'm afraid," I admitted—and I hated that it was true. "I'm afraid telling you too much could hurt you again."
"I don't understand," Kurama said…not that I blame him. I'd been less than forthcoming so far, with all my panicked prattling. I drew in a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts despite the fear pulsing like mercury through my chest.
"Have you ever heard of a changeling?" I asked—and Kurama's eyes widened. Smile tight, I said, "You and me, we both know a thing or two about stealing children from their mothers."
"Keiko." His eyes bored into my like drills forged of unbreakable jade. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that before you were Minamino Shuichi, you were someone else. So was I."
Because it was logical—because what I was saying sounded impossible—Kurama looked at the plant. When Mr. Chompy didn't lunge for me or rip out my throat with hungry teeth, Kurama directed his attention to me again.
"We're a lot alike, in that way." I attempted another smile, but I probably just looked sick. "Only unlike you, I didn't choose this for myself."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean that when I died, I didn't elect to take on a new form. This was done to me." When Kurama's eyes widened, I placed my free hand on my chest. "I am Yukimura Keiko not by choice, but by design."
He considered this, face betraying nothing. He asked, "Who did this to you?"
"A boy." But that wasn't right. I frowned. "Only, he's too old to be a boy. But he looks like a boy." I searched Kurama's face for any flicker of familiarity. "His name is Hiruko."
"Hiruko," Kurama repeated.
Hope burbled like the fountain in the corner. "Do you recognize…?"
"No." My hopes deflated. "Why did he do this to you?"
"I have no idea." My lips pressed tight together, displeasure and annoyance and rising apprehension making my words come fast. "I have no idea what he wants, why he did this to me, or what he's planning. He hinted he wants me to change things about this legend I'm living. To break the rules, in a sense." Atop my lap, my fingers trembled; I tried not to telegraph my discomfort on my face, but it was difficult. "But the last time I broke those rules, things went bad."
"'About this legend I'm living,'" Kurama repeated. "What do you mean by that?"
Although I'd already fed this story to Genkai, telling Kurama felt…different. Genkai, so near the end of her life, wasn't as ambitious as the still-youthful fox demon before me. There was a chance telling the truth might set into motion certain scheming on his part—but at the same time, he was smart. Too smart to fall into the trap of trying to outsmart fate, surely.
Too bad I couldn't afford to be wrong.
"Yukimura Keiko…she was a character in the same legend from which I learned of Youko Kurama," I said, every word picked with utter care. Kurama sat up straight, face schooled into an impassive, yet attentive mask. "When I died in my first life, I was reborn as a character from this legend. From our legend." I swallowed to compose myself. "The events happening now, to you and to her…I knew they were coming, because of the legend."
Apart from the trickling of the fountain and the low hissing of the Mr. Chompy's undulating leaves, silence reigned. Kurama searched my face for almost a minute. His green eyes traced every line of my features, hunting for deception that even his plant could not sense.
"If not for that plant," he said at last, "I'd think you insane."
"I rather like Mr. Chompy, in that case," I said—and then I held my breath in case the toothy plant took my sarcasm for a lie. Luckily Mr. Chompy seemed to have a sense of humor, because he didn't so much as nibble at any of my limbs. This did not escape Kurama's eagle-eyed notice.
"Against all odds, you speak the truth. Or you think you do, anyway." He leaned forward again, frown returning. "You died, somewhere else in space and time, and an unknown boy placed your soul in the body of a character you thought was fictional." A wry laugh escaped him. "It's preposterous."
"And yet," I said.
"And yet," Kurama solemnly concurred.
With a flex of long, lithe leg, Kurama stood. He walked away, hand mopping his face as he turned his back, feet propelling him toward the fountain in the corner. With hands clasped behind his back he stared at the bubbling water, trying to read the truth in its ebb and flow.
When his shoulders sagged, tension leaving them in a rush, a knot in my chest loosened in tandem. Kurama's eyes held cool serenity when he faced me once again.
"Against my better judgment, I will suspend my disbelief." He held up a finger at the sight of my giddy smile. "For the time being. If what you're saying is true, then in some odd, sideways capacity, you know the future by virtue of knowing this…legend, of yours." He hesitated. Amended: "Of ours."
I winced. Here we came to my greatest fear: my knowledge of the future, and Kurama's potential willingness to capitalize on it.
