Warnings: None
Lucky Child
Chapter 49:
"Surprises & Prophecy Fulfilled, Part 1"
One month after I showed up on Shizuru's unsuspecting doorstep, I boarded a bus and headed into the mountains to the west of the Sarayashiki.
Well. I boarded a train, first. And then I took a bus. And then I had to rent a bicycle, take a long walk, and then take another bus before reaching the foot of a worn mountain path at the edge of a quaint village. The point I'm trying to make is that it took a long while—a really long while—and by the time I saw the "BEWARE OF DOGS" read by the gate at the foot of the trail, I was in dire need of a nap.
Instead I tossed my sweaty bangs from my forehead, paid the dubious signage no mind, and walked beneath the shade of the trees lining the path's sloping incline.
The dogs here had long since learned not to bite me, after all. This wasn't my first rodeo, and besides: I brought the dogs too many treats. No way would they straight-up murder me.
Not like they tried to do the first time I'd shown up here. But I digress.
It took about half an hour, midday sun scorching when it filtered through the canopy above, to get the house in the secluded glen. Half an hour of trudging along, minding the horned skulls littering the path, and trying not to curse when a mosquito dive-bomb my face and landed a bite on my chin. My clothes stuck to my back and groin like tacky sandpaper. When the red pitch-roofed house with the wrap-around porch and huge picture window swam mirage-like from the trees, I let out a little whoop of joy.
Sato Shogo appeared on the porch a moment later; man had sharp ears, if he heard that whoop, or maybe the guard dogs had barked at my approach. Either way, he came left the house and stood on the upraised porch with a friendly wave.
"Keiko!" he called. "Punctual as always."
"I try." Somehow I found the energy to trot to the house and climb the stairs without embarrassing myself and passing out. "The kids around?"
"No. They're with their mother."
"…is it bad I'm relieved?"
He laughed, head thrown back with mirth. "Not at all! I live for quiet days like these."
"I can imagine." I gestured at the house and my sweaty face. "May I?"
The inside—small but cozy, ceilings lofted and echoing, furniture simple but plush—looked the same as it had the week before, and the week before that, and the week before that. I knew where the guest bathroom was and went to it at once, washing my face in the sink before heading back into the living room. Shogo had already fetched a pitcher from the kitchen and held it poised over a glass on the coffee table.
"Lemonade?" he said.
"Please." I said in the beige chair near the fireplace, leaving open the green easy chair and the blue couch—because those were favored spots for Shogo and his family, and I was a guest, and I didn't want to bother then if said family came back. As Shogo handed me my lemonade, I asked, "So how's the training going overall? I know I'm not supposed to ask, but…"
Shogo poured himself a glass of lemonade and sat in his green chair. Legs crossed, fingers steepled, he tilted back his head and thought a moment. "Last I heard, it was going well." A smile cracked his solemn features. "But Kuroko and the kids have a great time keeping me in the dark, so I can't tell you much more than that, I'm afraid."
"It's OK." That was a lie, of course, but it couldn't be helped. I took a sip of lemonade (which I think he'd diffused with refreshing, tongue-coating mint oil) and said, "I figured."
"Thank you for your understanding," he said. "And how were you this last week?"
"Oh. Fine, I suppose." We had this conversation every time I came to check in with Shogo and his family; it felt as scripted as a play, although in truth I did have more to tell him since the last time we'd spoken. "I've just been hanging out and stuff. And since everyone is off training this summer, I'll admit it's been a little…"
I trailed off. Shogo, no stranger to the song and dance of my missing friends and odd social life, offered a sympathetic smile.
"Lonely?" he surmised.
I started to say no. To paste on a smile and say I was just fine, thanks, and not to worry.
But…this was Shogo.
He knew better than to believe my excuses by now.
I heard from the boys precisely once after Genkai informed me she would be keeping both of them—and just as predicted, I missed both of them terribly.
For two weeks after the phone call from Genkai, nothing but radio silence. Nothing but a big, gaping hole in my chest Yusuke and Kuwabara had once occupied, as empty as their beds at night when the sun went down. Atsuko had swallowed the truth easily enough. I hadn't bothered lying to her, admitting Yusuke was training with a sensei in the mountains because…well. Atsuko didn't exactly care. I knew her well enough to know that she'd think it was a great idea, Yusuke training with someone, because it might give him the discipline he sorely lacked. As for Kuwabara's family, after I told Shizuru what was up, she was able to provide a cover story to Kuwabara's father almost immediately.
It covered both her and Kuwabara's absences in one precise stroke, in fact. Good ol' Shizuru. I'd come to miss her as much as I missed the boys, even if she wasn't totally cut off the way Yusuke and Kuwabara were. Genkai would bite my head off if I so much as came within a mile of her compound.
That's why the phone call at 2 AM on a Tuesday came as such a welcome surprise despite the stupid-late hour.
"Keiko?!" someone said after I mumbled a grumpy 'hello' into the phone. "Keiko, it's me!"
The heavy cotton of sleep dissolved; I sat bolt upright in bed, hand a vice on the receiver. "Kuwabara, is that you?"
"Yeah, yeah, it's me—but I don't have much time! Do my dad and sister know where I am? Genkai said she got word to them, but I—"
"Yeah, it's all good," I cut in. "I took care of everything."
"Oh, thank god." I could practically see him sag, blocky features relieved and grateful. "I was worried. And I would've called sooner, honest, but Genkai said 'outside distraction is detrimental to our training' or something, but I didn't hear very well because I was sort of mostly passed out at the time, and—"
"You were what?!"
"Hey, keep your voice down! I had to pick the lock and sneak out of bed to use the phone!"
I only got louder. "Genkai locks you in your room at night?!"
"Well, yeah," Kuwabara said. "She doesn't want the snakes to get out."
"THE SNAKES?!"
"Shhh!" Kuwabara susurrated, like the snakes in question probably did and oh my god Genkai I'm going to kill you for what you're doing to my precious cinnamon roll Kuwabara. "They aren't venomous or anything; they're just supposed to scare us." He sounded like a preening bird when he added, "I named all of them, actually. They're pretty nice once you get past the scales and stuff."
I took a deep breath and tried to quell my murderous urges, not to mention my utter horror at the thought of a bed full of snakes. The sheets twisting around my ankles felt suspicious, suddenly.
"Snakes," I said. "Snakes. I can't believe she makes you sleep with snakes." I'd wondered what horrible tortures Genkai would cook up for my boys, but snakes? It was like she could read minds, because: "Oh, man. That's not good. Yusuke hates snakes!"
"Yeah, I know," Kuwabara muttered. "He kept me up with his shrieking that first night." His voice adopted a sunny, optimistic air when he helpfully informed me, "But Genkai puts him on the bed of nails more often than the snake pit, so it's chill, right?"
