Warnings: None
Notes: In Japan, most schools have school on Saturday, but it's a half day devoted to homeroom stuff like cleaning (or so I've read). It's briefly mentioned here.
This contains a brief reference to a Japanese cryptid called a tsuchinoko, which is featured in Lucky Child's Inuyasha side-story crossover, Daughters of Destiny. So just know that NQK's little references to that are in regards to that story.
Lucky Child
Chapter 70:
"Happy Death Day"
Like the subject of an impressionist painting, my new reality came into focus one brush stroke at a time.
The first image to swim into view took the form of Amanuma.
He became a fixture at the local arcade slowly, at first showing up twice a month, then once a week, then twice a week as time slipped by and fall turned decidedly to winter. Yusuke and Kuwabara enjoyed the kid, mostly because he represented a chance for them to show off—an audience for whom they could posture and pose, and one who provided them rapt attention and a constant source of wide-eyed (though he tried to hide it) fascination. Although we were only three years older than Amanuma, I'm sure we looked quite mature in his eyes. Teenagers always looked like adults when I was a kid (or they had in my past life, anyway) and I was certain the same held true for Amanuma. He certainly giggled and laughed at Yusuke and Kuwabara's antics with genuine glee, even if he followed that laughter with a snotty comment or two and then whupped the older boys' asses at video games. The boys took that in stride, though, and each of them was good at their respective games of choice (racing and platformers for Kuwabara, beat-em-ups and shooters for Yusuke), providing Amanuma with enough challenge to keep him interested during their weekly meetups.
I was there, too, but I wasn't good enough at any of the games to really factor in.
Not that they ignored me when I tagged along at the arcade, mind you. I came to the prescribed meetings as scheduled and was greeted warmly—but mostly by Kuwabara and Yusuke. Amanuma eyed me askance most days, calling me the formal "Yukimura" instead of my given name, and addressed Yusuke and Kuwabara more than he did me. I understood why. That first night, when we'd met, I hadn't been the most social or affable of people. It was no wonder he was more drawn to the exuberant Yusuke and Kuwabara, who were better at arcade games, besides. And when Kurama came around (maybe only twice a month, friendly but not oppressive, likely to maintain some degree of distance between himself and the child he might someday be forced to slay), Amanuma went nuts. Kurama was brilliant at puzzle and strategy games, and when Amanuma had all three of the older boys in attendance, he looked happy as a clam. Far happier than when it was just me around.
Plus, they were dudes.
Amanuma was 11. Mature for his age, sure, but still: 11 years old. Something told me he wasn't quite sure girls did not, in fact, carry cooties (nor that cooties were just made up and couldn't actually kill him if he touched a girl). He was never mean to me or anything, but he just wasn't warm. It was easier for him to look up to the boys, who welcomed him with open arms, and to merely tolerate me, who had been standoffish toward him at first blush. Kid was lonely, after all. Why would he risk cozying up to me when I'd been cold toward him? He wasn't the type to risk rejection like that, or so it seemed to me.
Part of me was happy about his apparent decision to keep his distance, frankly. Much though I had resolved to cure Amanuma's loneliness, I had likewise decided to let Yusuke and Kuwabara take point on said intervention, watch from afar while they befriended the lonely little boy and keep myself mostly out of it, an observer as opposed to active participant. Amanuma wasn't not a fan of mine, but we weren't super-duper buddies, either, and that felt comfortable to me.
Too bad for me, my albatross tendencies are hard to keep in check.
Especially when I find myself alone with terminally lonely little boys.
One Saturday in late November, I headed over to the arcade alone after my half day at school. Kurama and I had parted at the school gate (he had promised to go grocery shopping with his mother and would be skipping this arcade venture) and I made my way to the arcade alone. The rest of the boys would be meeting me there.
And the boys were late—two of them, anyway. And the most inconvenient two of the bunch, at that.
I found Amanuma standing by a racing game, idly dropping coins from one hand into the other in a clinking silver stream. He saw me from the corner of his eye and turned, not quite able to keep his face from falling. I raised one hand in an awkward wave, hoping the blinking multicolored lights of the surrounding games would cover the anxiety most certainly etched into my features. "Hey," I said—and as the word left my mouth, and as I noticed that look in his eye, I realized the reason for his expression. I took a deep breath; the arcade was warmer than the cold day outside, air perfumed with the scent of carpeting and the singed filaments of hot video games. "So they're not here yet, huh?"
"No." Amanuma shifted from sneaker to sneaker, his mop of hair not quite hiding his searching eyes. "Haven't seen 'em."
No wonder he'd looked disappointed when I walked up alone. I tried on a conciliatory smile, but his expression didn't change. "Running late, I'm guessing. Probably had to clean the bathrooms or something." I rolled my eyes. "Extra chore for cutting up in class, knowing them."
"Oh. Well." He looked only slightly placated, but nevertheless he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Wanna play Street Fighter?"
"Sure."
It was awkward, just the two of us, but I let Amanuma take the lead as I secretly wished all manner of unpleasantness onto Yusuke for putting me through this hell. We queued up the game and chose our characters before pummeling the crap out of each other, and of course Amanuma got the better of me in minutes. I got the sense he was even going easy on me; he looked less than pleased by my performance, tiny face barely clearing the top of the game's control panel, frown turning down the corners of his small mouth.