"Here's the thing," I said. "It's true, that I know what is supposed to happen. But that doesn't mean what's supposed to happen will always happen. Ya feel me?"
"No." His lip twitched at my colloquialism, though, which had to count for something. "Explain."
"When I act in ways that don't correspond with the legend, the legend changes. Or it becomes inaccurate, maybe. It's hard to parse, like chickens and eggs and their respective origins." I shook my head to banish the urge to get metaphorical. "I've tried so hard to be like the real Keiko when it counts, but…I'm beginning to suspect that even if I acted perfectly according to legend, things would still change." His eyes asked questions his mouth did not articulate. I said, "How's your physics?"
"Decent."
"Do you know about the observer effect?"
Of course he did. Kurama practically quoted the textbook when he recited, "The act of measuring an outcome can change the nature of an outcome."
"Right. You try to measure the temperature of a glass of water, but the heat of your hand around the cup can change its temperature slightly." I nodded to myself, trying to quote the textbook, as well. "The observer effect is meant to explain the small variations in scientific outcomes caused by contamination induced during the measuring and recording processes, but…"
Kurama was far too intelligent to require further explanation. Eyes like lanterns with skins of backlit leaves, he said, "You think your very presence in this world has the capacity to change it, no matter how in line with the original, legendary Yukimura Keiko you behave."
"You're so smart." Although I was too anxious to try an actual attempt at flattery, the words slipped out regardless. Laughing, I said, "I honestly can't believe I kept my secret for this long. How did you not see it before?" When his eyes darkened, I hastily added, "But to your credit, you clearly knew something was off about me. You were just too distracted by your mother to invest energy into figuring out the specifics."
The darkness left when I soothed his pride. "Perhaps," he said, eyes now merely curious. "But why do you think your presence can fundamentally change the plot of our shared legend? Was Keiko and important player in events to come?"
"Not really," I said, shrugging, "but big things often claim small beginnings."
Kurama accepted that without comment, gliding back to his chair. He didn't ask what I meant by that, for which I felt grateful. Although I'd mentioned Hiruko, hoping Kurama with all his advanced age had perhaps heard of him, I was not eager to hash out Hiruko's role in this any further.
I still had not had time to truly wonder at the vision—or perhaps the memory—Hiei had recovered in me. Until I obtained answers for myself, I did not wish to reveal more to anyone else.
After a moment's silence, Kurama rested an ankle on his opposite knee. Hands lying flat along the chair's armrests, he asked with all the gravity of a presiding judge, "Which events of the legend, precisely, have changed?"
Now I winced for a different reason—because this was about to get personal. Voice quiet with regret, I said, "Your mother wasn't supposed to come that close to dying. You were supposed to use the Forlorn Hope, ready to give up your life to save her." Kurama's eyes flashed, but before he could ask whether or not he was supposed to be dead instead of sitting across from me in a school greenhouse, I said, "Yusuke was supposed to help you use the Forlorn Hope the same why I did, only on impulse. You and your mother were both meant to live, without all the suspense and drama of me flying in at the last second to save the day." I ducked my head, remembering the dread and fear of the moment I learned Kurama hadn't saved his mother's life. "When Yusuke met me at the train station and told me you hadn't used it at all, I—I panicked."
"So that's what the Mirror meant."
Of all the things he could say, that was not what I had been expecting. I blinked as he smiled, seemingly satisfied with whatever conclusion he'd drawn from my garbled explanations.
"'You seek to mend what has been broken and align destiny on its proper path,'" he said—and with a start I realized what he was getting at. "That was your wish, as described by the Mirror. I've been wondering for some time what the Mirror meant. Now it all makes sense." Smile brimming with understated triumph, he concluded: "Your wish was meant to fix the plot of the legend you've changed, by saving my mother's life."
"Yes." I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat, one summoned by the look of loving affection in Kurama's eyes as he spoke of his mother. "I knew using the Mirror for her would lead to this, to the revelation of my secrets, but…I couldn't stand the thought of you losing her."
Something about my words struck Kurama. He looked up, affection giving way to shock, staring as if I'd suddenly sprouted antlers. I hardly noticed, though.
"I'm sorry, Minamino," I said, voice gummy with emotion—with the guilt I still harbored for nearly ruining everything about Kurama's life. "I'm sorry I interfered. I'm sorry I nearly cost your mother her life." Now my throat hurt outright, eyes pricking and nose stinging as I tried desperately to hold back tears. "I caused this. It was my fault, but I swear to you, I never once meant to—"
"You didn't cause anything," Kurama cut in, tone smooth…and bemused. "I did not renege from my plan with the Mirror because of you, Keiko."