I gaped into the dark of my bedroom and managed, in clipped tones, to intone the following: "The fact that you're presenting a bed of nails as the 'chill' option is absolutely nightmarish."
"…yeah, that does sound pretty bad out of context, doesn't it?"
"It sounds bad in any context." Far too late to get Kuwabara away from the sadistic Genkai at this point, unless I launched an escape attempt, but Genkai would just kick my ass and then we'd both be fucked and sleeping in the snake pit. Rubbing my temples, I desperately tried to change the subject. "Are you OK? Is she feeding you, at least?"
I heard him shudder through the phone. "Ugh, yeah. It tastes like crap, but it's good for us. When I get back, you bet the first thing I'll want to eat is some of your dad's ramen!"
"It'll be on the house." Least I could do, given I was the one who'd gotten Kuwabara into this mess. I swung my legs out of bed and flipped on my desk lamp, bedroom bathed in a warm glow. The fan in the corner kept the room cool, breeze wafting across my face in the damp summer dark. "So is the training going OK? Are you learning a lot, or just being tortured for sadistic funsies?"
I expected to hear about more torture, or for Kuwabara to at least bemoan Genkai's tough standards and harsh training regimen. I most certainly didn't expect to hear a tone of reverence creep into Kuwabara's rough voice, nor for his words to come as hushed as my midnight bedroom.
"Oh, man, Keiko," he said. "Genkai is amazing."
Mind darting back to the snake pit, I said, "…she is?"
"Yeah. I mean, sure, the snakes and the nails and the pushing boulders up hills and the holding your breath for ten minutes underwater thing is hard—"
"Holding your what for ten minutes, now?!"
"—but I feel good," he continued, "and I haven't felt like that in months."
The gratitude sang in his tone like a struck bell. My toes dug into the carpet by my bed, gripping the plush as I murmured, "Kuwabara…"
"Genkai said I was going about it all wrong," he said. "The answer wasn't turning down the volume on my power. The answer was learning to use it, get familiar with it, master it and make it listen to me. She makes me meditate in bad conditions until my power just…swims forward. It just swims through all the noise and then it's just there and I can feel it, and use it, and it's not scary anymore."
My lips curled on reflex. He sounded so confident—a far cry from the anxiety-riddled boy who'd slept on my floor weeks prior. Seems sending him to Genkai might be worth the snakes, after all.
"She doesn't want anyone suppressing your power," I said. "She wants you to gain control."
"Finesse is the word she keeps using," he said, and his voice dropped low when he muttered, "not that I know what that means."
"It means delicate and precise," I said. "Like a fencer wielding a foil, y'know?"
How badly did I long to see his eyes light up, a smile to bloom across his face? I could see it in my mind's eye when he said, "Hey, that makes sense, and Keiko, you'll never believe this—but I have a sword! It's like Yusuke's gun only, well, a sword instead, and it's super-super cool and I can't wait to show it to—"
He fell silent midsentence. I frowned, the buzz of the quiet line rattling against my ear canal. Was it just the fan slowly circling in the corner, or could I hear Kuwabara breathing low and steady on the line, like an animal regulating its breath to avoid a predator?
"Kuwabara?" I said.
"Sorry. Thought I heard something," he said in a softer voice. "No telling what Genkai would do if she caught me." Real regret accompanied the phrase, "I should probably go before that happens."
My heart lurched. "So soon?"
"Yeah. She'd probably make me eat a cactus if she found out I'd called you, but I couldn't not try to call, y'know?"
"I know," I said. "But—tell Yusuke that everything's OK back home, will you?"
"Will do." He hesitated. "And, uh…I miss you." And then he began to babble, voice rising louder with embarrassment. "I mean, we both miss you, even if Yusuke will never admit it, but I needed to say it for myself, to you…if it's OK? It's OK, right?"
"It's OK. I miss you, too."
Kuwabara made a strangled, pleased noise in the back of his throat. I laughed. I couldn't help it. I hadn't heard his voice in weeks and had been worried sick, but here he was getting nervous talking to a girl—nervous talking to a girl after he'd had to sleep in a pit of snakes. My Kuwabara to the core, a lovable goofball till the end. I'd miss him all the more, after hearing him stutter like that.
"And for what it's worth," I said, "I'm proud of you."
Another strangled inhale, this one followed by a squeaked, "Keiko?!"
"I'm proud of you for diving in with both feet and kicking your power's ass," I said, and I let my tone get heated for just a moment. "You're amazing. You're not running away—you're running headlong into the fray. You're brave. And I'm so, so proud of you, dammit!"
Although he'd seen my protective streak, like on the night I defended him from those thugs in the alley, I don't think Kuwabara had heard this level of proud-mama-bear from me yet. He squeaked again, like he wasn't exactly sure how to handle himself—but then he took a deep breath.
"Keiko, I need to say something," he said. He took another deep breath. "I've been thinking, and—oh my god I have to go."
Before I could blurt out a question, or even register that his voice had jumped at least an octave at that last statement, there came a thud, followed by a clatter, and then by a yelp and the pound of running feet. Static followed—and then a crass, cracking voice cut through the quiet.
"Touching conversation," she groused. "I'm one more word away from vomiting."
"Hi, Genkai," I said. I used my best no-nonsense voice to ask, "So what's this I hear about a bed of snakes?"
"Testing willpower," she grunted. "Seems he had the will to free himself, if nothing else." Though perhaps I imagined it, I thought she sounded almost impressed when she said, "Didn't realize he can pick locks."
"He can't, so far as I know," I said.
"So he learned. Adapted. Necessity is the mother of invention. Explains the sword…but I've said too much." A laugh snuck into her decrepit vocal cords. "Time to inflict a penalty game for his poor behavior."
I couldn't suppress a sympathetic wince. "Don't hurt him too badly."
"No promises," Genkai said.
She hung up.
I didn't hear from Yusuke or Kuwabara again that summer. If pressed, I'd put money on Genkai tearing the phone off the wall just to keep them from trying that stunt again—but somehow, I knew deep in my gut that this absence from the boys was worth it.
The brittle edge that had invaded Kuwabara's voice before he left to train with her had vanished.
That alone was worth the price of separation.
"I'm anxious to have them back," I said, thoughts pulled once more into the present.
Shogo nodded. "So is my wife."
My brow lifted. "Oh?"
"She's interested in her successor. Well, her successor's successor." Although he didn't say Sensui's name, I knew who he meant—but I tried not to let that show on my face. Shogo continued, "And she's very interested to hear about his experiences with Genkai. Did you know she went to Genkai once, but Genkai refused to take her on as a student?"
"No. I didn't know." Canon most certainly had never let that slip, but then again, they'd never let slip anything about Hideki-sensei and his connection to Genkai, either. Thus, I meant it when I said, "That's fascinating."