"You're good at blocking," he observed as he fed more coins into the machine, "but you really need to learn better combos. Watch how I—"
The kid had good sportsmanship; I'll give him that much. He taught me a few combos during our next round, not bothering to hit my character and letting me attack him to get a feel for stringing hits together. Amanuma liked being challenged, and he didn't see the point in playing a game that ended in an easy win. Made sense why he liked Sensui, who was good at games, and why he'd taken a shine to Yusuke, Kuwabara, and Kurama, who could give him a good show if they chose the right game. Me, though? I stood zero chance at beating him at… well, anything.
As Amanuma beat my character to a pulp, however, looking satisfied when I managed to pop off a round of combos he'd taught me, I found myself smiling. Normally I was rather competitive. Normally it would bother me to play a game I knew full well I'd lose—but for reasons I couldn't quite put my finger on, I didn't mind so much just then.
"Say, Amanuma."
As the victory screen played, declaring him the winner of the round, he glanced up. "Hmm?"
"Sorry I'm not very good at this."
He looked back at the screen with a shrug. "It's OK. I'm used to it." A countdown began, signaling the start of the next round. "Not too many people can really challenge me, anyway."
"Is that so?" I said. "I think I remember you saying you had a friend who could."
He didn't take his eyes off the screen; the round had begun, and he maneuvered his character swiftly into striking distance. "A friend who could…?" he asked.
"A friend who could challenge you—oh, wait, dangit!"
The conversation had to stop—not because of Amanuma, who could have easily kept talking while playing, but because I couldn't keep up the dialogue when my hands were busy on the controls. Incapable of walking and chewing gum at the same time, that's me. Amanuma won the series of battles (of course he did) but after his earlier instructions, the score this time around wasn't as pitiful to behold. I barely noticed, though, even if Amanuma looked at it with undisguised pride.
"The day we first ran into you, you said you were meeting someone who was good at games, and then he ditched," I said. "Whatever happened to him, anyway?"
Amanuma frowned, leaning an elbow against the Street Fighter console. "You remember that?" he said, face screwing up in consternation.
I tapped my temple with a knuckle. "I've got a weird memory. Can't remember anything I've got planned this week without my day planner, but I could probably remember what you ordered for dinner that night we met."
It wasn't a bluff—I had a shit head for dates and appointments but a strong biographical memory, an attention to little details like meals and outfits and snippets of past dialogue. Drove my past life family and friends nuts, though remembering what I'd worn when I met someone was a nice party trick. Amanuma certainly seemed to think so.
"Really?" He looked interested in something I had to say, for once, almost eager when he asked, "What did I order?"
"Let's see…" I thought about it, hand on my chin. I ventured, "Buckwheat noodles and pork belly?"
His face screwed up as he tried to recall the meal—and then his eyes popped wide. "Hey, I think that's right!" he said. "That's cool!"
"Glad you think so." I nodded back at the game. "Another round?"
"Sure."
It was a shame the conversation had drifted, I thought, and that steering it back toward Sensui would look too pointed and suspicious, but I figured there would be more moments to go fishing. I concentrated on the game, trying to give Amanuma a decent fight even if I knew he'd win in the end—and perhaps the universe rewarded me for that show of good faith, because as punches flew and combos stacked, Amanuma drew in a deep breath at my side.
"He, uh… I haven't seen him," he said.
The sound of flying fists and aggressive music nearly rendered his words inaudible; my distracted brain could only manage to force an eloquent "Eh?" from between my clenched teeth.
"That friend," Amanuma said. His hands on the joystick and buttons didn't pause even an instant. "I haven't seen him."
I didn't react, aside from my fingers going rigid on the console. Amanuma's chin ducked toward his chest as his character on screen delivered an enormous blow, reducing my character's HP bar to nothing. Victory music, tinny and electric, rang through buzzing speakers like rain through a glutted gutter.
"Guess he wasn't a friend, after all." His eyes vanished beneath the shade of his brown hair. "Not that I'd know."
"Amanuma," I said. "Do you—?"
"Oh, look. Time Crisis is free." He turned on his heel and walked away. "Let's play that now."
Without a word, I followed.
Time Crisis had a tag-team mode; we played that, Amanuma taking pity on me instead of beating me into the dirt again. Good thing, too, because I surely would've been killed in two seconds flat again had I'd gone up against someone as skilled as him, given what he'd muttered under his breath just minutes before—not that he'd meant for me not to hear what he'd muttered, of course. His last comment had been one of those pointed things kids say to get your attention, wanting you to pry but scared of what'll happen when you do, hence him running away as soon as I'd tried to talk him. A cry for help, though he'd never admit it. It was almost cute—but knowing the root cause of it was heartbreaking.
Heartbreaking, and infuriating.
Dammit, Sensui. You were such an asshole, weren't you?