I stopped breathing. Started again, shaky and unsure. "You...you didn't?" I asked.
"Of course not." His lips quirked, tone chiding. "Do you really think me so easily swayed by the words of just one person?"
"W…well," I said, articulation fleeing in confusion's wake. "Well, I mean—isn't it logical to assume I caused this?" When Kurama merely chuckled, I leaned forward as much as the binding vines would allow. "That night at the Lindy Hop, when you asked me about the kidneys, I was honest with you because I didn't think I'd change your mind. But your mind did change." I shook my head, not understanding, not believing, because obviously this was all my fault, and obviously I was to blame for everything. "You mind changed, but I'm the big foreign factor, and if not because of me, then why—?"
I think he took pity on me, because by then I was obviously babbling with nerves, guilt, confusion, and desperation. When he held up a hand, I bit back my words and waited on a bed of nails for him to clarify.
"I should rephrase," he said. "I am not so easily swayed by the words of just one person…except when that person is my mother."
Kurama stood up as I digested that, trying to pull meaning with a brain too frazzled to think straight. He walked to the fountain again, once more turning his back on me.
"Before they took her into surgery, she asked a favor of me," Kurama said. "My mother said, 'Take care of yourself, my son. Live a good, long life. Be happy. Promise me.'"
His tone rang softer than perhaps I'd ever heard it—like petals calling on a gentle wind, perfumed and delicate. When he turned around he wore a smile to match. A slow, aching smile, filled with regret and love I could not begin to fathom.
"How could I deny a dying woman her final wish?" Kurama murmured. "In that moment, staring into her eyes, so full of love for me despite the pain of her illness, all my planning, all my intentions—they crumbled." He shut his eyes, lips thinning into a pained line. "We went to the roof. I held the Mirror in my hand, wondering what to do. I revealed the cost of the wish to Yusuke. But then Yusuke told me about his own mother, who had so mourned him when she died, and I…" Kurama's eyes opened, the pain in them edged with sardonic humor. "He's passionate, your Zombie-kun. Passionate, and persuasive."
It took a minute to remember how to speak. "When he sets his mind to it, yeah," I said. "He is."
Kurama smiled a moment more, but then the expression sank into solemnity. "After he spoke, my determination crumbled," he said. "I gave the Mirror back to Yusuke. I resolved to live the long life Shiori had made me promise to live." Though brittle, his voice held rough, ironic conviction. "I vowed to bear the weight of her death upon my shoulders every day of my long, happy life, until death claimed me, too—when I would see her, and apologize for all I had done wrong."
"You martyr."
The word came out like a lash of sharpened claws. Kurama's eyes popped wide, but his startled expression cooled when he saw the tears on my cheeks. They rolled unchecked, my breath coming in short, hard gasps as the utter Kurama-ness of his intentions sank home.
"You martyr," I repeated, but through my tears I managed an affectionate, broken smile. "You martyr. You masochist. You were planning to be miserable on purpose!" I shook my head, laughing, sniffling, shaking at Kurama's dramatic convictions, born of such unwavering love for the woman he called mother. "That's so you. You're such a…!"
Kurama slipped a hand into his pocket. I tensed, expecting a seedling that could do me harm, but instead he pulled forth a folded handkerchief. I took it when he offered, dabbing at my cheeks until they felt chapped and dry.
"I'd be lying if I said your words didn't affect me," Kurama said. He stood no more than two feet away, gaze rife with soft regret. "But I'd be lying if I said they held a candle to my mother's dying wish. Perhaps you and Yusuke both softened me, so I could hear her wish and honor it, but…you did not cause my hesitation." At that his eyes hardened, though not at anything I'd done. "I did not enjoy that feeling of uncertainty. I promise you it will not happen again. You need not fear changing fate by speaking with my frankly; this I swear to you."
One final hiccup banished my tears. I handed the handkerchief back to Kurama with a nod.
"I admit it's tempting to know my own fate," he said. My heart lurched, fingers crimping the handkerchief into a wad at the sight of his eyes—calculating and cold, wheels behind them spinning with possibility. "I want to know more. I want to ask more."
My breath trembled in my chest. "I—I know. It's tempting. But please don't ask that of me."