"Yes. Though it wasn't for a lack of potential. Rather, Genkai merely didn't want to take on students at the time. She claimed to be enjoying her retirement too much." At that he sighed. "Poor timing for Kuroko, I suppose. She was terribly upset, even though she managed to find a different sensei later. If she were ten years younger…"
He trailed off, implication left unspoken. It seemed every conversation I had with Shogo, I learned just the littlest bit more about this world, be it the general nature of it or its connections to Yu Yu Hakusho. Here I was uncovering another lost connection, another stray thread. Pity summer was coming to a close and these frequent visits would have to cease. We'd probably keep in touch, sure, but…
Shogo apparently read my mind. He said, "At any rate, summer is quickly drawing to its end. Have you had fun, even if you miss your friends?"
This time I was able to meet his question with a smile—a genuine smile. "I have," I said, and that was the truth.
Much as I missed my boys, saddling Genkai with their asses meant I had more free time to nurture and develop other friendships—ones canon had never quite dictated I should pursue, but ones I would pursue nonetheless.
They chose a trendy café with a French theme—very them, and exactly as I expected. And the conversation went pretty much exactly how I thought it would, too, starting with general school updates and news about my homelife. That was all a smokescreen, though, for what they really wanted to know. I saw it in their eyes, the way they lit up when they finally got all the filler bits out of the way and cut straight to the chase.
Too bad I had to let them down with my answer of "Sorry, girls, but I'm still single." They stared at me, nonplussed, and then sighed in comical unison.
"So you still don't have a boyfriend?" said Eimi.
"Changing schools didn't change my No Dating Until I'm 18 Rule," I reminded her.
"Yeah. I guess not," said Eimi.
"But we'd hoped!" Michiko added.
Another sigh between the two of them, twin looks of beleaguered pity aimed in my direction. I rolled my eyes, but I laughed, because these two were nothing if not persistent. Both of them had gone on a lot of dates since we'd last spoken. Popular girls, it seemed, but they still carved out time to visit with good ol' Keiko.
It felt good to see them. Good, and long overdue. The girls seemed to feel the same way, or at least they felt like they were falling behind on their romance lectures.
"I hear there are some really cute boys at Meiou," Michiko said when she recovered from her disappointment.
"And some cute girls," Eimi added with a waggle of eyebrow.
It was all I could do to not turn into an atomic tomato. Turning up my nose, I very stiffly declared, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't," they said as one, and then we all collapsed into giggles.
I'd never explicitly "come out" to them (or to anyone in this life, for that matter) but Eimi and I both had caught each other staring at a pretty girl before, and Michiko thought it was hilarious, so there really hadn't been a need—and that was a good thing considering our nation's political climate in the 1990s. We were content to let small jokes and knowing comments slide with a giggle or two, and not discuss it in full, but still. It was nice to know I wasn't quite alone, even if we'd never exchanged a verbal truth.
We chattered for a while at the café before paying and heading out, day reserved for shopping, girl talk, and much-needed catching up. As we neared the door, however, a call of my name stopped us. From the other side of the café came Junko, of all people, grinning ear to ear. Michiko and Eimi exchanged A Look at the sight of her stylish cowboy boots and short skirt. Not in a mean or judgy way, but in an oh-my-god-Keiko-has-new-friends-who-seems-cool kind of way. Which was nice. I just hoped they got along…
"Hey, Yukimura!" Junko said. "How's your summer?"
"It's been great." I gestured at my friends. "Eimi, Michiko. This is Junko, a friend from school."
A chorus of "Nice to meet you" and a trio of bows made the rounds, greetings and names and general introductions galore. Eimi said, "We're friends from Keiko's old school. Thanks for taking care of our girl for us."
"It's no trouble." Junko nudged my ribcage, ends of her bleached hair flipping. "But she takes care of us more than the reverse, truth be told."
"Oh god," Michiko said, horrified. "So she's still acting like a mom?"
Eimi added, "We'd hoped she'd outgrow that."
"Nope!" Junko said. "Still the mommiest of all moms."
Michiko heaved a sigh. "Oh, Keiko."
"Will you never act your age?" Eimi scolded.
"Ha ha, very funny, all of you," I said—but they weren't done. Not by a long shot.
The conversation quickly turned into a barrage of good-natured teasing, Junko sharing anecdotes about my mom tendencies and the way I'd become an advice guru for most of our grade ("That's what she was at Sarayashiki, too!" Eimi said). Even if they were poking fun at me, the sight of them getting along warmed the cockles of my wee little heart right up.
If Eimi and Michiko got along with my new friends, it would be easier to keep them around and in the loop. I hadn't recognized some of the names from their stories about school. I know they hadn't recognized most, if any, from mine. How easy it would be to lose touch with these great girls if we didn't have common ground in our social lives. Growing apart was a natural part of growing up, but the thought of that eventuality sent a spike of pain through my worried head.
Lucky for me, a distraction availed itself as surely as if I'd placed an order for it at the café counter.
"Will you excuse me just one second?" I said, breaking away from the group. "Hey! Kaito!"
The aforementioned turned with a frown, movements jerky but swift. Eyes widened behind his glasses, which he shoved back up his nose with the tip of one long finger before addressing me. It was weird seeing him in street clothes instead of a uniform, though he wore a tie and suit jacket with slacks, so all in all it was more a change in color scheme as opposed to a full outfit swap. Damn guy was formal even in his casual life…
"Yukimura," he said, clipped and nasal as always. "Fancy meeting you here."
"I'll say." I jerked my head at the front of the restaurant. "Didn't figure you for a café guy."
"I'm not." He glanced over my shoulder. "Here with friends, I presume."
I looked back. Michiko and Eimi stared toward us, both huddled at Junko's side as the taller girl muttered to them out of the corner of her mouth. They all paled and pivoted away when they saw us looking, retreating behind one of the potted ivy climbers near the café door—but then they just started staring again between the leaves. Not very subtle, girls.
"Yeah," I said. "Some from all the schools I've been to, actually."
"Interesting." His lips quirked the barest fraction. "So Sarayashiki students are still willing to associate with the delinquent, then?"
"Oh, shut up," I grumbled. When Kaito laughed, I changed my tactic and waggled my eyebrows. "So what are you doing here, anyway? Hot date?"
Kaito glared, but beneath his freckles I saw a tinge of pink. "Please. I have no time for such frivolity." He proffered the book under his arm. "An author I admire is speaking at a bookstore a few blocks over. I thought a bite to eat ahead of time was in order. Would despise it if my stomach growled mid-reading."
"Ah, cool!" I said. "I went to a book signing not long ago, myself. Very fun. I hope you have a great time!"
"Oh?" he said, breezing past the well-wishes and heading right for the part that interested him. "A signing for whom, and where? Sarayashiki is woefully negligent about hosting signings."
