Warnings: None
Note: There are references to Daughters of Destiny in the chapter. Basically, all you need to know is that NQK has laid eyes on Youko Kurama before this chapter, and he doesn't know it.
PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE AFTER THE CHAPTER FOR A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT!
Lucky Child
Chapter 100:
"#goodvibesonly"
Yusuke sat at the mouth of a cave.
I stood behind him, staring at the slump of his shoulders and the hang of his head. He sat crosslegged. I could not see his face. The cave yawned before him, a black hole in the earth, opening ringed with rocks and tumbled boulders. It was night, starshine glinting off of his hair and the stones alike. Both Yusuke and the stone sat unmoving in their spots. Only the nearby trees swayed when the wind blew past, their branches scraping the sky as they made a sound like distant whispers. I wanted to hear what they said, but I could not. I could only watch in silence as at last Yusuke stirred, head coming up as he stared ahead, into the cave's deep dark.
"Genkai?" he said, voice nearly lost to the sound of the wind. "Genkai?" And he bolted to his feet, hand outstretched, reaching toward the cave as he loosed a delighted laugh. "Genkai? I knew it! I knew you couldn't be gone! I knew—"
But he stopped speaking. His hand fell to his side. Soon Yusuke fell to his knees, hands fisting in the dirt. I tried to speak again. To reach for him. To comfort him. But just as I found the will to move, to take a single step in his direction—
Hands clasped my shoulders.
"Kei," Kurama said. "Kei, wake up."
And thus, I was awake, because Yusuke had been nothing but a dream.
Kurama knelt beside the couch where I'd been sleeping—where I'd slept ever since giving up my bed to Yukina—smiling as I blinked up at his handsome face. He sat back as I propped myself upright on an elbow, watching me scrub the sleep from my eyes with my wrist. Soon my brow knit.
"How'd ya get in here?" I slurred.
"I'm a thief, aren't I?" He patted my hand and rose to his feet. "Go get dressed."
"Why?"
"I need your help."
"My help?"
"Yes."
"Uh… kay." I studied his bland smile for a bit, trying to discern what was coming, but I came up short. Too sleepy to think. A shower would wake me up, though. "Ten minutes?"
"I'll be waiting downstairs."
He left without making a single sound, footsteps utterly silent on the carpeted floor, and the door shut behind him without even a creak. My feet couldn't compete as I crept past the beds where Shizuru and Atsuko lay sleeping and into the attached bathroom. No light peeked through the curtains in their room, I noted. I made sure to shut the bathroom door before flipping on the overhead light, where the reflection of my groggy face greeted me in the mirror. Lines from the pillowcase crossed my face in red streaks, and above it, my hair rose from my head like the feathers of a cocktail who'd stuck a fork in a power outlet. It wasn't pretty, and as I brushed my teeth, I regretted that Kurama had seen me like this… not that he hadn't seen me sleep before. I'd used him as my own personal pillow when we rode the train back from rescuing Yukina, after all. Hopefully my horrible bedhead wouldn't make a lasting impact…
But bedhead was the least of my worries. As I climbed into the shower, my thoughts inevitably turned to Genkai—to the way Kurama had behaved as we came back to the hotel after he'd sensed something awful in the distance. The way Botan had been subdued over dinner, even though I made her favorite dish. But she'd hardly touched the food, and Kurama hadn't been talkative, and even Shizuru seemed quieter than usual. Puu, too, had clung to Botan and me in turns, utterly listless as he wound his claws into my sweater.
There was only one thing it could all mean: Genkai was dead, slain by the younger Toguro over a decades-old grudge, and they all knew it.
And then there had been that dream of Yusuke, somewhere on the island in the dark, reaching for an absent Genkai. He hadn't shown up for dinner the night before. Was he at that cave I'd seen in my dream? He'd stayed at a cave all night when Genkai died in the anime, just the way Botan and Kurama had sensed Genkai's death in canon. My dream had looked just like Yusuke's animated overnight trip, only real instead of animated. Had I dreamed of that scene with a new skin of realism on top?
It hardly mattered. I cut the shower off and got dressed, packing a backpack with supplies before heading downstairs to meet Kurama. We didn't say much as we headed into the early-morning dark, navy sky lightening in the east with streaks of faint pink and pale green. It was still early, only barely after sunrise, by the time we stopped in a clearing not too far from the hotel. The spot was pretty, ringed by the pale bark of the forest's fir trees and a few large boulders covered in green moss. We weren't far from the coast, judging by the scent of saltwater, and we were quite secluded this deep in the forest. It was a perfect spot for what I suspected Kurama was planning, and as I settled onto the top of one of the nearby boulders and began to unpack my bag, Kurama watched through curious eyes just as green as the surrounding forest.
I held up each object in turn for his benefit. "A stopwatch, for timing duration of the fruit's effects, not to mention how long it takes to kick in." Next object. "A notebook for observations." A couple of baggies and a tupperware, plus water bottles. "Snacks in the event of fatigue. Never underestimate low blood sugar." Last object. "And my Polaroid camera in case we need to make any visual documentation. Say cheese!"
Kurama smiled on reflex as the flash went off, camera spitting an undeveloped photo into my waiting hand. "You knew why we were coming out here, then."
"Took a wild guess." I flipped open the notebook and tugged the pencil from its spiral, poising it at-the-ready over the first page. "Now, before we get started… can I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"Like, a wildly invasive question?" I said. "A perhaps inappropriately invasive question? A question that might be entirely awkward in its degree of hypothetical intimacy, in fact?"
One dark brow rose. "I'm now too curious to say no."
"What are you like when you're… you know." I waved vaguely at Kurama. "In your previous form?"
"What do you mean?"
"How much of you is in there?" At his expression of skepticism, my cheeks burned just a little bit. "I know that when you came to this world and inhabited a human body, it was… how did the legend put it? It had yet to acquire a proper soul? So you're a solo passenger in that body, so to speak, but…"
"Yes." His mouth quirked. "I am alone in here, as it were."
"All right. So in terms of a personality shift…?"
"I would be lying if I said there wasn't one," he said after a moment's pause. "But I do not believe it is particularly pronounced."
"Believe," I repeated. "That's a fuzzier term than I'm used to hearing from you."
Kurama shut his eyes. "I have lived as a human for nearly 16 years. In that time, I have cultivated a rather convincing human mask, one I wear daily for the benefit of those around me."
"Meaning, for your mom?"
His eyes opened. "I did not wear that mask when I was an infant. That is part of what broke her. I was a child who did neither needed, nor loved, his mother. When I realized how I was hurting her, I donned the mask—and I did not remove it until the day I sought out the Mirror to save her life." Kurama smiled, but it did not touch his eyes. "Perhaps in all that time, wearing the mask became second nature, a cloak of humanity meant to shield the ones I care for from the whims of my demonic self."
He spoke those final words with a darkness in his gaze—one I didn't understand, but one that nevertheless sent a shiver skating down my spine. "And when you are that demonic self?" I asked, hoping I wouldn't hate the answer.
"The mask becomes less instinctive. Less habitual. But any changes to my behavior are surface level at their deepest." Kurama tried to look reassuring, and he mostly succeeded. "I am still, and will remain, no one save for myself."
It made sense, I supposed. "That's what I thought."
"Does the legend support this theory?" Kurama asked.
He asked this with all the delicacy of extreme detachment, face neutral, eyes averted as he removed his jacket and pulled the Fruit of Past Life from one of its pockets. Kurama folded the jacket with care and laid it gently upon the clearing's soft grass, still not looking in my direction—and although he put on a convincing show, I knew better than to believe the act. He sounded self-assured enough, but if Kurama asked me something, he asked because he had doubts. For the life of me, I couldn't understand what they were. He didn't suffer at all due to his transformation in canon. What, exactly, did he fear?
"Everything you've said tracks with my knowledge of you, past and present all accounted for," I decided to say. "I hesitate to stack the deck, but… when it's you, I'm confident." Finally he looked at me, gaze clearing of its clouds the slightest sliver. Grinning, I told Kurama, "You've got this. If there's anyone in all the world who won't lose control of his identity, it's you. You are entirely too stubborn for that."
That got a smile out of him, thankfully. It did not, however, get him talking. He simply held the fruit's glittering bottle on his open palm and stared at it, as if trying to read the future in the juices shimmering within. I readied my pencil and paper in the meantime, stopwatch held tight in my other hand.
"First test," I said, writing those words across the top of a page. "How much will you take?"
"A sip, and no more," he said, and I dutifully wrote that down, too. "For now, anyway. I will adjust as needed and based on the results of the first test."
He waited for me to finish writing before taking the cork out of the bottle, and he waited for me to give him a nod before lifting it to his lips. I thumbed the button on the stopwatch as soon as I saw him swallow—but when he lowered the bottle, expression and green eyes wary, nothing happened. In tense silence cut only by the oddly deafening ticking of the stopwatch, Kurama and I stared at one another, listening to the wind stirring the treetops and chase the clouds across the pale blue sky. Kurama's hair, dark with those crystalline crimson highlights, waved upon that wind, strands dancing across his cheeks in brilliant contrast with his luminous eyes. I admit I watched his face and figure closely, trying to see if his features had changed, or if gold had crept into the green of his irises. But nothing happened, and soon I found myself fidgeting in my perch upon the rock.
"How do you feel?" I said when the silence grew unbearable.
"Odd," Kurama replied, head listing gently to one side. I'd seen him wear that look during a science lab before, all calculation and observation and cold objectivity. "Like a kettle coming to a boil. Only…"
"Only what?"
"It's colder than that." Kurama scowled. "It—"
But he stopped speaking, and a shaft of light from the rising sun sliced through the treetops to strike his face. Green flashed, but then it changed to gold, and the sun glinted off his hair—only it didn't spark red. It sparked silver, dazzling my eyes so much I had to shield them with my hand, and then…
There he was.
In the liminal space between moments, Kurama had turned back the clock and become his former self.