As Amanuma and I shot enemies onscreen using controllers shaped like plastic firearms, Amanuma favoring the pistol while I used a shotgun, I pretended each opponent bore Sensui's smug face. Amanuma was probably wondering why his friend, his super cool adult friend Sensui, had all of a sudden abandoned him. Had probably assumed he did something wrong and drove his super cool friend away. Had probably internalized his super cool adult friend Sensui's rejection in recent weeks and taken it personally, letting it chip away at his self-esteem until he wondered if he was worth being friends with at all.
Sensui had preyed on the kid's loneliness, and if I had to bet, he'd done a bang-up job sending that loneliness into overdrive, too, with this disappearing act of his.
No wonder Amanuma had wanted to be friends with Yusuke and company so badly in recent weeks, in that case—and the irony was that we were probably the reason Sensui had rejected Amanuma in the first place, if indeed Sensui had rejected the kid wholesale. We were the cause of his present loneliness as much as we were the cure for it.
As I shot another enemy, and then another, each blast ricocheting like thunder in my ears, I imagined Sensui's dick-ass face (cartoon version; I hadn't seen the flesh and blood version yet) saying, "Well, seems the kid has friends; guess he's worthless to me now." And then he trotted off atop his ridiculously long legs and into the dark of my imagination with a dramatically evil laugh.
"Dick," I muttered to myself, shooting an enemy with vengeful gusto. "Fucking dick."
Beside me, Amanuma gasped. I shot him an apologetic smile, but he looked… pleased. Like he hadn't known a girl could curse, maybe, and he began to fire upon the Time Crisis opponents with renewed vigor.
As I returned my attention to the game, I warned myself that it was too early to tell. Sensui might just be busy. Or this could be a plot to make Amanuma lonelier, and then Sensui would reappear and Amanuma would feel grateful to have a friend again (thought joke's on Sensui; we were here now). Whatever the reason for his absence, Sensui might resurface and try to recruit Amanuma… but the fact remained that if we made the kid less lonely, he'd be less easy for Sensui to recruit. And maybe Sensui wouldn't even bother trying to recruit him if the kid became too much effort.
Or maybe he'd just show Amanuma Chapter Black and call it a day. And who's to say if the tactic would or wouldn't work, Amanuma having friends as he now did? We could only be there for Amanuma when it happened. If it happened. That's what friends are for.
… did Amanuma know that, though?
We cleared the battlefield in good time; Amanuma made it onto the first page of leaderboards (of course) and I somehow made it onto the fourth. Amanuma laughed as we shot our names onto the screen, beaming at me with the warmest look I think he'd ever given me.
"Y'know," he said, favoring me with new respect, "you're actually a pretty good shot."
"You sound surprised," I said as I holstered the game's replica firearm.
"I mean, yeah." Even though he laughed at me I couldn't find it within myself to feel insulted. Giggling, he said, "You're not very good at most of this stuff."
"Well, I like turn-based RPGs more than anything."
"And shooters," he observed.
"Some of them." Only the ones with a fake firearm like this, which made it easy to aim; reminded me of shooting actual guns in my past life, which I'd been pretty good at. Seems muscle memory transcended time and space, but since I couldn't explain that to Amanuma, I pointed over his shoulder toward the edge of the arcade. "Hey, you want some cocoa? My treat."
His eyes lit up, and he scampered off ahead of me with a delighted cry of, "All right!"
They'd built a tiny café onto the arcade. It wasn't much, basically a coffee shop with some premade snacks and a seating area in case kids wanted to hang out with their drinks. We grabbed a table after we got our cocoa and sat near the front, up by the windows facing the street near the arcade doors. Every now and again the automatic doors whooshed open, letting in a blast of wintry air; we bundled up in our various scarves and coats and settled in, Amanuma chattering about nothing and everything while we sipped our drinks. He had a way of filling the silence, this kid, especially when there were video games in eyesight he could riff off of.
Eventually, though, he had to pause for breath, and to take a big drink of his cocoa.
That was my moment, and I took it.
"At the risk of being a buzzkill, can I say something kind of serious?"
He looked at me over the rim of his cup, enormous eyes confused below a knit brow. Slowly he lowered his drink, licking his lips to clear the whipped cream from his chin. A teeny bit of foam clung to his cheek; he didn't appear to notice. "Uh. I guess?"
"Adults don't need help from kids."
He put down his cup, nonplussed. "What's that mean?"
"If an adult tells you they need your help, and only you can help them, they're full of shit." Amanuma balked at my profanity again, but I soldiered on, unblinking and sincere. "There's no reason an adult should need the help of a little kid."
"There's no reason…?" he said, mystified.
"Now, if they're pinned under a fallen tree and they're asking you to call 911, that's one thing. In that case, they're just a person in need asking the nearest human being for assistance." I lifted a finger into the air. "But, if an adult tells a kid they need them to keep a secret to help them, or something like that? If they say that kid is the only person in the world who can help that adult with something?" I tapped the finger on the table, nail clicking loudly against wood. "It's shady. They should be asking another grownup for help, not a kid in elementary school." I drew back the hand, wrapping it around my cup of cocoa. "An adult like that isn't your friend. My grandma told me that a long time ago." I took a prolonged drink of my hot chocolate, sweet and bitter and warm. "It's good advice, and I wanted to pass it along."