"That makes sense, because this was in Tokyo," I said. "It was for Sato Shogo. Heard of him?"
Kaito scowled. "He's only one of the foremost voices in Japanese literature, Yukimura."
"So…you like him?"
"That's putting it mildly. I've written three papers on the use of allegory in his work." His eyes glittered, black and intense. "Did you get anything signed?"
"Nah. But next time."
"Pity. Is he scheduled again soon?"
"Not that I know of."
It wasn't like Kaito to show pedestrian emotions like disappointment, but for once he let that show on his face—and it stung. His face, already so craggy and pointed, looked as carved as an emaciated statue. My mouth intervened before my brain could tell it that this was a very bad idea.
"But I managed to strike up a correspondence," I said, cursing and cheering inside when Kaito's eyes lit up again. "I could get something signed for you, if you'd like."
Despite the light in his eyes, he didn't react with quite the joy I thought he would. "You have a correspondence with the Sato Shogo?" he said, appraising me with new eyes. Apparently I'd surprised him as much as he'd surprised me.
"Well." Ugh, me and my big mouth. I just hoped Kaito wouldn't ask questions when I replied, "Yeah. I do."
Alas, Kaito was nothing if not a creature of questions. "Why would someone like him talk to someone like you?"
"…I'm going to pretend that wasn't as insulting as it sounded." When Kaito smirked, I shrugged, using the moment to cover the fact I was scrambling for a cover story. It's not like I could tell him that Sato Shogo was married to the first Spirit Detective. "Well, you see…it's like you said the other day. Not many people are into literature. So we we got to chatting and I told Sato Shogo about the novel I'm writing and he, um…he's reading it. To help someone in the next generation, y'know?"
It certainly sounded like a good cover story to me. It used facts Kaito had taught me about the literary world, had a plausible beginning, and a good reason for my continued contact with Shogo. Plus, it was true: Shogo had offered to read some of my writing sometime, though I hadn't handed any over to him yet. Writers have to stick together and all that.
So why was Kaito staring at me like I'd shown up wearing scary clown makeup all of a sudden?
"One," he said, every word a ponderous effort. "You write? And two. He agreed to look at it?"
Aw, shit. That's why. I hadn't told Kaito I liked to write yet—because I hadn't told anyone about that, hardly. Fuck fuck fuck fuck—
"Well. Yeah." I shifted from foot to foot. "To both questions, yes? I don't mention it much or anything because I'm, um…shy about it." It sounded lame even to me, but hopefully Kaito read my cagey answer as sheer embarrassment instead of a poor attempt at deception. "Yeah. That's it. I'm just shy."
Kaito stared at me, unmoving—and then he sighed.
"To get his attention, your manuscript must have some value," he said, though grudgingly.
"I mean, it's a work in progress, but…" No, nope, not the time to defend your work, girl. "So do you want me to get something signed for you?"
He did, of course, though he carried no such item on his person. Thus we were forced to exchange numbers to coordinate a book drop, during which we wondered if there were more readings we could attend this summer. Tentative plans made, Kaito parted from me with a very efficient bow and farewell, sparing no time for niceties—or my friends still standing behind that ivy trellis, staring at us.
"See?" Junko was saying as I walked back over. "She's friends with him."
"Junko was telling us that he's a resident genius at Meiou," Michiko said, "but he's notoriously unfriendly."
"How'd you get to be friends with him?" Eimi asked. "And did I see a phone number exchange there at the end? Hmm?"
"…you were watching us the whole entire time, weren't you."
It was not a question, even if I phrased it as such. My trio of friends averted their gazes, Junko letting out a nonchalant whistle as she tried very hard to look innocent (a feat at which she failed). When I finally sighed, hand on my forehead, Junko laughed.
"Look, I'm just saying you should join the circus as a lion tamer, OK?" she said, hands in the air. "Everybody knows Kaito has a temper. He hates talking to the other students, but you charmed him somehow."
"Well, Keiko does have a history of befriending those with social issues…" Eimi said, trailing off with a pointed look at Michiko.
"Oh?" Junko said. "Do tell!"
Michiko and Eimi sported the wickedest of all grins. "Have you ever heard the names Urameshi Yusuke or Kuwabara Kazuma?" they asked—and then the anecdotes began again.
Junko ended up going shopping with us, and by the time the evening came to a close, I got the sense my friends had become…well, friends. I just had to wonder how long any of these friendships would last, given what was to come in Keiko's canon. Growing apart might be a natural part of growing up, but I hoped to delay that parting as long as I possibly could.
These girls were worth that effort.
Shogo didn't know everything about my situation. He knew about Yusuke and Kuwabara, and about my ties to Spirit World through them, but I had never revealed my true age or origin. Just didn't seem like the right person to tell, even if I trusted him with so much else about my lucky second life. Despite the lack of detail regarding my history, however, I think he sensed troubles in me I had never spoken aloud, and entertained worries about me he couldn't quite articulate. A huge smile creased his face, put happy little creases next to his eyes, as I told him about my friends and the meeting with Kaito. When I pulled Kaito's book from my backpack for him to sign, his smile only widened.
"Well, I for one am happy to hear you have a diverse group of friends around you," he said when he handed the now-signed book back to me. "And friends with good taste, I might add."
My eyes rolled of their own accord. "My. How humble!"
"I'm allowed a little pride in my middle age," he said, light and teasing. "And I admit I worry you put too much stock in the new Detective and his friends. Having another peer group is what you need, I think."
"Me, too," I said—but my own smile faded a tad when Shogo frowned, leaning his elbows on his knees, gaze intent on my face.
"Speaking of diversity. I know you dislike hearing this," he said, "But Kuroko doesn't exactly approve of the company you keep. Not all of it, anyway."
My hands tightened around my water glass.
This again. We had this talk every time I came around to visit, every time I mentioned the people I typically hung out with—but was 'people' even the right word? And had Kuroko put Shogo up to this? It hadn't gone well during my last visit, that's for sure…
Sensing the tension in my tight shoulders, Shogo said, "I tried to talk some sense into her after last time, but…well. You know my Kuroko. She's a stubborn one."
For a moment I didn't reply. Putting my glass to my lips, I drained down the rest of my minty lemonade and set the cup on the coffee table. Glass clinked against the wooden coaster, crystalline in the still house.
"I know," I said, "and thank you. But I think after last time, she understands that I'm not changing my mind." At that I chuffed, a quick, derisive exhale through the nose. "I certainly understand that she's not changing hers…"
Shogo's lean cheeks colored just a tad. "Yes. Well. Different experiences lead to different perspectives, I suppose." Some of the intensity left his gaze, giving way to manufactured civility. "May I ask how the demons are treating you?" came his polite inquiry. "I figure you'd rather I ask than Kuroko."