The first thing I noticed was his height. He loomed over me even from a distance, standing taller than anyone I'd ever met (save, perhaps, the younger Toguro). And he stood with grace, that sort of lithe potential for action I'd spotted in so many demons at this tournament, not to mention in Yusuke and Hideki and Genkai and even my Kurama himself. It was a stance of power, and he wore it well, hands loose at his sides, feet spread underneath him with perfect balance. His build boasted a more developed build than Shuichi-Kurama, too, arms corded with muscle, shoulders broad and strong beneath his old-fashioned white robes. Narrow golden eyes regarded me with chill paradoxical for warm color, face lengthened and lupine and utterly unlike Shuichi's large, brilliant eyes and slender features. He had darker skin than Shuichi, as if he'd spent more time in the sun, and his hair rippled on the breeze like strands of raw, silvery silk, contrasting his skin with aesthetic abandon. To call him 'handsome' was an understatement of the worst kind, because he truly was one of the prettiest and most aesthetically appealing people I'd ever laid eyes on… but the white fox ears peeking from his hair, not to mention the silvery tail drifting behind him on the wind, further marked him as different, as other, as not-my-Kurama in a way I felt deep in my suddenly-full-of-butterflies gut.
Though that's not to say I didn't recognize him at all. As he shifted his stance, surveying the trees and the rest of the clearing with a sweep of his golden gaze, something in his movement and the motion of his eyes struck a chord of familiarity inside my chest. I'd seen my Kurama wear that same look and move that same way a thousand times before—never around his mother, and only a handful of times at school, but when the going got tough and Kurama made that subtle change from schoolboy to demon on the hunt, I'd seen him scan a room or a crowd with that exact same expression, in that exact same stance. When that happened, however, he always made time for a smile, a comforting word, or some other tiny human gesture to prove he was still the man I knew. To prove he was still (in some small part) Kurama.
This version of Kurama neither offered nor proved any such thing. It's no wonder, then, that for a minute, I could only stare at the transformed Kurama in slack-jawed silence… but physically speaking, Youko Kurama was nothing I hadn't seen before, even if everything human about him had vanished. Soon enough I found the will to say, "Damn, you're tall."
One silver brow shot up. "That is what draws your eye?" he said in a voice much, much deeper than Kurama's normally soft, silken speech. "My height?"
"I mean, yeah. How tall are you, anyway?"
"I do not recall." He tossed his hair, looking down his aristocratic nose in my direction. "But far taller than Shuichi."
The ire in his voice made me chuckle. "It's weird, hearing you refer to yourself in third person."
A smile twisted his shapely mouth. "But I am not Shuichi at the moment, now am I?" he said—and then he blurred out of sight in a flash of gold and silver. In the shortest of moments he reappeared across the clearing, crouched with his hand raised behind him, hair still flying from the force of his run.
That's when I noticed the claws on his fingertips, curling and white, and the sap dripping from them in golden drops. Slowly, three of the trees at the edge of the clearing creaked and toppled, crashing to the forest floor with a shower of leaves and twigs. I watched this in more stunned amazement, barely registering when Kurama stood and meandered with purposeful insouciance back to the center of the clearing. He inspected his claws, then lashed his hand too fast to follow, sending the sap scattering.
"My power has returned," he observed. "Not quite in full. But growing." He clenched his fist, cold smile curling the corners of his lips. "Yes. This will do nicely."
Because it felt like the right thing to do (and because I got the sense that Kurama was definitely, definitely showing off a bit), I raised my hands and applauded. Kurama's smile widened at the sound, eyes flickering my way with a flash of molten gold.
"Bravo, Kurama," I said, and I picked my notebook back up again. "Now, how long do you think this will last, anyway? I restarted the time when you transformed. It took approximately eight minutes for the fruit to kick in, but—"
Kurama scowled. "That's it?"
"… what's it?"
"I have utterly transformed," he said, disdain dripping from each word, "and all you have are congratulations and a comment about my height?"
"Uh…" I laughed in spite of myself. "Wow. Touchy, are we?"
His head inclined, chin raising even higher. "If I did not know any better, I would suspect you aren't actually shocked by my transformation."
"Well, yeah," I said, uncomfortable, because Kurama did not know how right he was. His analytical streak didn't know how to take a break, did it? "You've told me yourself that you'd be a silver fox when you transformed, so—"
I clamped my mouth shut when I realized the unfortunate double entendre present in what I'd just said, but luckily the older-than-dirt, hotter-than-hell fox in front of me didn't appear to understand the reference. He just watched me try not to laugh, scowl deepening as my lips twitched and a slightly hysterical giggle built inside my chest. I tried to cover my mirth, but it was pretty much impossible, and soon I had to duck my head and giggle into a hand, unable to keep the laughter in.
Kurama did not like that, though. "What are you laughing at?" he demanded. "Tell me."
Another giggle slipped out. "Nothing."
"Do you find something about me to be particularly laughable?" he said, eyes narrowing.
"Of course not!" I said, but I undermined myself by giggling yet again.
"Then why laugh?" Before I could make up an excuse, he tossed his hair and sneered. "I'll answer for you, since you seem incapable of giving me a straight response. You aren't surprised at all by my appearance—an appearance I have on good authority is worthy of shock. Shock, and no small amount of awe. But the question is… how?" He stepped toward me, eyes two dangerous slashes of gold in his beautiful bronzed face. "How are you so remarkably unmoved by my appearance?"
I swallowed, giggles dead and gone at last. Because it was better than admitting I'd seen him 500 years prior thanks to a certain time-travelling friend of mind, I shrugged and muttered, "Maybe I'm just feeling particularly stonehearted this morning."
"Someone as emotional as you?" he retorted with no small amount of scorn. "I highly doubt that."
My jaw couldn't keep from dropping. "Wha—You—I—You are a smartass like this!"
"And you," Youko Kurama coldly replied, "are infuriating."
His golden glower and undisguisedly rude tone had me sputtering a second time. "Wow. Wow, Kurama!" I said, throwing up my hands. "Can we get the redhead back already, because he is way more polite!"
If he felt insulted by that, he didn't show it. He just looked me over with a gaze so critical, I instinctively ran my hands over my hair to make sure I didn't have any leftover bedhead—and seeing that, Kurama smirked. He crossed his arms over his broad chest with a ripple of lithe muscle, tilted his head to the side, and looked me over one more time.
"Tell me, Kei," Kurama said. "Do you plan on seeing that insufferable windmaster again, or have you thought better of that paltry dalliance at last?"
The change of subject was so abrupt, it took me a minute to catch up. "You mean Jin?" I said, confused as hell and not at all happy. "What the heck are you bringing him up for?"
Kurama tossed his hair again, that preening bastard. "Answer the question."
"It's none of your business."
"Fine. Then at least tell me in what regard you hold that demon."
"That's none of your business, either." I slapped the notebook shut upon my nap, trying not to look as flabbergasted and spotlighted as I felt. "And besides," I grumbled, "I've already told you what I think of him. The other night; remember?"
"I do." His chin rose. "And of me?"
"… beg pardon?"
"And what, pray tell, do you think of me?" He waved one clawed hand at himself. "I recognize I'm rather different on the day-to-day, but the question still remains."
And with that, Youko Kurama stared at me with undisguised expectation, claws drumming an impatient beat upon his bicep. He didn't look particularly upset or curious—rather, he looked like he knew what I'd say and was just waiting for me to hurry the hell up and get to the point. Which didn't make any sense, as far as I could tell. He knew what I thought of him, didn't he?
"What is this?" I said, not comprehending. "Why are you asking me this?"
Kurama smirked, looking at me from beneath lowered lashes. "Do I need a reason?" he said, voice low and thrumming. Purring, almost. Which also didn't make sense—unless…
Oh, fuck.
"Cut the crap." The words popped out before I could think to play dumb. "Yes, you do need a reason. You never ask shit like this without a reason."
And his coy smile vanished. "How very dull," Youko Kurama said. "Very well, then. I am—"
He cut off with a gasp, and to my horror he staggered in place, clutching the side of his suddenly drawn face with one clawed hand. I was up in a flash and darting toward him, making it to his side just as he collapsed to his knees in the middle of the meadow. His height was even more apparent up close, because even when kneeling, his face landed in the crook of my neck and shoulder. I held him up as best I could, hands wound tight into the fabric of his shirt for purchase. God, he was a heavy fucker, but that made sense given how tall he was. I tried not to let my knees buckle as he wound an arm around my shoulders, muttering something I couldn't quite catch.
"What did you say?" I said, knees wobbling just a bit. "Kurama, is this the fruit? Are you having a bad reaction? Are you—"
"I asked," Kurama said, lips brushing my neck with every word he spoke, "to hear what you think of me."
It took a moment for my brain to catch up with that, but when the arm around my shoulder slid downward, winding tight around my waist instead, an electric zing zipped up my back. He was close, too close for comfort—especially when I felt that very, very warm mouth against my neck again, breath hot and heady on my skin… but that time he wasn't saying a word. Under other circumstances, I probably would've enjoyed our little interaction, but these were not 'other circumstances,' and with a cry of indignation I shoved a hand between his face and my neck and pushed him to arm's length.
"What the heck are you DOING?" I demanded.
Still holding tight to my waist, cheek squished under my hand, Kurama muttered, "Being rejected, apparently."
"Being rejec—oh, for Pete's sake!" I scrambled away, backing up so I could lever a finger at his face while he rose to his full height. "Is that really what this is about!?"
"What else would it be about?" he said, as if it were obvious and I was unforgivably dense.
"I—I dunno, but not that!" My conspiracy-brain piped up at that point. "And hey! When you fell back there, was that just an act so you could try to—"
He cut me off. "We have danced our little dance for far too long, Kei," Kurama said, words like rumbling thunder in his chest. Looming like a storm cloud, Kurama looked down at me from his lofty height, glowering a golden glare that for some indescribable reason made that heated spark go rocketing up my spine again. "It's high time we stopped playing games, wouldn't you say? Because I, for one, find them tiresome indeed."
The directness in his stare, the demand for clarity—it was not normal. At least, it wasn't normal for us… but my usual Kurama had taken a hike. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I heaved a heavy sigh and tried my best not to catch fire. The heat in my cheeks certainly felt like an inferno, and that's saying nothing of the blushing cinders in my ears.