Amanuma didn't react at first. Not that I blame him. My comments came out of nowhere, in his eyes. I sipped my drink while the wheels turned in his head, watching as the light dawned in his eyes. He was smart, this kid. He connected the dots fast enough.
"You think that friend of mind, the one who ditched me… you think he was shady?" he asked after about a minute, eyes narrowed with equal parts confusion and suspicion.
I shrugged. "Who's to say?" I took another drink. "But I definitely think it's weird for an adult to want to be friends with a little kid."
Amanuma bristled. "I'm not just a little kid."
"I agree," I was quick to assure him. "You're not 'just' anything. But you are 11, and that makes you a little kid—and there's nothing wrong with that." The agitation in his eyes dimmed somewhat, though confusion remained in its wake. "The problem isn't with you. The problem is that adults should be hanging out with other adults in their spare time, not befriending random kids on the street." Yet another shrug. "If an adult can't make friends with people their own age, that's worth noticing."
It took a minute, but eventually he saw my point. "I mean. I guess?" He slumped a little in his seat. "Just…"
"Just what?"
"Why?" He peered up at me from beneath his mop of light brown hair. "Why are you telling me this?"
Amanuma, for all the machinations of fate that hinged upon him, was still just exactly what he was: a kid. A regular, ordinary kid. And he had never looked more like one than he did in that moment. A smile pulled at my lips, though I held it mostly at bay. Didn't want Amanuma to think I was patronizing him.
"Yusuke has a nickname for me," I said, shrugging again. "Calls me an 'albatross.'" I held out my hands on either side of my, hands flapping, but he didn't laugh at the silly posture. "I like to take care of people, sort of shield them under my wings."
Amanuma's head tilted to the side. "I don't get it."
I sighed and let my hands fall. Reaching for a napkin, I gestured for him to lean toward me. When he did, I blotted the dot of whipped cream off his face.
"It means I'm an onee-san," I said, "and that means I have to watch out for you."
For a second, he didn't get it—but then his cheeks went pink. He batted my hand away and ducked his face to the floor and wouldn't look at me. He didn't say anything, sitting utterly still across from me. I'd begun to fear I'd overstepped, maybe pushed a bit too hard, when his chin lifted just the slightest fraction.
"I thought you didn't like me very much," he said.
He said it in a voice like the hinge of a toy chest in need of grease, or maybe a kitten in need of warmth—squeaking and tiny, desperate and small, in want of attention as much as it was affection. My heart almost imploded at the sound, and it was all I could do to sigh and wince.
"I wasn't the warmest toward you the night we met, was I?" I muttered. "I'm sorry, Amanuma. That was rude of me. Will you forgive me?"
His chin jerked up. He looked startled—startled I acknowledged my behavior, and even more startled I apologized, probably. Wasn't often kids received apologies. I'd lived too many childhoods to not have learned that lesson.
"I'd like to be friends, if you're game," I said, and I stretched out a hand.
He hesitated. Watched the hand as if waiting for me to think better of the offer and retract it, get up from the table and walk away.
I didn't walk away.
Eventually, he took the hand.
"I'm game," Amanuma said, and though his voice still sounded small, that squeaking desperation had eased.
I grinned at him. "Well, alrighty then. So." I sat back in my seat, drained the rest of my hot chocolate, and set the cup to onto the table with a clatter. "Before the rest of them get here and start telling fart jokes, why don't we play catchup. Tell me about yourself."
The direct question had him all shy again, I think, or maybe he'd remembered I was a girl. He fidgeted and looked away with a stammer of, "I don't know what to say."
"Oh, y'know. Just start with the basics." I affected a breezy tone and counted options on my fingers. "Hopes, fears, deep dark secrets. That sort of thing." When he didn't reply I leaned forward until I caught his eye, at which point I gave him my most charming smile. "Dreams for the future, perhaps?"
I think he tried to look away, but the eye contact held him fast. There's something about eye contact that makes the rest of the world drop away sometimes, drowns out everything but that frozen moment in time shared between two people—and under my gaze Amanuma froze. His mouth worked. He swallowed.
"I—I wish I had more friends," he whispered.
And for a moment the world fell away for me, too, at such a vulnerable admission—but over his shoulder through the window I saw bright smudges of blue and green, and the world rushed back in to greet me. I smelled cocoa and carpet and burned electronics, heard the bells and pings of arcade games, felt the cold air against my skin as the doors swung open and two teenage boys walked inside.
"I think your wish might be coming true," I said, and I pointed at Yusuke and Kuwabara.
Amanuma ran to meet them when they called his name, eyes like fireworks against his freckled skin. Watching him bolt in their direction, happy and excited, made me feel… well. Happy and excited, I supposed, his emotions a mirror of my own. He wanted so little in life. Hopefully we could give it to him—and hopefully that asshole Sensui would have a harder time getting claws into him now. Rising, I gathered up mine and Amanuma's abandoned cocoa cups and threw them away, wiping down our table with a napkin and pushing in our chairs before heading over to join the boys. Yusuke had Amanuma in a headlock, ruffling the kid's hair and teasing him about something, and I was about to make a snarky comment when I noticed him.
"Hey, Kuwabara?" I said.