"That's true. I much prefer you." His wife, though a badass I admired beyond words, was at times a bit…much, at least on this subject. "And they're OK. I think last week I actually had a breakthrough with the pricklier of the two of them."
Shogo looked intrigued. "The fire demon, I'm guessing?"
"That's the one," I said—but before I began talking, I wondered if Shogo would see it the same way.
Hiei, if nothing else, was quite predictable once you established a routine…and we definitely developed a routine after so many weeks of contact. Follow these four steps to make friends with the fire demon in your life!
Step one: Bring ramen into the alley. Wait.
Step two: Once Hiei appears, he'll ignore you. Fill the silence with random talk about your summer vacation. Get insulted and/or ignored.
Step three: Attempt to ask about Hiei's time in Human World. Get rebuffed. Abide Hiei's snark. Of which there will be a lot.
Step four: Watch him leave, and yell at him for stealing your bowls.
Lather, rinse, repeat for weeks.
Friendship not included. Some assembly required. Satisfaction definitely not guaranteed.
Ahem.
My meetings with Hiei rarely varied. I'd chatter, he'd insult my petty human drama, and I'd try to figure out where he was sleeping. Week in, week out, I pestered him to eat a balanced diet and try new foods, expanding his menu from ramen to the various other dishes my parents offered…only I wouldn't just serve them up. Oh, no, I could do nothing so obvious with the taciturn Hiei. It would take a few tries to get him to eat something new, but if I ate it enough, he'd get jealous and eventually steal it off my plate. Grass is greener and all that.
Speaking of which…
"Say," I said. "When was the last time you washed your clothes?"
Hiei looked up from his katsudon with a scowl. Rice flecked his chin before he swiped it away with the back of his wrist. Good thing he did that himself because I was half a second away from licking my thumb and blotting it off, which would likely lose me a hand. And that's saying nothing about how badly I wanted to scrub the off-color patch on his cloak's dark elbow. It looked suspiciously streaky and shiny, like a grass stain sitting atop the black fabric.
Hiei followed my eyes to the offending stain. He promptly shifted to one side, pulling the offending limb away and out of sight.
"None of your business," he snapped, hunching over his bowl again. "That is no concern of yours, Meigo."
"Yikes. Don't bite my head off," I said. "You don't stink or anything. I'm just wondering since you never did tell me anything about your living situation."
Another pointed glare. "I wash my clothes, if that's what you're asking."
"Sure. But with soap? Or do you in the bayou out back of my parents' house?"
A low hiss, and he shoved a bite of food into his face. The lack of rebuttal made me think I struck a nerve, which pulled forth a knowing giggle. The thought of Hiei scrubbing his clothes on a rock or something was certainly a giggle-worthy image. As he tipped back his bowl to shovel down the last bits of food, I crossed my legs and leaned my elbow on my knee, wooden crate creaking as I shifted.
Hm. There was an idea. But there was no way he'd take me up on it, right?
"Lord knows where you keep all the bowls you've stolen from me," I mused. "But whatever. I have some clothes here that would fit you."
Hiei froze, one scarlet eye focused on me around the side of said bowl. I gestured up at my bedroom window above the alley.
"You can wear them while I wash your clothes, if you want," I said. My eyes travelled downward. "And patch up that rip in your pants while I'm at it. It's been driving me nuts for weeks."
Now Hiei had to twist in the other direction to hide that bit of brown skin peeking from a gash in his trousers. This brought his grass-stained elbow back into view, much to my amusement. Just as I thought—he'd rejected my oh-so-kind offer the way Sorei rejected my attempts at bathing his mangy hide. Really, Hiei and my feral cat were peas in a foul-tempered pod.
"OK," I said, averting my eyes. "Never mind, then."
I went back to rambling about cram school, and the amount of summer homework I'd undertaken just to get a leg-up on university exams (which were still years away, but I'd be damned if I didn't get into the best college in Japan and give Keiko's parents anything less than what they deserved). Hiei hadn't seemed interested in my earlier ramble-session, eating his food without any comments or eye contact (which was normal for him). He seemed just as distracted when I resumed talking. Movements slow, he ate the rest of his meal and stood up. I did, too, bracing myself for a bullet of parting snark before he would inevitably disappear (and take my bowl along with him).
Instead, his eyes dropped to my feet. His teeth clenched.
"Fine," he grated out.
I'd been mid-sentence about meeting Eimi and Michiko for dinner soon, so his comment didn't make a lick of sense. "What?" I said.
"I said fine, dammit," he repeated—and when I gaped at him, he lifted his head like a tiny little edgelord midget king commanding a subject to perform a distasteful task. "You may…wash my clothes."
I stared at him.
He stared at me right back, eyes as resolute as boulders.
"Oh," I said, because in absolutely zero capacity had I expected him to say yes. "Oh. Um. Well. OK?"
He bristled like a homicidal hedgehog. "If you didn't want me to accept your offer, you shouldn't have offered in the first place, idiot."
"Oh, no—I wanted you to accept. I just didn't expect you to actually, y'know. Do it?" Hands on hips, I turned and stared up at my bedroom window again. "Which means I didn't exactly plan the logistics of this. Gimme just a second, please."
Hiei scoffed, but he didn't call me an idiot again or disappear like a ghost, which was progress. I mulled the particulars for a minute or two before lifting my finger to the window above.
"I guess you'd probably want to avoid dealing with Mom and Dad, given you always flit away when they come near," I said. "I'll let you in the window upstairs. Is that OK?"
Hiei didn't bother with a verbal reply. He just did that weird shadow-step maneuver and vanished, leaving me alone in the alley with our empty plates (including his bowl—ah, so he didn't steal things if I offered to wash his clothes; file that away for future use). I took the stairs two at a time, barely remembering to trade my outdoor shoes for indoors slippers, and ran straight to my window. Hiei crouched on the roof outside it looking for all the world like Sorei on a rainy night, scowl embarrassed and promising imminent death if I ever told anyone he relied on me for shelter.
Hell, though. Hiei had nothing to fear. It would probably take photo proof for this scenario to seem plausible to outsiders. I was living said scenario and yet I barely believed it, myself.
I unlocked and opened the window with a smile, one Hiei did not return. He shrugged himself over the sill and placed one boot squarely in the middle of my desk (right on top of a fucking textbook, that jerk), vaulting over it to land on my carpet with a lithe hop.
"Oi!" I squawked. "What, were you raised in a barn?"
A magma-red glare attempted to turn me to ash. "I was raised by bandits," Hiei said, as though that was somehow preferable.
"…yeah, OK, prove my point why dontcha?" I pointed at his feet. "No shoes in the house. You take them off at the door. Or at the window, in your case."
I'd never seen Hiei look so completely mystified. "And why should I do that, exactly?"