Because if I was reading the implications right, Kurama was alluding to something we'd been dancing around for quite some time. They thing other people always picked up on, but the one we never talked about, and very much by design. He hadn't outright said it yet, but he was coming dangerously close—and I had to wonder if crossing that line was really such a good idea, electric heat pulsing in my ears and lips and back notwithstanding.
"Look, Kurama," I said. "We have this truly adorable will-they-won't-they dynamic going on and I'd hate to go ruining it because you got a little punch-drunk on past-life-juice and decided to be all direct and whatnot." Hoping he'd see reason, I held out my hands and tried to look pitiable. "I like our dynamic. I like our back-and-forth. I like our will-they-won't-they. I'm really happy with it for the time being, all right?"
For a moment, Kurama did not speak.
Then he inclined his head, pinned me with his stare, and uttered, "And if I'm not?"
To call the moment 'tense' is to make the biggest understatement of the century (after the understatement about Kurama being beautiful, that is). You could've cut the air with a set of fox demon claws, it grew so thick, and the distance between us suddenly appeared far too small for comfort. And yet, even though his simple question revealed a multitude of hidden implications, Kurama did not appear to feel vulnerable as a result. He stared at me with haughty exasperation, self-satisfaction playing across his mouth in a subtle smile. He was pushing for something, for a change in our dynamic, and requesting such a thing would've turned me into a blushing mess… but it didn't appear to faze him in the slightest. He traded wit and wordplay as he always did, our back-and-forth as quick as ever, but the polite streak he'd earned as a human had taken a hiatus, replaced by a direct call to action that my Kurama would probably find quite gauche. And I wasn't sure how to feel about that, mostly because I wasn't sure how my Kurama would feel about that. Although Youko and Shuichi were two sides of the same coin, the opinion of my Kurama definitely mattered when it came to what lay between us.
Whatever Youko Kurama was implying could wait until my version Kurama was ready to say it for himself.
Which is why I remained so utterly calm when I looked Youko Kurama in the eye and told him, "I think I'd like to hear that from the redhead, to be honest."
But he didn't appear at all offended by my rejection (probably because I was just asking for another, more relevant version of himself to make that choice instead, and that probably didn't count as a rejection, but whatever). In fact, he laughed, throwing back his head as his tail lashed the air behind him in a sweep of silver fur. "Heaven forbid I ruin your opinion of me now," he said when he was through. He appeared quite amused when he added, "And besides. This game of ours is just delightful, even if it is utterly irksome."
I suppressed an eye-roll. "Well I'm glad at least that you are having fun."
"Trust me, Kei," he dead-panned. "This is not the kind of 'fun' I wish we were having."
Which set off my stutter like a lit fuse. "You—you—you absolute bastard—!"
"Now, now." Sharp teeth gleamed within Kurama's satisfied grin. "Play nicely, or you might hurt my feelings."
"Oh, would you prefer if I hurt that pretty face of yours, instead?" I said with a horrendous fake smile. "Because that could be arranged."
But he just looked satisfied at the suggestion. "And finally, she admits the truth."
"What truth?"
"That she finds me pretty." He leaned forward, grin turning absolutely lascivious when he saw my cheeks light up like fireworks. "Ooh. She blushes."
Distressingly, I blushed harder. "Yeah, I find you pretty," I grumbled. "Pretty annoying."
He shrugged off the juvenile insult like a coat. "Like I said," he said—and in less time than it took for me to take a breath, he had crossed he clearing, closed the distance between us, and taken the end of my long bangs between two clawed fingers. Curling the lock of hair around his index, Kurama smiled and said, "Just delightful."
I danced backward and out of reach, ready and willing to tell him get the hell out of here and bring back the redhead. And yet, while canon had given no indication that Youko Kurama could read minds, he somehow seemed to read my thoughts perfectly. Light flashed across his lupine face as a spark of green flared beside his pupil, and within the span of a heartbeat I found myself gazing into the eyes of Kurama—my Kurama, dark red hair and green eyes and all, who looked comically disheveled as he smoothed down the front of his shirt and delicately cleared his throat. I started to say something to him, but the sheepish look on his face and the stiff set of his shoulders took me momentarily aback.
Kurama cleared his throat again. "Kei." He swallowed. "I insist that I must apologize. I knew there would be some loss of human inhibition, but to that degree… No. No." He shook his head, face pinched, green eyes squeezing shut. "There is no excuse. I must apolo—Kei?"
He didn't finish, because I'd started laughing. Cracking up, in fact. I staggered back to my rock and crawled onto it so I could wrap my arms around myself and laugh my ass off, a tear slipping from my eye from the force of my giggles. Kurama watched in shock, still with that sheepish look on his face—and that just made me laugh harder. I'd never seen him look that hangdog in my life, and the whiplash of interacting with the cocksure Youko and the polite-as-heck Shuichi had me in hysterics. He watched me mop my face like he was afraid I'd gone off the deep end, and when I stopped laughing long enough to grab my notebook and pen, settling it once more atop my knee, his eyebrows shot right up.
"Now, come on," I said, readying my pencil (and giggling one final giggle). "Do you need to test that again, or was that sufficient for data collection?"
As if unsure of how much he should say, Kurama reluctantly intoned, "Further testing is required."
"All right." I checked the stopwatch and noted the time it had taken him to turn back. Pointing the pencil at him, I declared, "But this time I'm staying firmly on this rock, and you are staying firmly over there, capisce?"
Kurama shook his head. "No," he said with unexpected force.
"… excuse me?"
"I will stay here, but you must go back to the hotel." He nodded twice, as if agreeing with his own assertion. "I insist."
But I just grinned. "Hey, it's all good. He—I mean, you were just a little more direct than I'm used to, but it's not like I didn't already know what he was trying to sa—"
"Bringing you along was a mistake," Kurama said. "You are a distraction and I insist that you leave."
I considered being offended by his words—but the look of pure agony on his face and the embarrassed set to his eyes were too hilarious to begrudge. Kurama was not accustomed to being caught off guard, nor was he accustomed to being laughed at; poor guy really didn't know how to handle this, did he? But if he needed space, then that's what I'd give him. Giggling again, trying hard not to make this worse, I started to gather up my things. Then I thought better of it and only grabbed my camera and backpack. He'd get more use out of the stop watch, notebook and snacks, anyway.
Before I left, though, I stopped to take a picture of Kurama's deer-in-the-headlights look. He barely appeared to register what I'd done until the camera spat out an undeveloped square of film, and I walked off shaking the picture with a whistle between my teeth.
"You would be doing me a favor by never speaking of this again," he called after me, an uncharacteristic note of desperation in his voice.
"No promises," I called back, and I kept on walking.
"Pssst—hey! Hey!"
I stopped short at the sound of a whisper echoing through the hotel lobby, whistle grinding to a halt between my lips. I'd whistled a tune the entire way back to the hotel, and as I scanned the lobby for the source of the whisper, I almost started back up again.
I spotted her before I had the chance. Otoha stood in the shadow of a huge potted plant near the wall beside the front desk, and when we made eye contact, she beckoned for me to follow. Turns out one of Otoha's many secret doors lay behind the gigantic planter and its towering fern, and at her behest, I followed her through it and into one of the service tunnels honeycombing the walls of Hotel Kubikukuri.
The last time I'd seen Otoha, we'd been on the run from some nasty demons. This time she smiled ear to ear, spinning on her heel to face me atop the plain white tile within the long, echoing tunnel. The smile faded a smidge when our eyes met, her pretty face screwing up in curiosity.
"What are you so smiley about?" she asked.
"Nothing." But I couldn't keep the grin off my face. "What's up?"
She reached into the pocket of her dress and said, "Ta-da!" From it she pulled a rolled up hand towel, which she deposited in my grasp with a flourish. "One of the girls scrounged these from the wreckage in the club. Thought you'd be wanting them back."
A peek inside the towel revealed the form of at least one throwing knife from the set I'd used during our raid on the casino upstairs. Grinning harder, I shoved the roll of knives under my arm for safekeeping. "Thank you so much, Otoha." At last my grin faded. "Let's just hope I don't need them."
"You might not, actually." Lines knit between her brows. "Cleanup took the entire staff, and we've spent all day and night making nice to the tournament backers to make up for the incident upstairs—every backer except Hiruko." Regret painted across her face. "I put the word out, but none of my girls have laid eyes on him since."
"Why am I not surprised?" I muttered. "Slippery bastard."
"Sorry I can't be of more help."
"Are you kidding? You're my MVP!" I said. "Seriously, without you, I never would've gotten close to the guy."
"Hey." Otoha winked. "What are friends for?"
"What happened to us being sisters?"
"Well, I'm not drunk off my ass at the moment, so…"
I laughed. "Never change, Otoha."
"Same to you." She flipped the ends of her dark hair, pink scales gleaming against her smooth bronze skin. "Yesterday was scary, but damn, was it exciting! Be sure to come back next year for another round, OK?"
"I make no promises."
"Heh. Way to keep me in suspense." Pivoting, she marched off down the service corridor, aiming another wink my way over her shoulder. "See ya later, sis."
When Otoha disappeared around a bend in the tunnel, I didn't leave right away. I flipped the top of the towel away from the knives within and counted the number Otoha had been able to recover for me. It looked like they were all there, and aside from a chip in one of their edges, they looked like they were in good shape—if you didn't count the demon blood still caked along some of them. I didn't blame Otoha for not cleaning it up, though; it wasn't her mess to manage. With careful fingers I inspected each blade, looking for any further damage, but I didn't find any. What I found instead was a three-inch length of red cord clinging to a patch of gunk. It was thick, like yarn made of red threads with some gold filament streaking through the twisted fabric, and soft to the touch. A bit of adhesive bound them together at one end. I had no idea what it was at first, but as I thought back, I realized that it must be a bit of the shag carpet from the lounge where I'd met Hiruko.