His eyes shut, lips a hard line. For a moment I wondered, terror rising, if he'd force me to tell him what I knew. If I'd underestimated his wisdom, even if he was just as intelligent as I knew him to be.
Luckily Kurama is as wise as he is smart.
"Don't worry, Keiko," he said. "I won't as that of you."
My hand unclenched, relief cooling my hot muscles. Though I could scarcely believe Kurama's words, this was what I'd hoped for: for Kurama to agree not to use my knowledge of canon for his own ends. But did he mean what he said? Mr. Chompy hadn't gotten, well, chompy…but would it dare take a nibble of its own creator if its creator attempted deception?
"If the future can be changed, telling me the details my future brings with it certain risks," Kurama said. His eyes shut again, smile doleful. "The observer effect."
"Yes," I said—because Kurama's intelligence was his own worst enemy here, and for this I felt grateful. "Yes. The observer effect."
"If I know I am meant to be victorious in battle, will I fight with all my strength to survive?" Kurama said. "Or will I count on fate to guide my victory, and lose thanks to my own hubris?"
"Yes." I nodded until I feared my head my fall off. "Yes, exactly."
"When you yourself don't even know why you're here, or for what purpose this puppet master Hiruko has manipulated your fate…it's too risky. The less I know of my own fate, the better." His smile took on a different quality, inquisitive and small. "Though I admit I am still curious about you."
I inhaled sharply. "Oh?"
With another small smile, Kurama resumed his seat across from me. "In light of my vow, tell me," he said as he settled in, "and tell me the truth: Who are you? Or rather, who were you?"
"A writer, mostly," I said, because it was true. "Human," I added, because I thought Kurama would want to hear it. And I said, "No one of consequence," because it felt like the right thing to say.
But Kurama remained unconvinced. "That seems unlikely."
"And that's what makes this so strange." I shrugged ruefully. "I wasn't important. I wasn't special. I wasn't…anything. I was just normal. And now I'm here, with no idea why me."
Kurama's eyes darting toward the plant (which of course didn't move, because I was definitely telling the truth about all of that). He asked, "Where were you from?"
"Texas."
"…like John Wayne? Cowboys?"
My eyes rolled of their own accord. "That's such a stereotype. But yeah." Ticking off stereotypical you're-from-Texas questions on my fingers, I told him, "I knew how to ride horses, yes. I had an accent, yes. I owned cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, sure. No, I was not a Republican." Sitting back in my seat, I offered him a cheesy smile. "There. That should cover everything."
"That explains your proficiency with English," Kurama muttered after a moment's consideration. "Your accent is flawless." He paused, then asked, "How old were you when you died?"
"26," I said.
"You're 14 now. So, 40 years of collective experience."
"Math isn't my best subject, but that sounds right, yeah."
"Speaking of. You said were a writer."
"Yeah. No books, but I'd published short nonfiction and fiction a bit in journals. Some poetry here and there. Even got some award accolades for the nonfiction." I laughed, self-deprecating and dry. "Too bad I died before I could do anything of note, right?"
He scowled. "Publishing stories isn't 'nothing.'"
I tittered, disagreeing without saying why. My paltry publishing experience had been so far from my eventual, lofty goals that it hardly felt worth mentioning, let alone extolling. Luckily Kurama didn't want to argue the point. Eyes roving over my face, he took a deep breath—as if bracing himself for a tough question.
"Were you a woman?" Kurama asked.
The question caught me quite off-guard. "Um. Well, yeah. Why?"
"You don't seem married to human gender roles," Kurama explained. "It's difficult to explain, but in your carriage…" He managed to half-bow even while sitting. "I apologize if I've offended you."
"Oh. Don't worry. You haven't." I managed to deliver the first genuine smile of our entire conversation. "In my old life, I wore men's cologne every day. Some men's clothes, too. I don't now because it would freak out Keiko's parents, but…" I tossed my short hair with a comically snooty huff. "Gender is performative, and I'm afraid I do not have the patience or temperament to always perform as others expect, sorry-not-sorry."
Kurama absorbed that with a smile of his own. Another moment passed; he met my eyes with trepidation, as if he regretted his questions before even voicing it.
"Did the legend…our legend," he said. "Did it have a happy ending?"
Define 'happy', I wanted to say…but in the end, Yu Yu Hakusho was not a story a story of darkness. Far from it. If anything, YYH had only ever brought me light.