I gaped at him. Shut my mouth with a clack of teeth. Ground out the words, "Because it's polite, Hiei."
But that was not enough for him. "And if an enemy attacks, and I have to run?" he demanded. "What then, Meigo? What then?"
My eyes rolled, because oh my Jesus, that was such a Hiei thing to say. "Then nothing. No one will attack you in my house, dummy."
"But how can you guarantee that?" he pressed, ever paranoid.
"Because—because it's my house?" I sputtered. Hiei looked triumphant, but before he could snark at me I added: "And I'll kick their asses if they so much as try to bruise you, that's why."
His triumphant look morphed into one of astonishment, then just as quickly into an expression of pure disdain. He tossed his head and laughed. "Ha! As if I need your protection!"
Ire rose like floodwater. "You're the one who needed a guarantee that you wouldn't get attacked, and—" I stopped talking, took a deep breath, and sighed. "Nope. Not doing this. Look, Hiei, taking off your shoes keeps the floors clean." I pointed at his boots again. "If you take off your shoes, you won't track in any dirt or gross stuff from outside. Get it?"
He did not. "Why, pray tell, would you want to keep the floor clean?"
"I mean. General sanitation and hygiene isn't enough for you?" When he remained unconvinced, I said, "In case I want to sit down on it, I guess?"
"Why would you sit on the floor when there's a chair in here?" he said, finger thrust toward my desk chair. A wicked gleam lit his eye like a spark lights a bonfire. "What, were you raised in a barn?"
Even I had to admit turnabout was fair play. I threw up my hands with a wordless cry of exasperation. "Dammit, Hiei, some people just like sitting on the floor; I don't know what to tell you!"
"I think what you're telling me is that humans enjoy prostrating themselves on the ground like dogs."
Another exasperated cry from me, and I shoved Hiei toward the door. He snapped "Unhand me, woman!" but still allowed me to push him down the hallway to the bathroom. Mom and Dad were busy working the dinner shift and wouldn't be back up for a while, but I still instructed Hiei to lock the bathroom and escape out the window if he heard anyone but me coming.
"You can change in here, then hang out in my room," I said. A thought occurred. "Oh. Do you want to shower while you're in there?"
He (predictably) glared at me. "None of your business."
"That's a yes, isn't it," I deadpanned, and Hiei flushed—just the tiniest tinge of discoloration across his nose, but still. I'd seen through the bluster and he knew it. "I'll go get a change of clothes. And I'll wait to come in till I hear the water running, OK?"
Trusting that he didn't need the shower explained to him, nor that he needed to be told what shampoo was (he'd figure it out, probably, hopefully), I shut the door on his furious face and headed for my room. I'd collected a lot of Yusuke's old clothes over the years, plus some newer ones since he'd been at Genkai's (boy clothes were the best for stealing, I gotta say, and they made me feel like Yusuke was with me when I wore them). Although it was tempting to saddle Hiei with Yusuke's most obnoxious purple shorts and garish orange t-shirt, I felt magnanimous enough to pick out a plain grey shirt and black sweatpants for the fire demon down the hall, plus a pair of Yusuke's boxers from a few year's back. I just hoped they fit him, because—
My hands froze around the aforementioned underwear.
Oh. Oh my god.
I was about to answer the age-old question of boxers or briefs, wasn't I?
Oh good lord. This I had not planned for.
Mustering my courage (and what little maturity I possessed), I marched the clothes to the bathroom. The water was running, hiss of steam audible through the closed door, but still I knocked until I heard Hiei's unintelligible growl. Even then I cracked the door and peered inside lest I accidentally walk in on him in the nude (sorry, fangirls everywhere, but that was a breach of canon I simply couldn't abide).
Hiei had stuck to the plan, leaving his clothes in a pile atop the counter. I grabbed them and left Yusuke's clothes in their place. Before walking out, however, I pitched up my voice and said, "Hey, Hiei?"
"What?" he muttered,
"I'm sorry I don't have any No More Tears shampoo."
"…what the hell are you talking about?"
"Well I mean, you have more eyes than normal, so I thought there was a heightened chance of you getting soap in them due to sheer percentage, and I know that No More Tears shampoo is for little kids, but it seemed like you'd find it useful and—"
I have no idea how he managed to throw a bar of soap over the curtain rod with enough precision to hit my head with it, but he did. And it hurt. A lot.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, "but I sense it's a joke at my expense, and rest assured I will not forget that you made it. Now get out, Meigo, or else."
Hiei did not need to make his threat explicit for me to see the wisdom in obeying it. I skedaddled at once, taking his clothes to the stacked washer-dryer in the small hall closet (a splurge sanctioned by my mother after the business took off; most homes in Japan didn't have a dryer at all). Deep breath in, deep breath out, I slowly unfolded his bundle of clothes and took stock of what he'd given me.
A shirt, tattered. Pants, torn. A threadbare scarf, at least three belts that didn't match, socks with holes on the heel, and…that was it.
No underpants to speak of.
Either Hiei made a habit of going commando, or he was wearing his underpants in the shower in case someone tried to attack him and he needed to run for it—and honestly, it was a toss-up as to which was more likely.
"Wow, Hiei," I said, staring at the assortment of garments. "You would, wouldn't you?" And somehow, despite the fangirlish anticipation of the moment, I wasn't surprised at all.
What did surprise me was the sight of Hiei in human clothes after he emerged from the bathroom (carrying his shoes this time, I was pleased to note). I sat on my bed thumbing through a textbook, pencil tucked behind my ear as I studied, and tried not to stare as he shut the door behind him. Hair dripping and matted with water, feet bare below the hem of the sweatpants, he looked every inch a kiddo in hand-me-downs, illusion broken only by the muscle of his arms and the way his wary warrior's eyes scanned my room. He paid me absolutely no heed, of course. Hiei wandered to my closet door, perusing the poster of Johnny Cash flipping the bird at the camera.
"Hmmph." The hum could've been approval or disapproval, either one, but the smirk on his face made me suspect the former. Of course he'd like Johnny Cash, of all the humans to choose from. I should've known…
I watched Hiei stalk through my room over the top of my book, hoping he didn't notice the way I tracked his progress, taking in his mannerisms and the catlike grace of his stalking stride. Watching a character like him in such a mundane setting felt absolutely surreal. When he passed close I caught a whiff of my shampoo, sandalwood sweet and earthy and warm. I didn't fault Hiei for using it; it was technically men's shampoo, but gendered products are a scam, and buying "dude" products meant Yusuke could just borrow from me when he inevitably crashed at my house. Nice to know I could care for Yusuke and Hiei both like that…
Hiei paid little attention to my bookcase and stuffed animal collection, focusing mostly on my band posters (which were darker, more his style). Eventually he paused in front of my music station, a small set of shelves with my record player on top and my vinyl collection below. His tanned and calloused hand reached for the tone-arm sitting off to the side of the turntable, eyes narrow and focused as he skimmed the metal with his fingertips.