Plucking the cord from its gunky mooring, I dragged the fibber through my fingers, tracing the interwoven strands one by one. The fanciful part of me wondered if this thread was some kind of message—a metaphor left behind by Hiruko meant especially for me. Red threads bound Hiruko and me together, after all. Destiny and fate connected us like fingers of a glove… but how much of that connection was organic, and how much of it had been a product of Hiruko's meddlesome engineering? I couldn't be sure. So I tucked the strand of carpet fiber into my pocket, hoping that in doing some, I had taken control of a scrap of fate.
But maybe that was just the fanciful part of me talking again.
There was one way to find out just how fanciful I was being, of course. Leaving the service tunnel, I waited for the lobby to clear before slipping out from behind the enormous potted fern and heading for the phone vestibule. It was deserted this early in the morning, but nevertheless I chose the phone booth the furthest from the door and tucked myself inside it, nestling into the booth's back corner as I dialed a familiar number from memory. It only rang once before the call engaged.
"Captain?" Minato said, tone as clipped and efficient as always.
"Rabbit," I replied.
Minato huffed. "Must we insist on that particular codename?"
"Tigger won't have it any other way, I'm afraid." Taking the red cord from my pocket, I dragged it through my fingers over and over again, centering my anxiety in its texture and weight. "Would you mind patching her in?"
"Assemble the forces of the Hundred Acre Wood; roger that."
I held back a laugh as Minato used whatever unknowable technology he had at his disposal to make the connection. A few beeps sang out over the line, and soon the ringing of a phone echoed through the receiver. It rang for quite a bit longer than it had for Minato, but soon the call engaged, a sleepy voice mumbling a greeting down the line.
Minato said, "Up and at 'em. It's the captain."
Sheets rustled, bedsprings creaking as Kagome sat up. "Ugh. This early?" she grumbled.
"It's 8 AM," Minato barked.
"Yeah, and that's early!" she retorted.
I suppressed another laugh. "Shouldn't you be up and ready for school by now, anyway?"
"… shit." More bed springs, and then a thud as her feet hit the floor. "Well, you two talk while I get ready." She gave a little shriek. "Ugh, bedhead! I'm definitely gonna be late!"
"You might wanna play hooky or something," I said after the smallest of hesitations. "I have quite the story to tell."
A hush fell, and whether it was real or imagined I cannot say. My friends nevertheless stayed quiet so I could tell them everything that had happened since our last chat, reliving the day before in excruciating detail. My heartrate rose with every word, stress sending a spike into my chest as I described my confrontation with Hiruko in the casino lounge. Hand stealing into my pocket to clutch the iPod lying inside (because I hadn't let go of it since Hiruko gave it to me), I traced the length of the headphones wrapped around it for comfort, alternating between it and the carpet fiber in desperate turns. When I finished speaking, silence reigned for about a minute.
Then, flabbergasted, Kagome said, "He gave you an iPod!?"
I did a double-take at the phone. "All of that, and that's the thing you focus on?" I said, and I promptly slapped a hand against my cheek. "Shit. I sound like Kurama."
"Beg pardon?" said Minato.
"Nothing; that's a separate conversation entirely." Hastily I tried to course-correct, because telling them about my little chat with Youko could wait until I'd had time to process it, myself. "But yeah. An iPod, of all things."
"What's on it?"
"No idea. I haven't had the heart to turn it on." Taking the object from my pocket, I shot the thing an unimpressed glare. "Suspicious it might explode or something."
"Overloading a lithium battery could result in an explosive detonation if performed under the right conditions," Minato said.
"… not comforting, Rabbit. Not one bit."
"But good to know for future reference!" Kagome chirped.
"Knowledge is power, as they say," Minato said, smile coloring his voice a tad. "But after that conversation with Hiruko, it seems as if we have as many answers as we do questions. I will need more time to assess what you've told us in order to draw conclusions."
"What he said," said Kagome. "Which is why I'm asking about the iPod! Why the hell would he give you that? And better yet, can we replicate it and make a buttload of money?"
Again, Minato huffed. "Something tells me that was not the reason he gave it to the Captain."
"Then why did he give it to me?" I said.
"Beats the hell out of me," said Kagome. "But maybe looking at what's on it could help. So fire it up, Eeyore!" She presumably looked at the clock, because she gave a little shriek of dismay. "I've gotta get going soon!"
I unwrapped the headphones from around the iPod, grumbling under my breath with each revolution of cord around MP3 player. "God, I wish Minato was here to look for… for I dunno, triggers or something?" I said, finger poised over the power button. "What are the odds that this will explode and kill me? Again?"
Voice of reason that he was, Minato said, "If he wanted you dead, he's had ample opportunity to kill you before now." I could picture him shaking his head, blue eyes utterly serious in his young face. "No. His goal is not to kill you. Turn it on."
"OK." I took a deep breath to quiet the winged creatures flitting around inside my stomach. "Here goes."
With my friends in my ear for comfort, I pressed down the power button, holding it until the familiar Apple logo appeared in the middle of the screen. My stomach leapt into my throat when it vanished, replaced instead with a column of brightly colored circles filled with small icons—the music app, the radio, the photo gallery, and others. When the device did not render me dead on the spot, I tapped the music icon with a fingertip, reluctantly selecting the 'artist' option as I took a breath and held it.
Two seconds later, my eyes pricked with tears, hand clapping atop my mouth. "Oh my god."
"What? What is it?" Kagome warbled. "I can't see!"
"It's… it's mine." I could hardly get the words out, forcing them from my mouth with effort monumental. "It's like the one I had when I died."
I recognized the artists—all of them, each one—their order as familiar to me as the lines on Keiko's calloused palms. Fleetwood Mac, the Dixie Chicks, My Chemical Romance, Johnny Cash, Skrillex, Breaking Benjamin, Galantis, Say Anything, Garth Brooks, Illenium, Childish Gambino, Broadway showtunes, every last one of Jóhann Jóhannsson's albums and soundtracks… it was, down to the individual tracks contained within each artist listing, the eclectic mix I'd accumulated over a period of years and had loved so much in my past life. I scrolled through the artists and explored their songs with eyes opened as wide as they could go, tears still swimming but as of yet unspilled, murmuring their names for Minato and Kagome's benefit.
Kagome, it seemed, was less than impressed with my selection. "God, you listened to old crap even in your past life," she grumbled. "Any Beyoncé on there?"
"Uh. Of course?" I said, scrolling up to the B section. "Who do you think I am?"
She gave a delighted laugh. "Man. We are gonna jam to 'Check on It' when you get back."
I clicked Beyoncé's name and frowned. "Sorry," I said, scrolling through the track list to be sure. "That one's not on there. Don't think I ever added it."
Kagome made a noise of distress and disappointment, but Minato ignored her to ask, "It's been 15 years since you last used your iPod. Do you remember it well enough to know which tracks you did or did not add?"
"I mean… this all looks so familiar." There were even two listings for some artists created by a misspelled name; I remembered that I had had two categories for Jóhann Jóhannsson (one with and one without the accent marks) quite distinctly. "I think it's an exact replica, but like you said, it's been years." When I spotted, of all things, a listing for the Shrek soundtrack, I threw back my head and laughed. "God! Talk about a blast from the past."
"Let me just state for the record that I want to have the single most necessary jam session ever when you get back—but more importantly, what the hell?" Kagome said, voice rising an octave at the end. "Why did Hiruko give this to you? What does it all mean!?"
"I have no idea," Minato said.
I didn't say anything. I was too lost in scrolling through this very real connection to my past to really listen, anyway. Eventually Kagome hummed through the phone connection.
"So, um… DJ Eeyore, can I make a request?" she said. "I have been out of the Beyhive for eleven damn years, and I hunger for a dose of the Queen. Can you do this single lady a solid and play 'Single Ladies,' for the love of god!?"
She was so desperate, I couldn't say 'no.' I clicked the requested song and pumped the volume, pressing the earbuds to the phone so she could hear the requested track. At once Kagome sang along, mostly off-key, but with the kind of enthusiasm that made me laugh with sheer delight—and strangely, the sound of Beyoncé filtering through the phone brought a new wave of tears to my eyes. One of them actually managed to slip free, dribbling down my cheek and onto the iPod's screen without a sound. I wiped it away with my sleeve, trying not to let the sound of my sniffles interrupt Kagome's jam session.
When the song ended, Kagome let out a massive sigh, one full of longing and contentment alike. "So many years, and she still touches my heart with her dulcet tones," she said, sighing again. "I will never not be a member of the Beyhive."
"Same," I said—and when Minato did not chime in, I added, "Minato. You're awfully quiet over there."
A pause followed. "I have a theory," he said, and then steel backed his voice. "Don't listen to any more of the tracks."
I sat up straighter in the phone booth, shifting uneasily on the padded bench. "Wait. Why not?"
"Yeah! Why the heck not?" Kagome concurred.
"It's only a theory," Minato said, "but—"
"If you say something about mind control and subliminal messages—" Kagome hissed, but Minato cut her off.
"No." He sounded convinced, no hesitation whatsoever. "Hiruko wouldn't be as obvious as that."
"Then what is it?" I asked.
Another pause. Then: "Time will tell if I'm right. Just handle that device with caution." His voice grew even steelier. "Promise me."
"I promise," I said at once, because his tone demanded it—but before I could press, a voice said something far-off down the line, and Kagome groaned.
"Sorry, you two, but I gotta go," she said with no small amount of frustration. "Mom is breathing down my neck about getting to school on time."
"Ah, the joys of being a kid," I said, earning another groan from Kagome. "I'll call again later if I get a chance."
Kagome laughed. "Counting on it, babe."
She hung up. Nothing but static occupied the remaining connection. I thought that Minato might've hung up, too—but then I heard a low clicking, like someone typing, and knew I was wrong.
"Hey, Minato?" I said.
The typing stopped. "Yes, Captain?"
"What's your theory?"
I almost hadn't wanted to ask, and the long silence that followed my query did not reassure me that I had made the right decision. When the typing sounds did not resume, I wondered if, perhaps, Minato had not heard me. But soon enough he spoke—and when he did, I still was not sure that I should have asked him anything.