He flinched, coming back to himself as if the sound of his name had scared him—but then he swung his face back toward the arcade doors again, staring out them with the same frown he'd been wearing earlier. I peered out the doors, too, but saw nothing but sidewalk. A few people meandered down it, but I didn't see any demons (not that I was capable of seeing such, but still).
"What are you looking at?" I asked, and when he did not reply, I waved a hand in front of his face. "Hey. Earth to Kuwabara. You with us?"
He flinched again. "Huh?" Saw it was me and smiled. "Oh, yeah. Sorry."
"You OK?"
"Yeah, fine. It's nothin'." He grinned. "Just seein' things, that's all."
Hands alit on my sleeve before I could press for details. "Keiko, Keiko! Can you show me those combos on the Sailor V game now?"
It was Amanuma, of course, hanging on my arm and giving me puppy eyes. "Sure thing, kiddo," I said, helpless to resist those eyes and his sudden use of my given name, and I let him pull me into the arcade.
As the air grew colder and the seasons changed, Yusuke resumed his cases for Spirit World.
Nothing major like the rescue of Yukina or the assault on the castle of the Saint Beasts, of course. These were the small cases of before, rogue spirits and minor demons making trouble for the mundane humans who could not see them or defend themselves from supernatural chicanery. Nothing Yusuke couldn't handle, of course, especially with Botan at his side providing assistance and the wealth of knowledge she'd accumulated during years as a ferry girl. The pair of them greeted each new case eagerly (though with much kvetching on Yusuke's part), every assignment given by Ayame tackled with precision and efficiency… if not a little property damage.
This was Yusuke, after all. His methods were, in a word, unorthodox.
I rarely helped out with the missions. My role was to deliver the dossiers and intel, not to fight the ghosts and demons I couldn't even see. Every week I met with Ayame to collect mission briefings from her and to update her on the statuses of the various charges placed under my care, and every week went much the same way in light of this. She'd give me the paperwork, I'd give her mine in return, and we'd part ways without incident—much the same as it had been before Yukina's rescue.
I had been worried about things changing after that mission, truth be told. My trip with Hiei hadn't exactly been sanctioned by Spirit World. Frankly I'd wondered if Ayame knew about the trip, because surely Spirit World would be mad if they found out I'd interfered, but one snide comment (delivered with her trademark subtle smile) was all Ayame said on the matter.
"You're looking well, these days," she'd said, out of the blue during one of our meetings.
To which I'd replied with a very articulate, "Hmm?"
And she'd said, "Perhaps that fresh mountain air did you some good, after all."
And she gave me her best smirky-smirk and yeah, she definitely knew I went up to the mountains with Hiei, though why she wasn't mad about it I couldn't really say.
Not that I minded, of course. I was still doing research into Hiruko (and Spirit World-slash-mythology of the world at large by extension) so I really didn't need Spirit World on my case just then. Lying low was top priority, so far as I was concerned.
One day in early December, I woke up per my usual routine and looked at my month-at-a-glance calendar, scanning the color-coded days and the litany of appointments, due dates, and times marked in colorful inks across the boxes representing each day of the week. The days were all marked and coded for ease of reference—a "Keiko-ism" I'd picked up in this life and from Keiko's brain, because I sure as hell hadn't been quite so organized in my former one. I'd been an absolute train wreck when it came to keeping track of appointments in my past. Now, though, Keiko's color coding made keeping up with my appointments easy. Purple days were Hiei parole days; yellow represented aikido; green delineated a meeting with Kurama; red marked a meeting with Ayame. Today, it seemed, was a red day. I was to meet Ayame before school in that clearing in the woods, where she might just give me a new file-folder containing Yusuke's newest case. Normal. A very normal day, marked like so many others.
The day after it, however?
It was quite unlike any of the others.
It was outlined in heavy black ink, for one thing, edges like a grave dug deep into dark soil. I knew, even without looking, that it was the only day like it in the entire calendar. I'd marked it down when I got the calendar fresh at the beginning of the year, carefully embossing the edges of the date with that heavy darkness.
I'd been waiting for that day for an entire year.
Ayame seemed quite unconcerned, however, even when I brought it up.
"So, uh… auspicious week, huh?" I said as she handed me the latest case file.
One finely arched brow lifted. "What are you talking about?" she said.
I stared at her—and realized she had no idea. "Never mind," I said, stuffing the file under my coat.
Ayame watched me leave the clearing without a word, puzzlement etched into her porcelain face like scrimshaw.
It felt odd, to me, that she didn't seem to realize what tomorrow was. Was this just not a big deal to her? I went to the grocery store after school and wondered if I was the only one who remembered, perusing the baking aisle with a scowl. Chocolate, corn syrup, gelatin… as I tried to recall recipes I'd seen on Pinterest 15 years prior, I hoped that I wasn't making this damn cake for nothing, and that I wasn't going to make a damn fool out of myself for no reason.
But we'd see soon enough, wouldn't we?
After dropping my stuff off at home, I headed for Yusuke's apartment with the case file. Botan greeted me at the door like she usually did, because Yusuke was too lazy to get off his ass and stop playing Dragon Quest long enough to answer the dang doorbell. He lay on the floor of his bedroom with controller in hand, sprawled out on his stomach like a crawling starfish; I stepped over him and sat crosslegged on his bed, passing the folder to Botan when she sat next to me. She scanned its contents and let out a giggle.