"That's a record player," I said, trying to be helpful. "It's for—"
His eyes flashed. "I know what it's for."
I blinked at him. "You do?"
"I'm not a fool, Meigo."
To my immense surprise, and probably merely to prove a point, Hiei pulled a record off the shelf and set it on the turntable, adjusting the arm and positioning the needle with…well, not expert hands, but with hands that hesitated only a moment over the various buttons and switches that brought the vinyl to life. Soon the twanging rasp of "Bad Moon Rising" filled the room; Hiei stepped back from the record player with a pointed look in my direction.
"See, you nitwit?" his eyes said. "I know what I'm doing."
My eye bugged nearly out of my skull, I have to admit, because the idea of Hiei being at all familiar with human technology was an absolute shocker. I set my book aside and crossed my arms, staring at him like I'd never seen him before. I mean, fanfiction often painted Hiei as being scared of automatic doors and riding in cars, so this…this was a departure if I'd ever seen one.
"What are you staring at?"
I flinched at his brusque tone. "Nothing. Just…you like music?"
He scowled. "I find it tolerable."
"Right. You would." What a very Hiei thing to say. Waving at the expanse of my bedroom, I said, "Well, we have a little time before your clothes dry. Want to sit, listen to tunes to pass the time?"
"Will the music keep you from talking?" Hiei said.
I squawked for the millionth time that night, but Hiei's defiant grin wound up making me laugh. Guy loved to poke and prod at people, antagonize them for the sheer fun of it, and it was just so him that I couldn't stay mad—plus he immediately decided the window sill was the best seat in my room, bypassing my perfectly good swivel chair (the one he himself had pointed out earlier, I might add) in favor of climbing over my desk and settling down to stare into the darkness beyond the glass. Another Hiei-ism played out in real time.
Hiei was full of both surprises and prophecy fulfilled, I was learning. Interesting mix, if not a little inconvenient for my overthinking brain.
Once he settled down, I went back to my textbook, because I had a cram school exam the next day I definitely needed to pass. Hiei let me study for most of the Credence Clearwater Revival record in peace before he broke the silence.
"You never did ask me about it," he said, voice audible despite the music.
I lifted a brow, looking his way askance. "About what?"
"What I saw in your head. The boy with the pink hair who disturbs you so."
The record came to an end, then. The needle sailed off the edge of the vinyl and hovered there, light static echoing through the player's speakers.
"Oh," I said.
Hiei's gaze, measured and unwavering, didn't falter. "I half suspected you'd accost me, demand I find more of the same inside that thick skull of yours."
"I…didn't want to bother you."
Hiei frowned. "Bother me?"
"Well, yeah. I figured you wouldn't be in the mood to go panning for gold in my brain, and I didn't want to…accost you, to use your word."
Hiei had an unnerving habit of not blinking for catlike periods of time. I sighed and closed my textbook, marking my place with my pencil. What I'd said was the truth, but it wasn't all of it. Perhaps he could sense that I left something unspoken, but what was the use of telling Hiei that I was also, in a very real way, scared to know what else he might unearth inside me? Surely he'd just laugh at my fear, right?
The idea that someone like Hiruko could erase my memory, leave part of me a secret even to myself, was absolutely terrifying. But was it more terrifying to wonder, or to learn a potentially terribly truth? I wanted to talk to Cleo about it, or at least see Hiruko again to ask about it personally, but neither party had been in touch as of late. I was content to wait, to put it off, and leave the perhaps uncomfortable revelation for another day.
I tried not to think about how this basically amounted to running from my problems. I tried very, very hard to not to think about that.
"And also," I said when Hiei's stare weighed heavy. "Privacy. I enjoy mine. And I thank you for respecting that."
He harrumphed at me and looked away, back out into the night beyond the window pane. I think that second dose of truth had mollified him somewhat. I didn't trust Hiei yet, just as he didn't really trust me yet. I couldn't let him be the one to unearth my memories. I wasn't yet sure he was the type of demon who wouldn't use them against me.
His canon transformation from enemy to friend, as it were, was not yet complete. Cute though I found him, I wouldn't be caught off guard by my stray cat parolee.
"I hope you don't mind," I said, tone gentler, "if I match you observation for observation."
Hiei did not turn his head, but his eyes flashed with their eerie reflective sheen when they moved my way, mirror image of them doing the same in the reflection of the window. I took a breath to steady myself, hands fisting in my bed's soft comforter.
"You still haven't asked about your sister," I said with a small, warm smile. "I thought you'd accost me, demand to know more about what I keep in this thick skull of mine."
Honestly, that weighed on me far more heavily than that forgotten memory of Hiruko Hiei had uncovered—and that's why it had taken me this long to bring up. Hiei would surely fly off the handle at mention of Yukina, right?
Surprise. Once more, Hiei defied my expectations.
Hiei didn't move. In fact, he went quite still, and then his eyes closed into crescents of thick black lash.
"You told me enough," he grumbled. "Stick to the Detective, and I will find her. I've been patient until now. I can be patient a while longer, knowing she's close." One eye cracked, a smelted streak in his brown face. "And I know better than to meddle with Fate, unlike some."
I could only laugh at that simple reasoning—the uncomplicated, rigid rationalization of his actions, his thinly-veiled impatience, the way he lodged an insult into his logic just to get a dig at me. Hiei was rash, brash, but he wasn't stupid, and clearly he'd had more than enough time to work out his long-game tactic and resist the urge to torture me for information (much though I figured he wanted to). Laughing, shaking my head, I picked up my book again.
"Point taken," I said. "Choose a new record for us?"
He did. Soundgarden this time, darker than the previous music. Hiei didn't bob his head to the music, or sing along (I somehow doubted I'd ever see him do that), but occasionally he'd cock his head and narrow his eyes at a lyric. Did he like it or hate it? I couldn't tell. I just hoped it wasn't a bad influence, or something.
Eventually the dryer buzzed out in the hallway. I fetched his clothes, broke out the sewing kit, and darned all the torn bits under Hiei's eagle-eyed scrutiny. "Sloppy stitching," he commented as I darned a sock, but I told him to put a sock in it and rendered him sputtering and speechless with that terrible pun. When I handed the garments over, he inspected each one as though they might try to bite him, god knows why. How long would it take for him to trust I wasn't sewing trackers into his clothes?
"I'll wait in the hall until you're dressed," I said.
Hiei nodded, and I left—but then I called through the closed door, "Hey, Hiei? Stay there. Don't go right away after you get dressed, I mean. I've got something for you."