"You hold in your hand a connection to your past," Minato said, voice soothingly monotonous. "What will the reminder of that past do to your connection with your present?"
Blood raced in my wrists and neck, pulse speeding to a sprint. "You think a couple of songs will, what? Distract me?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps not." He didn't sound convinced either way. "Just be careful."
"I will." It was an easy promise to make, even if I didn't understand the repercussions of breaking it—not yet, anyway. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it." The typing resumed. "Looking forward to your next report."
Minato hung up. Movements slow, I put the phone back in its cradle, wound the headphones around the iPod, and shoved it down into my backpack and out of sight. The phone vestibule was still empty when I exited my booth, as was the lobby when I headed for the elevators. The living room in our suite, too, lay deserted, Atsuko's snores filtering from under her bedroom door. No one was awake yet, then. Good. That meant I could work in peace.
First I cleaned my throwing knives, rinsing strange-colored demon blood down the kitchen drain in pink, blue and green eddies. When I finished, I got my Walkman from my suitcase and opened it up to carve a hole in its lid just large enough to pass the thin end of the headphones through. I placed the iPod inside the tape deck, jammed a sock on top of it to keep it from rattling around, and closed the lid. Unless someone really studied the placement of the headphone jack, they'd never realize that this Walkman was anything out of the ordinary—and with that taken care of, I buried the Walkman deep inside my suitcase, piling clothing on top so no one would be any the wiser to its presence.
Out of sight, out of mind. That's what I told myself as I closed the suitcase and headed into the kitchen. I had food to prep for breakfast, not to mention lunch and dinner. I had plenty to occupy me, and I didn't need that iPod to distract me from the task at hand.
But as I chopped vegetables and whisked together some marinade for meat, I found myself humming the tune of "Daddy Lessons" from Beyoncé's "Lemonade" album, thoughts drifting time and again to the device I'd buried underneath my dirty laundry. Eventually I found myself putting down my knives and spoons, leaning against the counter and staring in silence at the kitchen wall.
Directly on the other side of it, tucked into a corner, lay my suitcase.
I told myself to stop thinking about it.
I couldn't keep from humming "Daddy Lessons."
"One song won't hurt me," I heard myself whisper, and then I was on the move.
I told myself that I'd only listen to one track. I'd listen to "Daddy Lessons." Just to get it out of my head, you see. There was no harm in that. There was no harm in listening to just one song in order to achieve a perfectly reasonable objective. I told myself that it would be fine to listen to just one track, and then I'd put the iPod away, back beneath Mt. Laundry and out of sight.
But when "Daddy Lessons" ended and the shuffle feature provided one of my favorite Say Anything tracks, I didn't turn the iPod off. One song turned to two, then three, then four, and while I successfully resisted singing along, I couldn't help but hum the tune of the long-lost music now ringing so happily in my ears. I clamped down on my tongue to keep from singing, but my body swayed, hands chopping vegetables in time with the music, feet tapping the floor in time with the beat. And when one of my favorite Adele ballads stared blasting, my eyes got misty again, throat thickening as I thought about dancing with Tom to the sound of it, swaying together barefoot in our kitchen—
A hand brushed my shoulder, and I swear I almost screamed. A yelp squeaked out from between my teeth as I ripped the headphones from my ears, spinning in place to find Yukina standing a few feet away, hand still outstretched, apology written all over her gorgeous face. I sagged against the kitchen counter, hand clutching my chest above my galloping heart.
"Oh my god," I said, caught halfway between laughter and tears. "You scared me!"
But Yukina's expression only grew puzzled. "I'm sorry, Keiko-san," she said with a contrite bow. "But I'm afraid I did not understand that." When I just stared at her, likewise confused, she added, "Was that… English, perhaps? I heard it in one of the movies we watched yesterday, but I could be wrong…"
It clicked, and I laughed again. "Oh. Um. Yeah. It was English," I said, only in Japanese this time. (Shit. I'd totally just replied in English. Felt like my old self for a second there.) Trying to brush off the weirdness, I smiled and asked, "Sorry, did I wake you?"
"No. I have been awake for some time." Her red eyes scanned the kitchen, alighting with interest upon the plates of chopped ingredients. "May I help you cook?"
"If you'd like."
She looked elated, but then her face fell. "You'll need to teach me some things, I'm afraid."
"Really?" I said, unable to keep surprise from my voice.
"Yes. We don't have particularly developed cuisine in my homeland." For the briefest of moments, her eyes darkened, but they brightened soon enough. "But everything I have tried here has been delicious, so I'd like to learn, if I could."
"Oh. Of course. Yeah." I looked over my culinary progress thus far, wondering where to begin with her. "Um… so, to start with…"
Fanfiction always made Yukina out to be the main cook of the Yu Yu Hakusho crew, especially in group settings (and particularly those set at Genkai's temple). But as I taught her how to hold a chef's knife and how to skin an eggplant, I supposed it made more sense that she wouldn't know the first thing about Human World cuisine. When would she have been allowed to hold a knife at Tarukane's compound? Why would an ice apparition expose herself to the fire needed to cook something? And whatever the ice apparitions ate on their floating island, it probably didn't use the ingredients humans were accustomed to eating. It wasn't like they had sugar refineries or the climate to raise livestock and mainstream crops, and they probably didn't have access to our typical spices. I kept that in mind as I taught Yukina the basics, explaining which spices paired well with what and what typical humans were used to eating at different times of day. She was an excellent student, asking thoughtful questions as we chopped, mixed, prepped and baked various dishes. Eventually we finished the majority of the work, and after we put the breakfast quiches in the oven to bake, we grouped around the sink to clean up. I washed while she dried, her nimble fingers stacking dishes in the accompanying drying rack with dexterous grace.
"You've done most of the cooking during the tournament," Yukina said in her soft, sweet voice as I scrubbed down a saucepan. "Is that right?"
"Yeah. My parents own a restaurant, so I've been cooking for a long time." I hummed a little, thinking about day spent in our warm kitchen. "Yusuke, too. My parents taught him everything they taught me."
"The two of you really are like siblings." Yukina smiled. "Everyone seems to love your dishes."
"Really?" I said, shooting her a sidelong glance. She seemed sincere, and I looked away before she could see me blush. "I'm glad you think so."
Yukina nodded. "It's admirable, the way you stand by them." Her head tilted forward, wintergreen bangs shielding her eyes from view. Softly, almost inaudibly over the sound of the running faucet, she whispered, "I wish there was something I could do to help this team."
My hands froze in place—ironic considering I'd submerged them in the hot water accumulating in the bottom of the sink. Up to my elbows in suds, I dumbly asked, "What do you mean? You're a huge help! You healed Kuwabara and patched up Yusuke and—"
"Botan can also heal, as can Kurama," Yukina smoothly cut in. "I am happy to lend my powers where they're needed, but you would be fine without my presence. And if I'm being honest…" Her lips rolled together, but she only hesitated for a moment. "Seeing you fight yesterday made me wish that I, too, could be strong the way you are."
Steam rose from the sink in billowing gouts. It made my hair frizz and my pores sweat, but that wasn't why I turned the faucet off with a twist of my wrist. The rush of water that had filled the room with sibilant whispers had grown too distracting to allow to continue. I needed all of my brainpower to process what she had just said—because me, strong? Surely she wasn't serious. I wasn't strong. I was the weakest person here, and the only one without powers (aside from Atsuko, and Atsuko alone). It was utterly incomprehensible to think that Yukina, a demon, would see me—me!—as physically strong. I spent a helluva lot of time agonizing over being weak and my lack of powers. Hell, I'd spent a good chunk of time on this island seeking out ways to get powers! Was Yukina actually serious?
The sincerity in her eyes, however, could not be overlooked. She gazed at me without a hint of deception, red eyes huge and genuine against her snowy complexion, their fiery color cool with a resignation I knew the sight of all too well.
"But… but you have powers," I said, trying to make sense of that look in her eyes—that look I'd seen so many times in the mirror, reflected back at me. "You have ice powers, right?"
She appeared puzzled at their mention, but soon her expression clarified. "Powers may give a person might," she said with a small nod, "but might and strength are not the same thing."
I couldn't keep the skepticism from my face. "But you're plenty strong, Yukina," I said. "Everything you've gone through in life… you must be strong when you've survived so much."
Coral pink lips curled in a smile I did not understand.
"Strength is not what kept me going," Yukina said. "It was something else entirely."
I didn't understand what she meant. Her eyes were hard—hard as ruby encased in stone—and I could not fathom why they held that look. Was she referencing that she wanted revenge on her people? Was that it? I couldn't be sure, and something in the tight set of her mouth told me I shouldn't pry.
"I mean… have you tried much?" I said, cursing my own awkwardness. "To fight, I mean. Have you tried much to learn how?"
"No." Yukina looked away, hands rest on the edge of the sink, dangerously close to the scalding water within. Gazing into the plumes of rising steam, Yukina shook her head. "My people are isolated from the rest of Demon World. We have no need to fight. Perhaps, if I could fight, I wouldn't have been so easily taken by…"
She didn't need to speak his name for me to know who she meant. We sat in silence, each lost to our thoughts. I have no clue what ran through her head, and when she did not try to illuminate the truth on my behalf, I decided I'd let her in on mine.
"I don't know what you're capable of. In terms of your powers, I mean," I said, hoping this wouldn't come off as insulting—like I was trying to Keiko-splain her powers to her. "I don't know what forms they take and how you can manifest them. But there's this legend from Human World that might be helpful?"
Her mouth turned down in a quizzical frown. "A legend?"
"Yeah. It's the legend of a woman named Elsa." It felt a bit silly to be talking about Frozen, of all things, but I was in too deep and soldiered on. "She was born with ice powers that she didn't understand, but eventually she learned to use them. There's a big message in the legend about trusting yourself and loving yourself, and how doing so unlocks what you're capable of, but that's not why I'm bringing this up." I held up my hands, miming firing something out of my hand. "Elsa could use her powers to freeze water. Summon snow. Create obstacles and objects from ice. She shot big icicles out of her hands at her enemies to fend them off. In a fight, could you do things like that?"