"Ooh, Yusuke," she said, "you're going to love this!"
He eyed her askance before heaving a dramatic sigh and pausing his game, flopping down next to her on the bed so he could peer over her shoulder at the case. His eyes bugged out of his skull a second later. "No way! Those are real?" he yelled, snatching the folder from her.
I frowned and leaned backward, around Botan, so I could see the apparently real whatevers, but Yusuke jerked away and stuck out his tongue. "Are what real?" I asked, annoyed.
Botan grabbed the file back and held it out to me. "Tsuchinokos," she said—but she didn't need to.
I recognized the illustration of the small, flat, snakelike creature with the pointed tail at the bottom of the page on sight. Hard not to. I'd spent quite a lot of time dealing with those annoying little fuckers during a certain trip to the past with a certain friend of mine not too long prior, though Yusuke and Botan did not need to know that.
Keep a straight face, girl. Keep a straight face.
While I tried very, very hard not to look like one of those viral dog videos (you know the ones—the dog who tears apart the couch and then looks super guilty about it while hiding in a corner) Botan explained that a couple of mischievous tsuchinokos, or Japanese snake cryptids, were causing a ruckus at a campground south of the city, and Yusuke would need to catch them and release them somewhere in the wilderness. Genkai's temple was a safe bet, though we should probably call and ask permission first.
"These aren't spiritual beings, Keiko, though they can talk," Botan said, and at that her eyes lit up. "Say! You could help us with this case if you'd like!"
"I'll pass, thanks," I was quick to say, and when Botan looked disappointed I barely felt badly at all—and when Yusuke said something about getting a move on and heading for that campground, I felt relieved at our visit getting cut short. No sense chancing my bad poker face giving me away. I walked with Botan and Yusuke out of the apartment complex and down the street to the corner, but as we were about to part ways I put a hand on Yusuke's arms.
"Would you mind swinging by my place after school tomorrow?" I asked. "Need to talk to you about something."
While Yusuke frowned, Botan asked, "Is everything all right, Keiko?"
"Everything's hunky dory, Botan." I smiled up at Yusuke. "Just have a little something to give him, that's all."
His frown vanished. "Give me? Am I getting a present?"
"May-be."
"Heh, all right!" He chucked my arm with his fist. "You buried the lede on that one, Keiko. I'll be there if I'm getting a present!" But his eyes narrowed when something occurred to him. "Though what's the occasion?"
So even Yusuke had forgotten, it seemed. Shrugging after a moment's stunned pause, I decided to keep him in suspense. "You'll see when you get there, I guess."
"Heh." He tossed his hair, grinning. "You're lucky I like surprises, Grandma."
Botan glowered at him. "He means 'thank you.' And I'll be sure he doesn't forget to stop by, Keiko, whatever this is about."
And that told me Botan had forgotten, too—which meant I was probably making a big deal out of nothing.
… but that's just who I am as a person, I guess, and I really shouldn't have been surprised.
Yusuke showed up late the next day, as I thought he would, and I greeted him at the door carrying a white cardboard box and two forks. He knew what that meant, eyes brightening at the sight. "Have I ever mentioned I love it when you bake?" he said.
"On occasion." I jerked my head toward the stairs. "Our spot?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
I'd baked the cake the night before, after he'd run off to capture and relocate the rogue tsuchinokos, and my 15-year-old-Pinterest-inspired cake venture had turned out exactly as planned—good thing, too, because I'd had a very particular vision for this cake, not that Yusuke knew that. We climbed out my bedroom window and got settled on the roof, a spare comforter from the hall closet draped around us for warmth in the cold night air. We had enough light to see by thanks to my bedroom window and one of the building's nearby exterior lights, and before us stretched the lights of the city like a field of fallen stars. Very pretty scenery, as always, though I hoped the contents of the cake box would be the true star tonight.
Yusuke emitted a gleeful chuckle as he reached for the box in my hands, but I held it out of his reach with a tut.
"Not so fast," I said. "There's an occasion, remember?"
"Right, right," he grumbled. "Well, get to it, I'm hungry."
"Right. OK." I put the cake on my knees and sat up straight, centering myself and clearing my throat. Looking Yusuke in the eye, I asked: "Do you know what today is?"
He thought about it. "Thursday?"
"… it's Tuesday. "
"Oh. Uh." He snapped his fingers. "Arbor Day."
"Hell no."
"The 7th?"
"It's Tuesday, December 3, with no holidays to speak of."
Yusuke threw up his hands with a wordless cry of frustration. "Then what's the freaking occasion?" he groused. "Seriously, Keiko, you drag me all the way up here and then you dangle cake in front of me and then you—"
"One year ago today, you were hit by a car."
Yusuke stilled, hands still aloft. I waited a beat, letting the words sink in as a chill breeze gusted past. It ruffled Yusuke's hair, disturbing the gelled mass like the hand of a doting father.
"One year ago today, you were hit by car, and you died," I repeated with utter gravity—and I let my eyes go misty.