"There were hardships along the way, many of them," I said, "and the journey was very long, but…yes." This was one bit of truth I could give him, I thought, that wouldn't jeopardize anything. It was too nebulous, too vague, to hurt. I told Kurama, "At the very end, it did have a happy ending."
Although he looked relieved at first, the moment passed. Brow knitting, he asked, "Were you and I—were Keiko and I meant to meet?"
I wasn't sure if I liked the way he differentiated between Keiko and myself, although I often did the same; perhaps I had no room to complain. I admitted: "They knew of each other. Acquaintances, more than anything. Getting transferred to Meiou is another part of the legend I broke." I shrugged, embarrassed. "I was supposed to go to Yusuke's school. Keiko and Kurama definitely weren't meant to be close friends or have conversations like this one. You and me—you and Keiko—" (there I went, disconnecting us) "—that's new."
Kurama absorbed this, face inscrutable. "Yusuke is a part of this legend?"
"Yes. He was a main character." I didn't care to tell Kurama Yusuke was the main character—didn't want to give too much away.
"I see," Kurama said.
I almost thought he was done asking questions, then, because Kurama fell silent, looking at his clasped hands without expression. An experimental tug on the vines holding my wrist and ankle told me we weren't done, however, a suspicion confirmed when Kurama raised his eyes to mind again.
"Do you regret meeting me the way you did?" he asked.
I couldn't reply right away—mainly because the question was so stupid it rendered me incapable of thinking. "W-what?" I eventually managed to grate out. "Do I—do I regret—?"
"Do you regret meeting me?" Kurama repeated, as if asking a question no more insidious than 'how's the weather?' "It's a simple enough inquiry."
"Wuh—no, I don't regret meeting you!" My voice slipped out high and reedy, incensed and flummoxed and angry all at once. "How the hell could you ask that?! Of course I don't regret meeting you! Not one bit, mister sir, and I'm mad you'd even ask such a thing." My tone dropped; I wagged a reproaching finger. "Now, I regret that close call with Shiori. Lemme tell ya, that's brought me quite a bit of anxiety, my good, good buddy…but meeting you?" I threw back my head and laughed. "As if! Can you imagine meeting a character from a book you love? It's amazing."
Kurama's brow arched yet again, but this time it wasn't with skepticism—it was with a pleased sort of surprise, mouth curling into the barest of smiles that warmed me to my toes.
The warmth vanished under the weight of his next question, though.
"What is your name?" Kurama asked, innocent and curious and ignorant of all the ways that question tortured me. "Your true name, I mean."
I didn't reply.
I couldn't reply.
Something told me that no matter how many times this happened, I would never be able to answer that question swiftly, or without emotion. Kurama frowned, a look of displeased thunder darkening the leafy color of his eyes.
"You know my name from my past," he said, all traces of humor vanishing. "You know details of my life, I presume, that I would otherwise prefer kept secret." What maddeningly fair logic; what horrible, hurtful, correct logic. Tenor silken, delicate, and dangerous, he said, "It's only fair you level the playing field for me, isn't it?"
Wishing I could honor him the way he deserved, I said, "I'm sorry, Minamino—"
"Kurama." The harsh rebuke cut me to the quick. "Call me Kurama."
"Right. Sorry. Force of habit. I trained myself to only say Minamino, and, ah—never mind." The darkness in his eyes told me he wasn't interested in hearing my excuses. I snatched a breath like a net snatching fish from water, quick and merciless. "Sorry, Kurama. But I don't remember my name."
Now he was the one at a loss for words. Fragile surprise coated his features, threatening to shatter if he moved too swiftly. His throat worked when he swallowed. I swallowed, too, trying to banish the lump building in my neck.
"I'm sorry," Kurama said.
And it sounded like he meant it, too. I wanted to tell him not to apologize. I wanted to say it was OK. It wasn't his fault, and I was just fine without the memory of my first name. I wanted to deliver unto him a valiant, sunny smile and shrug it off, make some breezy, dismissive comment and change the subject like changing the TV channel.
I wanted to, but I could not. Instead my eyes watered; I pressed Kurama's handkerchief to my lips, eyes locked on my bare knees where they curled before me, still providing a barrier between myself and Mr. Chompy.
In the long, awkward pause, that followed, I tried very hard not to cry.
It wasn't easy.
"Keiko," Kurama said. "Are you all right?"
"My name was short."