Yukina didn't appear to know. "Maybe," was all she said, eyes descending once more toward the steaming sink.
And so, I pointed at the sink. "Like, you see a puddle as an enemy comes toward you, so you freeze the puddle and make them slip and fall. Stuff like that?" My grin probably came off as strained, though I can't be certain. "That's not exactly fighting, but it's a way you could defend yourself. But you'd need a water source to do stuff like that." I rubbed my temples. "Maybe Katara would've been a better character to talk about…"
She frowned again. "Katara?"
"Never mind. That's a different legend."
If she was put off by my ranting about fictional characters, she didn't show it. Yukina merely gazed into the steam a while longer, deep in thought. It felt rude to say anything else and interrupt, so I grabbed a sponge and went back to work on a batter-splattered mixing bowl.
"Freezing puddles…" Yukina murmured. She caught my eye, a look of question lodged in hers. "You're saying I could manipulate the environment to my benefit."
The embarrassment in my chest popped like a balloon under a hammer. "Yeah, exactly!" I said, relieved that I was making sense. Splashing in the sink to demonstrate, I said, "Like, throw some water on someone and then freeze it solid so they can't move, and then you can kick their butt or run away. Or explode a pipe so it shoots out water, and... sorry." I turned away, trying to calm down. "I'm getting too excited about this."
But Yukina shook her head. "No. It's… this gives me a lot to think about." She laughed a touch wryly, but with a softness that made it sound sweet. "I suppose I always thought my powers were somewhat passive, but when you put it that way…"
Excitement got me babbling. "Touya, the ice shinobi guy, made a sword out of ice. You could make throwing knives or swords or anything you want out of ice." I mimed striking an enemy with a sword, but the sponge still in my hand sent a lance of water splattering across the kitchen backsplash. Yukina giggled, and I sheepishly set the sponge aside. "I have no doubt you could learn to do stuff like that. It's learning to use a sword is the trickier part. You'd need a teacher to learn basic self-defense tactics, it's true, but you already have powers you could use to your advantage." I grinned in her direction, hoping she'd feel encouraged. "Just gotta use them creatively and get someone to teach you how to throw a punch, right?"
"Right." Yukina nodded. Smiled. Sent an arrow right into my stupid, soft heart. "Right. I think I understand."
"Good." I tried not to turn into a gibbering wreck. "Now why don't we check on the quiches, huh?"
The rest of the morning, and well into that day, I caught Yukina gazing pensively into the distance, stare stretching to places far away—ones I could not imagine, and ones she did not reveal even when Botan asked why she had been so quiet.
Yukina was a demon of secrets.
No matter how much we became friends, I somehow doubted that would ever change.
That night, Kuwabara gathered us together and declared, "Since Yusuke still hasn't shown his face, I'll be running this meeting as the team captain. Again."
Shizuru rolled her eyes. Atsuko chortled, whispering something to Shizuru about Yusuke tanning Kuwabara's hide whenever he showed his face again. We had only just finished eating dinner when Kuwabara declared the need for a team meeting, and judging by his sister's reaction, his foothold as captain was only tenuous, at best.
Not that Botan, Kurama or Yukina appeared to agree. Botan had actually gotten a pad of paper to take 'meeting minutes,' as she described them, and Yukina watched the proceedings with curious, although somewhat distant, interest. Yusuke and Hiei (and Genkai, of course, considering she was dead—a thought that sent a knife into my heart) had not made an appearance at dinner and were nowhere to be found. As far as I knew, Yusuke hadn't come back to the room at all the night before, nor at any point during the day. Even though I knew he had to be off mourning Genkai, I couldn't help but worry about him. Was he out there moping? All alone? It didn't seem healthy, but it wasn't like I knew how to track him down…
"Not that Hiei decided to show up, either," Kuwabara was saying as he stood at the front of the room, arms crossed over his barrel chest. "Same with Genkai. "Has anybody heard from the shrimp and the old lady yet, or what?"
"I saw him briefly yesterday," I said, because it was the truth, "but he didn't say much."
"Well, at least we know he's alive," Kuwabara grumbled. He yelled his next comment at the windows as if Hiei might be lurking outside to hear his indignation. "And we'd stand a better chance at staying that way if he actually came to this strategy meeting!"
Kurama's lips quirked. "I'm afraid strategy in Hiei's case boils down to 'be stronger than the other team and win.' He's an intelligent demon, but he isn't one for lengthy talks."
I laughed. Kurama smiled at me.
My cheeks flushed, and I had to look away.
"Still," said Kuwabara, too incensed to notice. "You'd think the threat of certain death would make him reevaluate his priorities, but no-ooo…"
He didn't look worried about dying. He just looked peeved at Hiei, and that only made his mention of certain death worse. Unsettled, I cleared my throat to ask, "So what exactly did you want to discuss tonight?"
Kuwabara beamed. "Right. Thank you, Keiko. As I was saying, we need to talk strategy." He leveled a finger in Kurama's direction. "Kurama. You went to watch Team Toguro's final match. Any notes you wanna share?"
Kurama stilled, the way he did when he was trying not to telegraph any sort of emotion at all. "I will be facing Karasu, the demon with the long hair and mask. He made that very clear," he said, voice perfectly level. "Yusuke will no doubt want to face the younger of the Toguro brothers, as a face-off between team captains is all but inevitable." He left 'and to get revenge for Genkai's murder' unsaid, but in her seat across the room, Botan's face grew pale and pinched. Kurama continued, "Hiei's pride leads me to believe that he will want to face either of the Toguro brothers in combat. That leaves Bui in your hands, Kuwabara."
Kuwabara scowled. "Or in Genkai's, you mean."
Kurama smiled apologetically. "Right. In yours or Genkai's."
I tried my best not to fidget. Keeping Kuwabara out of the loop was all part of canon, but it didn't make watching Kurama's deceit a comfortable experience. He was playing along with Kuwabara, but Genkai wouldn't be there for the big match. If we admitted to the world that Genkai was dead, that would mean Shizuru could step in as alternate. In turn, that meant the match against Bui would come down to either Kuwabara or Shizuru... but it should be Hiei against Bui, anyway, not Kuwabara. Would I have to step in and suggest alternate matchups? Or was Kuwabara actually a solid match for Bui, an undisputed powerhouse?
Before I could decide, Botan jumped to her feet, face looking even more pinched. "Would anyone like anything to drink?" she said, but she was already out of the room and in the kitchen by the time she finished her sentence.
"Yeah, sure! OJ for me, please!" Kuwabara called after her. Shaking his head, he gave an enormous shrug and planted his hands firmly on his hips. "Man, normally I'd think that it's pretty unfair that we outnumber the enemy the way we do, but this time around, I don't mind the advantage all that much." He grinned at Kurama, conspiracy in his expression. "Makes it less likely that we all get killed in five minutes, right?"
Kurama offered him a bland smile. "Perhaps."
Kuwabara stared at Kurama for a second, nonplussed. I took that as a cue to mimic Botan and get the hell out of there, too—but then Botan reappeared in the kitchen doorway with a tray of drinks in hand. I sank back into my chair and tried not to look defeated at my lack of escape route.
Kuwabara shook his head, recovering from his momentary silence. "Think we oughta challenge them to a battle royale since we outnumber them?" he asked Kurama.
"No," Kurama said at once, a grim pall clouding his eyes. "They won't agree to it. As I said, Karasu is determined that we should face off."
"Why's he got it out for you so bad?"
"He… likes me." Even his smile looked grim. "And he makes it a point to kill the things he likes."
A few people gasped. Kuwabara made a sound of revulsion. I stared at the floor, trying to get the image of Kurama's body practically exploding under Karasu's bombs out of my head. Watching Karasu brutalize Kurama in the anime had been hard enough. How hard would it be to watch that happen up close and personal?
No one noticed my reaction, or if they did, they didn't say anything. Yukina had covered her mouth with her sleeves, and Botan was too busy covering her face with her hands and exclaiming, "How awful!" to pay me any attention.
"That's fucked up," Shizuru said with her trademark deadpan calm.
"Yeah, what she said!" said Atsuko. She took a long swig from the beer she'd been nursing and slammed the empty bottle onto the coffee table. "What a fucking perv!"
"To put it mildly," Kurama remarked. "I'm afraid I'll be taking a leaf out of Hiei's book during the finals." His smile widened, though it became no less grim. "If I am to survive the match, I will have to kill Karasu before he kills me."
I winced. Again, no one seemed to notice.
"Any idea how you'll pull that off?" Shizuru said. "Tall, dark and goth seemed pretty strong to me."
"Not that you're not strong!" Kuwabara was quick to add with a fiery glare at his sister. "You'll mop the floor with him! … but I'm curious, too. You got a big plan?"
"I have a trick up my sleeve," Kurama said, a layer of darkness fading from his eyes at last. "But allow me keep it a secret for the time being. I have always favored a grand entrance."
"Heh." Atsuko popped the cap off another beer and toasted Kurama with it. "I like your style, kid."
"I aim to please." He turned his vivid gaze onto Kuwabara once more. "As for you, Kuwabara… I managed to catch the elder Toguro and Bui's matches in addition to Karasu's. Bui has incomparable strength and surprising speed for his size. I believe that makes him a suitable match for Hiei, whereas you would prove more effective against the elder Toguro." And then the darkness was back, and I had to avert my eyes for fear of drowning in it. "As you've seen, he has the singular ability to manipulate his body into any shape he pleases. With your sword's ability to change its shape in hand, you are suited to tackling him."
"Heh. Got it." Kuwabara jerked a thumb at his chest, grinning widely. "And you're not the only one with a trick up his sleeve. I've got this in the bag."
Shizuru lifted a brow. "You do?"
"My sword's had a bit of an upgrade since last time you saw it, sis." Crossing his arms, he thrust his nose into the air with a defiant sniff. "In fact, if Yusuke doesn't show at all, my time as team captain might just have to continue."
"You know what they say, though." Shizuru puffed out a breath of cigarette smoke, staring off into the distance. "The captain always goes down with his ship."