I told him: "It was the best damn day of my life."
Yusuke didn't move for a second—and then he was on his knees, staring at me with mouth agape. "It was what?!" he yodeled, hands flexing like he wanted to wrap them around my neck.
"You heard me," I said, affecting a dreamy sigh. "Best damn day of my life." I leaned back on an elbow and gazed skyward, reminiscing. "No more Yusuke to deal with, I thought? No more chasing around that loser, making sure he turns in his homework on time?" At that I let myself get a little worked up, member of a gospel choir singing praises to the lord. "Goodness gracious, great balls of fire, praise Jesus, hallelujah! Truly, my life begins this day!" Settling down again, I rolled my eyes. "And sure, your mom was having a breakdown on the floor next to me while I celebrated, but that was a small price to pay for freedom."
Yusuke turned redder and redder with every word I spoke, and when I stopped talking he snatched the cake box off my lap and wrenched it open. "Keiko, you asshole, this cake had better have an apology written in—why the fuck is this cake shaped like a goddamn coffin?!"
And with that, I absolutely lost it.
Yusuke stared at the cake in abject shock, jaw hanging loose, eyes moving between the coffin-shaped cake and the cackling puddle-person I'd become in horrified turns. It was impossible for me to keep a straight face when I could see the mirror-glazed cake made to look like the glossy wood grain of a mahogany coffin sitting innocently in its box—and oh, Yusuke's face! He had not been expecting this, and his complete lack of comprehension was absolutely delicious. Helplessly I lay on the roof's cold shingles, giggling until tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, every breath hitching in my chest until my diaphragm began to bounce and spasm with helpless hiccups.
"Really, Keiko? Really?" he said, utterly deadpan once he recovered a little. "A coffin?"
I could do nothing more than lay there and laugh-cry. Yusuke rolled his eyes. Looked a little more closely at the cake. Did a double-take and squinted.
"Wait. Does this say 'Happy Death Day' on it?" he said. He stared at me as if I'd sprouted a second head resembling Steve Buscemi. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It's—it's the exact opposite of a birthday. It's a death day," I said, eyes streaming, words almost unintelligible for my hiccups. "So I thought—so I thought, for a death day, a coffin-shaped cake—"
But I couldn't talk for laughing, and Yusuke was glaring at me so hard I thought I might burst into flames, and I started laughing harder. He grumbled and grabbed a fork, taking a bite directly from the center of the cake.
"Don't pull a muscle, Grandma," he said as I kept giggling. Another bite, bigger this time. "Well, if I'm going to be insulted, I might as well eat cake at the same time." A third bite, cheeks packed to bursting with dark chocolate sponge, crumbs dotting his chin like the stubble of a beard. "Can't believe I came all this way just so you could play a stupid prank like this…"
The laughter in my chest—it died.
"You know why I don't get mad when you call me 'grandma?'" I said.
I didn't sit up when I said it. I just lay there, sprawled on the roof atop that ratty old comforter we'd pulled down from the hall closet, tears leaving cold tracks on my stinging cheeks. Yusuke looked me over with a frown, cheeks squirrel-like in their fullness. "Hm?" he said, shoveling down another bite.
"It's because if I'm your grandma, that means I'm family."
Yusuke—fork halfway to his mouth—put down the cake.
"We have fun fucking with each other, Yusuke," I said. My voice sounded as soft as chocolate cake in the winter dark, sweet and rich even to my ears as I smiled. "And I know you think I'm kidding, but the day you died really was the best day of my life."
He glared again. "That's not comforting, you old hag."
"It was the best day of my life because that night you came to me in a dream and said you were coming back." My smile didn't widen, but it deepened, and that isn't the same thing. "How could it possibly count as a bad day, in light of that?"
Yusuke stared at me. He looked away, turning his face from mine. Took another bite of cake. "Don't say such mushy crap," he said, voice thick—though from cake or emotion, I can't say for sure. He held the spare fork in my direction. "Eat, so you'll stop talking."
It was as close to a 'thanks' as I'd probably get, and I didn't want to push my luck, so I took the fork and scooted close, wrapping the comforter around us as the wind tried to knock us off the roof. A big bite of cake found its way into my mouth, moist and rich and delicious, buttercream holding together layers of sponge enveloped in fondant, more buttercream, and mirror glaze. I chewed and swallowed, pointing at the cake with my fork all the while.
"Damn," I said through my mostly full mouth. "I did good."
"You did, actually," Yusuke grudgingly admitted. His voice turned wicked. "I'm not saving any for Botan."
"Heh. I made an extra cake because I knew you'd say that."
He blinked at me. "You didn't."
"I did."
"Damn. You know me too well." His lips quirked. "But I guess that's family for you." And then he turned beet red and spun away from me atop the roof's slick shingles. "So. Uh. What'd you say today's date was?"
"The third."
"November?"
"December, you absolute walnut."
"Hey, you're the walnut." I couldn't see what he was doing, but the comforter shifted and I heard an odd scraping sound coming from Yusuke's other side, just out of sight. "You said today's Tuesday, but I definitely died on a Monday." He shot me a baleful look over his shoulder. "I'd remember. I hate Mondays."