My words surprised even me, as apparently they did Kurama. I looked up at his sharp intake of breath, matching that breath with one of my own. Our eyes met; Kurama had straightened, back ramrod erect as he waited for me to continue.
Continuing wasn't easy. It meant speaking things I hadn't yet had the heart to admit, even to my most private self.
"Sometimes I dream about it." Voice no louder than a whisper, I spoke the truth I'd avoided uttering my entire second life. "I dream about my parents, or a lover, or a friend saying my name—and I can't remember the sound, but it was a short name." Kurama didn't react when I smiled, a quivering ghost of a smile that didn't feel like a smile at all. "It was simple. Just a few letters, maybe just one syllable. It might have been a small part of a longer name. I think maybe it was a boy's name, even though I was a girl." I waved the handkerchief like a tentative flag. "Like Chris, short for Christina, or Al, short for Alexandra. Or maybe it wasn't either of those." When Kurama said nothing, I sighed. "It's just a feeling. But that's all I remember."
Silence descended like snowfall.
Kurama broke it to say, "What should I call you?"
I shrugged. "I've gotten used to Keiko. So that's fine."
But Kurama wasn't buying it. Jaw firm, he said, "Being accustomed is not equivalent to active preference." His mouth softened. "We could shorten 'Keiko', if you'd like."
I didn't say anything—because I didn't know what to do, what to feel. Shorten Keiko's name? I didn't have a name of my own anymore, but changing hers? I already had a nickname with Kagome. Hiei had called me Meigo. What would changing Keiko's name a third time bring to…?
"Kei," Kurama said. "I went to school with a boy named Kei." His confidence wavered; diffident, he suggested, "Would that make you feel more…?"
He trailed off. I turned the shortened name—a boy's name, one syllable, just two characters when spelled phonetically—over and over in my head the way a river tosses stones.
"Kei." It was simple. Cute. Boyish. A memory stirred, coaxing a small laugh. "I had a roommate named Kay in college, actually. She was nice." Bashful, I ducked my head, rubbing the back of my neck with one uncertain hand.
"Kei," I repeated with a glance at Kurama. "I think…I think I might like it."
Kurama's smile felt like a warm spring wind against my face. He stood, walked toward me, and extended one pale hand.
"Well then, Kei," he said. "It's nice to finally meet you."
I reached for him. His large hand enveloped mine and held it fast, American-style handshake reminding me inexplicably of home, of my old life, of America—but perhaps he intended that.
He knew the truth about me, after all—as much of it as I was willing to share.
"It's nice to meet you, too," I told him.
Beside me, Mr. Chompy shivered—but he did not bite, even though a part of me shrank at the notion I'd lost another facet of control alongside the privacy of my secrets.
We walked home through the early night in silence, neither quite sure what to say. What does one say after an evening like that, anyway? I had so few secrets now. Kurama had no secrets, either. Neither of us, in either of our fourteen years of living, had been honest with another person—but there we were. Exposed, together.
Granted, it was probably harder for Kurama than it was for me. He still knew so little about me, and I'd at least had the comfort of Kagome in the past few months, plus the fleeting moment of confession with the distant Genkai. My secrets were likely larger than Kurama's, true, but I did not envy how he must have felt on that walk home through the dark.
I did not envy how he'd feel when I revealed Spirit World had asked me to spy on him.
Luckily our conversation, presided over by Mr. Chompy, hadn't veered in a direction in which confessing Ayame's proposition had become necessary. I hadn't agreed to her offer yet, after all. Why tell Kurama about the contract before it had even been signed?
Perhaps I was deluding myself. Perhaps confessing just then would have been better…but I needed this last secret. I needed to wait until I had made my final decision.
I needed this last shred, this final scrap of control over my own life, lest I lost control entirely.
"This is me." We'd reached the end of my street, stopping under the watery illumination of a streetlamp. Bowing, hands clasped around my bookbag, I said, "Thanks for the walk home. See you tomorrow."
Before I could go, however, Kurama's hand curled around my elbow—not a grab or a hold, but a gentle, encircling pressure meant to keep me without force.
"Kei, wait. I have to ask," he said, low voice imploring and insistent. "There's just one thing I don't understand."
I held my breath. Kurama searched my face until I felt I'd suffocate.
"Why the puns?" he asked.
I blinked at him. "The puns?"