"If I go down, I'll go down swinging!" Kuwabara retorted. "They'll have to put me in a body bag before I ever give up or go ho—Keiko? Where are you going?"
I'd gotten up and had crossed the room without even thinking about it, heading for the nearest bedroom door in a stiff trot, but I didn't see the pale panel of wood as I walked through it. A phantasmal image of Kuwabara's face, pale and dead and blank, had leapt into my mind's eye like an illuminated billboard, filling my head until I couldn't see anything but the vision of his face being zipped into a black body bag. I'd seen that happen before, but instead of ghosts from my past, it was Kuwabara's face disappearing under a layer of black neoprene—only Kuwabara's face was so much younger than any I'd seen get hauled away by a coroner. His face was young, and full of potential, and dead and still and anguished—and then I was thinking of vines crawling from Kurama's arms, and Yusuke crying out for Genkai, and Hiei and his mangled arm after he called the Dragon into being. They were all so young, and yet they'd lived more life and seen more horrors than anyone their age should have to see, and—
The bedroom door clicked shut behind me, sound banishing the phantoms for one blissful moment. Breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth to ease the cold of nausea and calm my racing heart, I cast about for something, anything to further take my mind off of it. Soon my eyes came to rest upon my suitcase. With people just outside, I couldn't chance listening to music. But what else could I…?
That's when I spotted my swimsuit still hanging over the shower rod to dry. Gritting my teeth to keep the nausea at bay, I walked into the bathroom and changed, slipping a shirt and shorts over the suit for modesty. I almost needn't have bothered, though, because when I steeled myself and walked back out of the bedroom, everyone was already staring at me. I didn't meet any of their eyes, pasting on a chipper smile I did not feel as I headed pointedly for the door.
"Need some air," I said, waving. "Be back soon."
"Hey," said Kuwabara, "wait just a min—"
"Be back in a bit!"
I didn't allow anyone to tell me not to go, or to wait, or to ask what I was thinking. I didn't particularly want to talk about the cold knot in my chest and the weight that had settled so heavily in the pit of my stomach (the one that made talking tough, because words weren't the only thing wanting to burst out of my mouth in a revolting spray). I stalked off down the hall at a power-walk, jamming the elevator button again and again when I came upon it.
But it didn't come fast enough. Down the hall behind me, my suite's door opened with a creak, and Kurama called out, "Kei!"
I jammed the button harder. It was no use. Kurama soon arrived beside me, reaching for my shoulder as he asked what was so wrong.
I didn't let him touch me. I shrugged away, and slowly, he retracted his hand.
The elevator arrived after that, and to my dissatisfaction, Kurama boarded it with me. As soon as the doors shut, locking us in my very own private elevator from hell, he turned to me and spoke.
"Where are you going?" Kurama demanded.
I reached under my shirt and popped the strap of my swimsuit. "Swimming. Criminal, not taking advantage of that pool. And I saw a Jacuzzi earlier. And if you think I'm not going to take advantage of that, you're wrong."
"This isn't the time for—"
I rounded on him, the cold in my chest rising near to bursting. "When will it be the time, then?" I said, gratified when his eyes widened in shock. "If not now, then when?"
"Kei—"
"I'm going. You don't have to join me." I held up two fingers on each hand and made a rudimentary pound sign. "Hashtag 'good vibes only!'"
"Hash-what?"
Before I could explain Twitter to Kurama, the elevator came to a stop. The doors opened with the chime of a bell. I walked away from him and into the hotel lobby, not looking back even once.
His feet slapped against the marble floor, and then he was beside me. "Kei. Slow down."
"The pool waits for no man. You going swimming too?"
"No," he said, visibly irked. "But it's inadvisable to let you go alone."
I rolled my eyes. "Don't tell me not to live," I said in English, "just sit and putter."
"What?" he said, no less confused by Funny Girl lyrics than hashtags. "What does that mean?"
"Life's candy, and the sun's a ball of butter." I glared, not bothering to explain. "Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my parade!"
We hit the building's side doors right about then, and without another word I started off down the path to the hotel pool. The gates to it were closed, a sign proclaiming the pool hours had ended for the day, landscape quiet and dark underneath the star-studded night sky. Beyond the fence, the pool's lights rippled and glowed, casting undulating blue shadows across the palm trees dotting the area's perimeter. I stopped when we reached the gate, resting a hand on its chest-height upper rung.
Kurama gestured at the sign with the pool hours sitting atop its little wooden stanchion. "It's closed for the night," he said, as if that would dissuade me.
"Is it?" I stripped my shirt off and tossed it over the sign, obscuring its text from view. "I don't see a sign. Do you?"
"Kei!"
But his protest came too late. I had already clambered over the gate and hit the pavestones on the other side, striding toward the massive pool's deep end and the diving boards hovering over it. I turned when I heard a click, though, and saw Kurama striding through the open gate straight for me. He must've picked the lock, that little thief. Not that my trespassing ass was in any condition to throw stones.
"I don't understand what's gotten into you," he said, coming to a halt. He reached for my arm. "Come back to the room, with the others."
"Why?" I said, dancing backward and out of reach. "So we can sit up there worrying about dying? So I can listen to all the ways you might get yourselves killed tomorrow? So I can play over and over again the vision of vines crawling out of your veins?"
"Kei," he said with infuriating patience. "Strategy is—"
"Is useful and good and probably going to save your life, yeah, I know, but that doesn't make it any less—" my voice broke "—any less depressing to hear children talk about their own deaths as casually as they'd discuss the weather!"
Kurama fell very, very quiet then. Blue light played over his face in rippling lines of light and shadow, green eyes dyed dark and somber in the twilight. I cursed, running my hands through my hair as I turned away, only to turn again to face him.
"Yeah, Kurama. Yeah. That's why I'm in this mood, OK?" I waved up at out hotel suite, at the window I knew was ours, because silhouettes stood in it and they looked exactly like our friends, watching me break down beside the pool. "Because I'm hearing literal, actual children talk about getting killed, when they should be talking about homework and getting into a good high school and what to sing for karaoke next Sunday, not how badly they might get eviscerated when they fight Karasu, and—"
I broke. I cried. Kurama held me. It didn't last long. I didn't want it to. I pulled away from his shoulder with a sniff and mopped my face, sending a frustrated sigh skyward through my gritted teeth. Kurama put his hands in his pockets, face drawn and full of stiffness I couldn't bear to study closely.
"I'm going to be fine, Kei," he said, promise resonating in each syllable. "I can handle Karasu."
"I know you can," I said with a thick, sore throat. "But that's not the point." Once more I pointed up at our suite—at the window where the children on our team once stood watching, only now the window was empty. Staring right at Kurama, begging him to understand with naked helplessness on my face, I said, "They're kids, Kurama. I look at them and I see a room of capable fighters who kick ass as easily as they breathe—but they're kids. They shouldn't have to fight. Don't you get that?"
Kurama didn't say anything. But he swallowed, and I saw in his eyes that he understood—understood and mourned with me, only he was too composed to ever say as much aloud. And seeing that look in his old-young eyes nearly broke me all over again.
"None of this is fair, or right, or good," I said, quiver like an earthquake in my words. "When all of this was just a story—a legend—it was easy to forget they were just kids. It was easier to just put that aside and enjoy the story… but now?" I swallowed down a lump. "Now, I know them. I see them for what they are, and what they are are children who deserve to sleep soundly at night and have a happy future to look forward to. But they don't get to have that."
"I'm sorry, Kei," Kurama said. "I don't know how to comfort you, or what to say."
It was all I could do to smile, even though the smile shook. "Just let me go swimming. Let me be a kid tonight." When he did not reply, I implored, "Don't I deserve that? Don't we?"
But he shook his head. "I don't understand."
It was just like him to miss something so obvious, and it made me laugh. "You and I, we're alike in a very important way," I said, still laughing—but nothing about this was funny. "We're older than we look. But in a very real way, we are still children ourselves. We depend on other people. We get lost sometimes. We're not always certain of where we stand. And what is being a kid but not knowing what happens next?"
He didn't reply. He just watched me in silence, the uncertainty of a child playing across his beautiful face. And that only made me laugh again.
"Can't we be kids for just a little while?" I said—like I was asking for permission, or maybe absolution. "Can't we be kids for just one night, and break into a locked pool? Throw a shirt over the sign and break the rules and just live a bit? Just be teenagers for two seconds?" When he didn't say anything, I tipped back my head, addressing the stars above instead of his uncertain eyes. "What's the point of these second lives of ours if we're just going to spend them agonizing over death? We've already died once. I've had enough of death. Let me live, free as a bird, and be a kid for just one shining moment of freedom." My voice broke again, but somehow, against all odds, I held it together. "Is that really so much to ask? Is that really so… impossible?"
"It feels impossible," Kurama murmured, voice a wave lapping at some distant shore. "That would feel like… like something out of a dream."
"You're probably right." I smiled up at the stars. "I just wish dreams weren't reserved for sleeping."
A foot scraping across pavement drew my attention back to earth. Kurama had walked away, taking two long steps into the flowing, blue-black dark. I didn't dare see if he'd leave entirely. I spun, facing the pool's bright blue water, staring into it as tears pricked the corners of my eyes and my head began to swim.
Kurama—of all people—didn't get it.
He didn't get it, and that meant I was alone in this. In this grief, in these thoughts, in this world.
It was such a small thing—but in that moment, the heartbreak it caused me was very, very real.
And then Kurama's voice cut the darkness of the night and my heart alike. "I suppose they don't have to be," he said, from much closer than expected—and when I turned, I found him standing there, and he grasped me by the arms, and for a moment I thought he might hold me again, or maybe even kiss me, because he'd drawn so close, and I didn't understand why.
But he didn't do any of those things.
Instead he walked me back a step, and then a second, and at last a third—and then he pushed us, together, backward into the pool.