And thus I found myself gearing up to explain how the Gregorian calendar works, breathing deep both to calm my nerves and to fuel what was sure to be a very long rant. "Yeah, but the day of the week shifts every year and stuff, so even if you died on a Monday that doesn't mean that this year the third will be on a—what the hell are you doing?"
A long, loud screeching noise had interrupted my lecture, like nails on a chalkboard only worse. I set the coffin-cake aside and rose to my knees, leaning against Yusuke's back so I could peer over his shoulder at—at whatever it was he was doing, because I really wasn't sure. He had clutched the metal fork I'd given him to eat cake with in his hand and was digging it into the roof, scratching away at it in short, hard strokes. He moved to block his handiwork before I could view it, though, brushing the comforter across it with a glare.
"I'm commensurating," he informed me.
"… do you mean commemorating?"
"Yeah, that."
"But what are you—?"
He shrugged, pushing me off of him with a growl. "Just gimme a minute, jeez! You'll see!"
I did as he asked, watching as he hunched and pulled the comforter over his head to shield his efforts from the world. After about a minute I slowly reached for the cake and started munching. It took about three minutes of various scratchings and scrapings and frustrated mutterings for him to finish, and then he burst forth from beneath the blanket with a triumphant bellow of "Tah-dah!", face brick red from heat and exertion. I was on my knees again in seconds, cake quite forgotten, bracing my hands on his shoulders for purchase as I squinted down at what he'd carved into the shingles with his dessert fork.
Yusuke, it turns out, had written his own epitaph.
RIP Urameshi Yusuke
March 26 1977 - Dec. 3 1990
survived by his Grandma
badasses till the bitter end
I stared at it in silence until Yusuke covered my hand with his own and squeezed. He had cake on his chin and lint in his disheveled hair and in that moment he had never looked quite so alive. My zombie boy, the closest thing to a brother I had ever had, my Yusuke—he looked up me with his most insouciant of grins, probably unaware of just how happy I was to celebrate his death day with minor property damage and a cake shaped like a goddamn coffin, because it was in Yusuke's nature not to realize his worth until his visited his own funeral. Or in this case, his Death Day celebration, coffin-shaped cake and all.
"Happy Death Day to me, right?" he said, squeezing my hand again.
I pressed my face into his neck and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
"Happy Death Day to you, buddy," I said against his skin—and he was kind enough to let me hold him like that for just a little while.
And then he squirmed out of my arms like a feral cat and smeared cake across my nose, because he's Yusuke, and I would take him in no other fashion or form.
NOTES
Had to work through lunch a lot this week and lost crucial writing time as a result. When I post late, I usually always mention it on my Tumblr, so follow me there for news when the chapters seem delayed. Thanks!
Next time on Lucky Child: Kurama makes a surprising request and NQK has to be on her best behavior. MYSTERIOUS. Stay tuned as we cover all the small scenes and fill up the months between now and the Dark Tournament…
ALSO: I started a new fanfic for the revered anime series Cowboy Bebop, which is my VERY CLOSE SECOND FAVORITE ANIME SERIES after YYH (it's my all-time favorite in terms of animation style/quality, music, and writing, but YYH has that nostalgia factor that gives it an edge). Anyway, turns out the CB fandom is… uh… desolate? Desiccated? Decimated? There are a handful of active authors, even fewer readers, so if you feel compelled to check out that story, IT WOULD MEAN THE WORLD TO ME. I got weepy last night over a single comment someone left because comments are so precious in such a drought-ridden fandom. It's sad that I'm not exaggerating. I literally cried, I was so happy. I'm quite in love with the story's premise and I'm excited to delve deeper into it, so if you're looking for a story that combines action with science fiction, romance, jazz and blues, humor, and a whole lot of angst (BECAUSE IT'S MEEEEE, ahem) then you might like it.
And if you haven't seen Cowboy Bebop itself… you should. You really, really should. It's a classic for a reason. I'd like to think the fic is readable without having seen the show, but IDK if that's true, so go give Bebop a watch. You'll be glad you did, whether or not you read my fic notwithstanding.
Many effusive thanks to all of you who came out and reviewed last week. YOU DA BEST. Churning out chapters every week is a ton of fun, and it's super gratifying to know you're out there reading. Writing can get lonely, truth be told, but you make this process anything but. Till next time, and thanks so much again: MissIdeophobia, AnimePleaseGood, crossyourteez, Nozomi Higurashi, C S Stars, shen 0, Ariel, Lady Ellesmere, Laina Inverse, Blaze1662001, The Mysterious Mister Anonymous, tw2000, xenocanaan, Evanelle, buzzk97, Baoh Joestar, True Necromancer, Xalmtris, rya-fire1, heve-chan, yofa, Thyme Willtell, DiCuore Alissa, Marian, Queen of Cloud, Kaiya Azure, Ahyeon, Kykygrly, sweezye1223, SesshomarusLuvr, Vixeona, read a rainbow, Miqila, Just 2 Dream of You, The Child Grim, KhaleesiRenee, Dark Rose Charm, Beccalittlebear, Turtlekid the Woolgatherer, Sagira, FreeRainbowsWithLove, general zargon, Tay, Ceradin and a guest!