"The references. The veiled innuendo." When still I did not react, he explained, "Calling me a demon and a fox to my face. You can't tell me that was unintentional, knowing what I know now." The fox in him had never been more apparent than when he said, eyes glittering all the while, "For someone who wanted to maintain secrets, you walked a fine line with me. It would have been smarter to simply remain quiet about what you knew. And yet—you nearly flaunted your knowledge of me to my face." He shifted, coming deep into my personal space, looming over me even though I knew he meant me no harm. Not anymore. He asked, "Why did you do it?"
All I could do was laugh, eyes rolling with the absurdity of my own actions—and to cover the swift heat invading my cheeks. Before my courage could fail me, I told him: "Can you imagine meeting a character you've treasured your whole life, in the flesh, and then realizing that character would want nothing to do with you?"
He almost recoiled, remorse flashing across his features. "I didn't say I wanted nothing—"
"Oh—no. Don't misunderstand. You didn't do anything wrong." Curling my strange, new hair behind my ear, I regarded him from beneath my lashes, trying not to look as awkward as I felt just then. I mumbled, "Just…I wanted to get to know you, y'know?"
He didn't understand, bamboozled by my sheer weirdness. "So you made puns?"
"Well…yeah. I suppose I did." I shifted on my feet, looking anywhere but at him, because the truth of this hurt to admit. "I didn't think I was interesting enough to get your attention on my own, so…so I made myself interesting. I turned myself into a puzzle to get your attention, so you'd see me." At that I grinned, big and cheesy, accompanied by an exaggerated, cartoon wink. "And it worked. Just look at us now."
Kurama's jaw dropped—just clean dropped—and it was probably the most hilarious thing I'd ever seen in my life. Slipping from his grasp, I couldn't suppress the giggle building in my chest.
"Night, Kurama." I winked at him again before trailing off down the sidewalk. "I'll see you in school, OK?"
"Kei."
I turned. Kurama had shoved his hands into his pockets, staring after me with amusement mixed with…I wasn't sure. Not affection, surely, but something close to it.
"If it's any consolation," Kurama told me, musical voice carrying on the wind, "you are swiftly becoming the most interesting person I have ever met."
The blush could not be contained. It was atomic, enflamed, and thoroughly unwanted. I covered my face with a hand and spun, putting my back to him so I could hide the sign of my utter mortification—because oh my god, he had not just said that to me. Not to me, the totally normal girl in the body of another, totally normal girl. It was preposterous. It was unbelievable.
It was…nice.
But I sure as shit couldn't let on that it felt that way.
"Wow. What a ringing endorsement," I said, schooling my features into a scowl I could shoot like an arrow over my shoulder. "Remember what I said about that word being an insult in other cultures?"
His head tilted to one side, playacting the confused schoolboy. "Oh?"
"Don't 'oh' me." I stuck out my tongue. "And flattery will get you nowhere."
"No. I suppose it won't." He chuckled, the sound of wind through the trees. "I'll see you tomorrow, Kei."
"Yeah," I said. "See you."
I didn't turn back again. The night had gone well—better than I expected—and I was not about to tempt fate now. Given how many times I'd fucked up canon so early into the story, I would take whatever victories I could get, in whatever form I could get then.
Kurama no longer wanted my blood.
I counted that as a victory indeed.
NOTES:
So, one thing I get a lot of is people calling me "interesting". But I think I'm really super boring? So I guess those last couple of lines are reflective of a comment I get a lot, but I have trouble believing. It's interesting the way my self-perception differs from how others apparently see me.
MANY HUGE EXHAUSTIVE THANKS to last chapter's readers! All of you were amazing and you made my week: Yakiitori, Just 2 Dream of You, Tw2000, RedPanda923, Lady Rini, general zargon, MyHeartBeating-MWMI, zubhanwc3, MetroNeko, Yuriki-Rurinia, Tsuki-Lolita, MyMidnightShadow, Gwendolyn-sama, rya-fire1, SesshomarusLuver, wennifer-lynn, ChaosTheVoid, Counting Sinful Stars, xenocanaan, WaYaADisi1, LadyEllesmere, DiCuoreAllison, Yunrii, sousie, Marian, Beccalittlebear, Dec Jane, LonelyDreamer7, buzzk97, Maester Ta, InfinityMars, reebajee, britneycase3, AnimePleasegood, Chi-chan, FireDancerNix, FreshToDeath, Finniansama, Tay, ahyeon, Kaiya Azure, Reclun, srirachacha, Ghiro!