I'd never liked opening my eyes underwater. Chlorine stings and turns them red, but I braved the pain because my eyes were locked on Kurama's as water closed around us, stealing away the air and my breath alike (or maybe that was just his eyes; I could not be sure). He didn't let go as we sank into an explosion of crystal bubbles, barreling downward into warm aquamarine—and he was smiling, smiling the entire time we fell, and by the time we hit the bottom, I was smiling, too, under the light of stars shining through the water and onto us. We hit the nadir of our dive and settled onto the hard concrete much quicker than I'd like, and while I wanted to stay there, with him, for as long as I could, I hadn't had the sense to take a breath before we took the plunge. I grabbed his hand and pushed off the bottom, dragging him with me upward and back toward the light. He was laughing when we broke the surface, dark hair clinging to his face and neck in a midnight web, and as I sucked down a painful gasp of air, I splashed a handful of water at his face.
"You—you—j'accuse!" I sputtered, splashing him again. "You pushed me in!"
"Who, me?" he said, looking paradoxically innocent and mischievous at once. "Why, Kei. I only slipped."
"Slipped, my ass!" I aimed another gout at his face; he ducked underwater to avoid it and came up laughing yet again. "You totally just—"
"Did you really think you could go for a swim without us?"
I gasped and spun, treading water with frantic speed, but it was only Botan and the others standing on the edge of the pool, staring down at us with laughter on their faces. Atsuko hefted a few six-packs under her arm as she flopped onto a chaise lounge, and when Yukina gazed uncertainly at the water, Shizuru took her by the hand and guided her toward the shallow end.
"I mean, really!" Botan scolded, shaking a finger in our direction. "Skipping out on the strategy meeting to take a dip?" Her tough-teacher act fell away when she giggled. "Why, that's a marvelous idea!"
Kuwabara harrumphed. "As team captain, I'm supposed to disagree and make everybody focus up… but what the heck? That pool looks great!" He grinned and yanked his shirt off over his head, tossing it into Botan's face with a laugh. "And since we might all get killed tomorrow—!"
He leapt, cannonballing into the pool with a shriek of glee so infectious, I barely even registered what he'd said about dying—because as Botan performed an elegant dive into the water beside me, and Shizuru began teaching Yukina to swim in the shallow end, and Atsuko cackled and downed her beers, and as Kurama gripped my hand underneath the water, I realized that my dream had come true.
We were going to act like kids for one ephemeral night—like a dream that come daybreak would dissipate, lost to time and sleep, but never to be forgotten.
Not for as long as I lived.
As my friends played a spirited game of Marco Polo with Yukina in the shallow end, I took a break and sat on the edge of the pool to drink it all in. The sight of them playing, I mean, and not the chlorinated water. I kicked my feet in the warm pool, watching through contentment-clouded eyes as it spill off of my toes and back into the rest like drops of diamond-colored rain. I couldn't keep the smile off my face. Against my wildest expectations and in spite of every pessimistic prediction I could make, this night—the night before the end of the Dark Tournament—had turned out… good. The only possible way it could improve is if the rest of our friends were here.
As if summoned by the thought of him, movement in a far-off window—in our window—drew my eye. A shadow silhouetted in the light of our suite stared down at the pool, and just as I caught sight of it, the figure turned and walked away.
Not fast enough, though.
Even at a glance, I knew exactly who that was.
I timed my escape as best as I could. When everyone dipped underwater and swam at the start of a new game of Marco Polo, I climbed out of the pool and walked past Atsuko's snoring form toward the gate, snagging the remains of her fourth and final six-pack along the way. I snagged my shirt off of the sign where I'd left it, pulling it over my head as I trotted inside and headed for the elevators—but when I reached the girls' suite, where I had seen the shadow, I found it empty. The boys' suite was empty, too. But I had a hunch where he had gone, so I circled back to the elevator and rode it as high as I could go—and when at last I opened the rooftop door, I found Yusuke right where I thought he'd be.
He sat on the edge of the roof, legs dangling perilously over the free-fall to the rocks below. Even from behind, I could tell from the set of his slumped shoulders and hanging head that he wore moodiness like a cloak, staring out over the island and the starry expanse above through hooded, darkened eyes. On quiet feet I approached, but before I could get close, he spoke.
"Save the sappy speeches for another day, Grandma." His shoulders slumped further still. "I'm not in the mood."
Call me a liar, but I decided to play a little dumb. "What's eating you?" I said, footsteps crunching over the gravel-strewn roof.
He growled a little. "I don't want to talk about it—hey!"
He sat up like a shot, grabbing the back of his neck where I'd placed a bottle of icy beer against it. "So don't," I said, holding the beer out toward him. "Here."
He eyed the bottle for a minute.
Then he took it, twisted off the cap, and took a sip.
I sat beside him, not speaking, perched just on the edge of the ledge where he so brazenly had decided to sit. We had a good view of the pool from our vantage point. The shapes of our friends, small flesh-colored smudges amid blue water, frolicked in the pool without us, seemingly unconcerned by my new disappearance or at Yusuke's continued absence. We watched them in silence, sipping our beer, until at last Yusuke muttered a curse and tossed his empty bottle over his shoulder, where it fell with a clatter to the gravel-covered roof.
"Genkai," he said, "was the first person who ever believed in me."
I nudged him in the ribs. "Hey!"
He rolled his eyes. "No, I don't mean—oh, don't be touchy, all right? You know what I mean. You always encouraged me, but she…"
He trailed off. I waited, patient as a statue, until he found the will to speak again.
"She gave me something." Yusuke did not look at me, and yet he still begged with his eyes for me to understand—and I did understand, even before he continued to talk. "She gave me something I needed. Something that was hers. And she trusted me to take care of it." His chest swelled with pride, but the bubble burst, and he slumped once again. "No one's ever given me a responsibility like that before. To carry on their legacy."
"Yusuke," I said, his name the gentlest of pleas in my mouth. "Yusuke, did something happen to…?"
"I don't want to talk about it." He turned away. "You should go. They're gonna worry you drowned or something."
I knew better than to press or pry. Yusuke would only run if I did that. Movements slow, fearing he might spook, I stood up, watching him askance as he rubbed his tired face and sighed—but I didn't leave.
Instead I stood behind him, rested my knee on the ledge at his hip, and wrapped him in a hug.
He tensed, at first. He tensed when he felt my arms around his shoulders and my forehead against his neck. He tensed when I held on tight and just sat there, saying nothing, holding him the way I had back when we were kids, lost in different ways than we were lost just then—but then he sighed, and the tension drained away. He grasped my wrist with one hand and held firmly onto it. He wasn't reciprocating my touch, exactly, but he wasn't rejecting it, either. He was just allowing himself to be held, looking out over the stars and the pool and the dark ocean beyond, and I didn't let him go until he released my wrist and tried to pull away—because I wouldn't let go until he got all the hug he needed.
It was, after all, the very least that I could do.
We didn't say much after that. Yusuke got another beer, and so did I, and we drank them in silence atop the roof. Soon, tired of this place, Yusuke stood. He looped an arm around my shoulders, and I looped an arm around his waist, and together we walked back to my suite, where he dropped me off without a word. I watched his slouched shoulders in more silence as he stalked off down the hall, and as he disappeared around the corner and out of sight, I wondered if what I had done for him was enough.
I wondered if I'd told Genkai the truth when I said her plan would break him, but only for a little while.
I wondered if he'd be OK in time for the next day—because it, and the match that would follow, would decide everything.
NOTES:
We're at chapter 100!
Chapter theme song is "Breathing" by Ariana Grande. LOVE THAT SONG. It's about breathing to get through anxiety. Check out my Lucky Child playlist on YouTube for more LC songs.
It's a big deal to me that you've stuck around for 100 chapters (and almost a million words, OMG), so I'd like to do something to celebrate. In honor of this milestone, I'm doing a giveaway. Here's how to participate in the giveaway:
1. Have an FFnet/AO3 account. Only registered users on FFnet may enter (since I can't message anon users to collect their information).
2. Leave a comment/review on chapter 100 of this story. Only comments on chapter 100 will be counted toward the giveaway.
3. Entry ends when chapter 101 goes up on March 23. The winners will be declared in chapter 102 and on my Tumblr. Three second-place winners will win a one-shot written by me on the YYH/LC-related topic of their choice, and a grand prize winner will win a one-shot AND a copy of the Yu Yu Hakusho Season 1 Blu-Ray set, special steelbook edition!
I was lucky enough to be gifted an additional copy of the steelbook, and since I already have a copy, it made sense to me to share it with a reader. I'll be pulling a name from a hat (well… bowl) at random, and I'll do the drawing on camera via my YouTube account for accountability. I'll give more details about one-shots to winners! It's such a small thing to give away, but it's the only way I can think to give back to the fandom that has supported me so much since I first started publishing Lucky Child.
In other news… some big things were said in the Kurama/NQK interactions, and I imagine shippers are going a bit bananas right about now. Almost didn't have the courage to go there, but in the end, I'm glad that I did. We've been tiptoeing around certain emotions for a while now, and while this still won't turn into a romance, the rubber is gonna have to meet the road in that arena to clarify certain character interactions that will, in turn, further the plot. So be on the lookout for that! No ships set in stone yet, obviously, but we're going to start focusing in on certain things in future chapters. Thank god Youko is essentially a drunk version of Kurama who says EXACTLY what he's thinking…
Had to cover A LOT in this chapter, but of all chapters to run long, I'm glad it's chapter 100. Thanks so much for reading, and for sticking with this story for so many words, chapters and years. Many endless thanks to everyone who came out in support of chapter 99; these fine folks make my world go 'round: Sorlian, MyWorldHeartBeating, Kaiya Azure, Yakiitori, cestlavie, 431101134, Lady Milk-Tea, Bardic Knowledge, Kitty-ryn, A Wraith, LadyEllesmere, YourHomeGirlJen, EdenMae, vodka-and-tea, tammywammy9, tequilamockinbur, Aria2302, IronDBZ, SMAshleyRenee, WaYaADisi1, Neko-Mitsuko, noble phantasm, xenocanaan, PsychoMutt, C S Stars, Paprika6, Dancing on Clouds of Sorroa, DeusVenenare, Biku-sensei-sez-meow, HatakeSunflower64, cezarina, spiritstic, wordsflowfreely, SterlingBee and guests!