He didn't reply, and I didn't wait. I skipped downstairs and surreptitiously packed two to-go bento boxes amidst the kitchen hullaballoo, hoping Hiei would listen and I wasn't going to this effort for zilch. I mean, that would be just like him, to be stubborn and do the opposite of what I asked. But joke would be on him, because he'd be missing out on food—favored bribe of stray cats everywhere.
Lucky for Hiei, he listened to me, albeit with attitude most begrudging. He stood by the window with arms crossed, fingers drumming on his bicep. When I walked up and handed him the bentos with a huge smile on my face, he didn't take them. He just cocked a brow and stared.
"That should be about two meals. Not enough until we see each other next, though," I explained. His brow all but disappeared beneath the bandana on his forehead. "Also, you know you can come by more often if you need something, right? Like a bath or to wash your clothes? Or food?" When he didn't reply, face impassive and unreadable, I added: "You know you can come here when it rains. Like, to get somewhere dry and sleep somewhere warm. I hate the idea of you sleeping in a gutter while it's raining."
Despite my attempt at kindness, Hiei merely prickled, metaphorical hackles on the rise. "I don't need your charity, Meigo."
"It's not charity," I said, retort defensive but honest. "It's…I don't know what it is, but it's not charity. But whatever." I shoved the bento boxes at his chest. "Look, just promise me you'll eat all your vegetables, OK? I left out the mushrooms you don't like and I got the veggies you seem to like most, so you'd better eat them."
Hiei's eyes dropped from my face to the bento boxes.
I beamed. "That's how you get taller, eating your veggies."
Another sharp, hot glare. "My height is no concern of yours!"
"Of course not." I shoved the boxes at him again. "But still, veggies are good for you, and you should eat them anyway."
He waited a beat. I thought he might snap at me and leave without taking them, just to be a dick, but his lips curled back over his teeth and he snatched the boxes from my hand. "I'll take it under advisement," he said—and between one blink and the next, he blurred from sight, got the window open, and vanished into the dark.
I darted after him and stuck my head over the sill. "And you'd better bring back the bento box when you're done, you hear me?"
A futile effort, I supposed. Those bento boxes had surely gone the way of all my missing, pilfered bowls.
Imagine my surprise, therefore, when two days later I found the boxes on my windowsill, clean and intact and waiting for me.
Shogo found Hiei's behavior as funny as I did, thankfully. He chortled and slapped his knee, saying, "Returning your flatware. That is progress. And I, too, wondered where he was bathing! Still no word on that?"
"Not even on where he sleeps," I faux-lamented. "But I think this means he trusts me just a bit more than he did a month and a half ago. I mean, it's not like he trusts me much, and he basically only wants me doing chores for him—but still. Baby steps, I guess?"
"Baby steps indeed," Shogo agreed. He started to say something else, but his head cocked to the side and his eyes went distant. "And speaking of: Three. Two. One."
As soon as he started counting down, I braced myself—and good thing, too, because as if summoned by the mere mention of them, the feet of children pounded up the porch stairs outside.
Kaisei and Fubuki burst into the room like a pair of Tasmanian devils—the cartoon versions that spin around like carousels on crack and possess an unending appetite for chaos. Fubuki swarmed straight over the back of the couch and threw her arms around my neck, laughing her delight when I shrieked and scrambled to my feet—feet Kaisei had crawled under the couch to grab, wrapping himself around one leg so I had to drag him to walk anywhere. Growling like a wounded tiger, I lugged the giggling pair toward the kitchen, tugging and pulling at them and promising all manner of painful retribution for this indignity.
The kids ate that shit up like it was candy.
"Nee-san!" Fubuki warbled. "Did you get me a present? Did you? Did you?!"
"What'd you bring me?" Kaisei joined in. "What'd you bring me, Nee-san, huh?"
"All right, simmer down, simmer down, you monsters!" I griped, which only made them yell louder and laugh harder. "Leave me the heck alone and look in my backpack, why dontcha?"
At once they released their various holds and bolted for the couch, tussling each other for possession of the aforementioned backpack, which they proceeded to upend with no decorum whatsoever. Shogo watched with an utterly helpless look on his face, powerless to stop his two tornado children.
"I got you all of the Shonen Jumps and Shoujo Beats since I was last here, and a sack of melon jellies, ya little ingrates," I said, straightening my shirt and pants (more of Yusuke's stolen clothes, truth be told).
Two identical faces swiveled in my direction. If it wasn't for Fubuki's braid and Kaisei's low ponytail, I'd be helpless to tell them apart at their young age. They swapped clothes the same way Yusuke and I did.
"And the video?" the twins chorused in unison.
"And the video," I said. "Check the front pocket."
They screamed, overjoyed, and pulled the anime tape free of its confines. My call of "Go watch it in your room and leave me in peace!" fell on deaf ears, but it hardly mattered because they were already sprinting for the stairs to the loft and their shared bedroom, intent on watching their prize.
I didn't speak completely in vain, however…because while they didn't hear me, someone else certainly did.
"Sorry, Keiko," she said with a merry laugh, "but peace is in short supply in this household."
The mother of those devils—Sanada Kuroko, first Spirit Detective, slayer of demons far more literal than her wild children—had sharp ears indeed. She stood just inside the front door, hands on her hips, beaming after her twins with the infinite pride of motherhood. But much as Kuroko cut an impressive figure, I only had eyes for her companion.
"Hey, kid," Shizuru said. She lifted one battered, nicotine-stained hand in my direction, eyes glittering in her bruised, bloodied, beautiful face. "Long time, no see."
I wanted to run to her, of course. It was the first time I'd seen her in weeks. Running to her seemed like the logical thing to do.
Too bad my feet refused to move—and more's the pity, because Shizuru only managed to take one swaying step inside the house before she fainted dead away.
NOTES:
Lucky Child has returned! NaNo was a success: Wrote 75,000 words, though the original novel I worked on isn't finished. See you next week, and thanks so much for sticking around during my hiatus! Y'all're the best and I LOVE YOU SO MUCH: 431101134, kurt the snek, general zargon, ED99, WistfulSin, DiCuore Allisa, Marian, Lady Rini, xenocanaan, Counting Sinful Stars, LadyEllesmere, Just 2 Dream of You, Yakiitori, MemeLord5000, Domitia Ivory, Celtic Monk, Everlasting Purple, Bergholt Stuttley Johnson, Melissa Fairy, wennifer-lynn, MissIdeophobia, rikku92, srirachacha, syzygy zakcer, Beccalittlebear, Kaiya Azure, RedPanda923, ahyeon, ryafire1, Andania Shinrai, WaYaADisi1, mikklystar, DeathAngel457, Star Crystals, SlytherclawQueen, marmaroth, Alice, KhaleesiRenee, Viviene001, AmnilsRoving, silverfoxkurama, Skylar1023, giant salamander, Gwendolyn-sama, HereAfter, and four guests!
