Warnings: None
Lucky Child
Chapter 107:
"plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose"
Once I placed my outdoor shoes into my locker at school, I shut the door—and behind it, where I had expected empty air, there appeared a grinning face. I flinched, but it was only Junko and her enormous smile, teeth gleaming and white between her painted lips. The teachers would tell her to take the makeup off before the first bell rang, but in the interim, she wore the color well.
"Hey, Keiko!" she said, leaning casually against the locker next to mine. "How was your spring break?"
Gulping, I toed on my indoor shoes, looking carefully at the ground. After a deep breath, I shot Junko a quick glance and a smile—but she only frowned. I looked back at the floor again, even quicker this time.
"It was great," I mumbled to my feet. "Yours?"
"…OK. You're being weird." Junko leaned forward to catch my eye; I averted my stare, heat creeping into my sallow cheeks. "Well. Weirder than usual, and that's saying something."
Through gritted teeth I told her, "It's good to see you too, Junko."
But she was unimpressed. "Don't try and butter me up." One foot tapped impatiently against the tile floor. "So spill. What's wrong?"
"Uh…"
Though her stare demanded a response, I couldn't look her in the eye. I couldn't exactly wear sunglasses in school, after all. My only camouflage was my very best Keiko-Face, practiced and perfected for the last 15 years; I just hoped it would serve me well and shield me as I wanted it to today, and not crumble and betray the girl behind the façade. So I pasted it on and smiled at her, trying to work up the nerve to breezily chat—the way any normal girl would chat on their first day back in school. We had catching up to do, after all.
Only when I finally summoned the courage to look at her, words failed me. Junko watched me struggle to talk for a minute in silence, then gave up, sighing and rolling her bright brown eyes.
"Well, anyway," she said. "I went to visit a friend in Korea, if you were curious."
I pounced on the distraction like a lion on a rabbit. "I am curious!" I gushed. (Junko stumbled back a pace, startled by my outburst.) "How was your trip? Tell me everything!"
And so, Junko grudgingly told me all about it: what the city had been like, the language barrier, her friend's clothes, the different fashions she'd observed. Dutifully I followed along, Keiko-Face firmly in place, chirping bright hellos to our friends as we passed them in the hall on our way to our new classroom. We'd advanced a grade, the start of the Japanese school year in spring instead of autumn like it was in America. Even Yusuke had somehow advanced a year, against all odds and our wildest expectations.
Vaguely I wondered how he was doing. He'd be in a new classroom, a new class. Was he in the same class as Kuwabara? And how was Kuwabara? Was he—?
Ripping my mind away, I focused on Junko once again.
We reached our classroom in short order, and since we didn't yet have a seating chart, I was able to sit close to Junko near the windows. I didn't let my mind wander as she spoke, concentration aimed with laser focus on every last detail of her trip. My concentration only broke when Amagi walked through the classroom door. Her hair had grown a little in the past few months, her unfortunate bowl-cut replaced by a cute bob. She smiled when our eyes met, but I just shrank down in my seat and looked pointedly out the window, hanging my head with sheepish apology—only I had nothing to be sheepish about, I reminded myself, and I forced my back to straighten and my gaze to return to my friends.
After all, these friends weren't the ones who had learned my secret recently. It was hard to remember that, though. I kept thinking they'd point out some unseen but obvious change in my demeanor, catch on and expose me… and I was totally on edge because of it.
Junko and Amagi greeted each other as Amagi sat down near us. Junko quickly caught her up on the contents of her vacation, and as Amagi stowed her bag under her chair, she asked, "So what did you get up to over the break, Keiko?"
"Yeah," said Junko. "Any particular reason why you're being so weird?"
"Weird? Who, me?" A laugh like a braying mule donkey-kicked its way out of my throat. "I just went camping with friends, that's all! Nothing weird about that!" An awkward pause followed this declaration. "So, uh… what do you mean that I'm acting weird?"
"You're hanging on my every word like I'm telling you the answers to next week's tests," Junko immediately deadpanned. "And then you're babbling about nothing, and you keep looking around like you're trying to find an escape route." Her eyes narrowed, perfectly plucked brows lowered. "Suspicious, if you ask me."
"Oh, Junko," Amagi chided. "That's just the way Keiko's face falls, I think."
"Gee, thanks," I grumbled.
Junko's eyes narrowed further still, but before she could interrogate me, our teacher called her name from the front of the class. "Junko?" he said, waving a stack of papers. "Can you please help pass out these worksheets?"
Her ire vanished, an obliging smile taking its place. "Yes, sensei!" she said, and she left Amagi and I alone.
Try though I might to resist the siren song of avoiding eye contact, I forced myself to look at Amagi (as much as I could, anyway). "Thanks, Amagi," I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. "Appreciate you standing up for me."
"You're welcome," she said with a pleasant smile. "You'll tell me what really happened during spring break, won't you?"
"I, uh." My ears flushed, probably turning fuchsia in the process. "I don't know what you mean."
Her smile didn't waver. "I can see in your eyes that something—Keiko? Are you all right?"
As soon as she'd said the word "eyes," I'd flinched and turned away, pivoting around in my seat to face the windows—but my reflection's eyes glared back at me with a flash of dark brown, utterly normal in Keiko's pretty face. And judging by the confused stare on Amagi's face, one I could see quite clearly in the window, I'd overreacted pretty badly. She'd probably just meant her remark to be a figure of speech, then. Yeah. Yeah. A figure of speech. No need to freak, Keiko. Your eyes hadn't changed. You were still normal—well, as normal as you could be, but whatever. Just calm down…
I didn't have to continue our conversation, however, and for that I thanked my lucky stars. Class got into swing just a moment later. I paid dutiful attention to the lesson, not allowing my mind to wander even the smallest fraction as our teacher walked us through our chemistry lesson for the day. Whenever my brain got even close to drifting, I snapped back to the lesson with a mental punch of unadulterated willpower. Still, I was more than happy when the bell eventually rang for lunch, allowing me to escape the classroom with a garbled "goodbye" that left both Junko and Amagi staring.
Not that I gave any particular damn. I was just happy to be out of there.
Although I wanted to vault up the stairs to the school library, I resisted the impulse, taking the steps one at a time with measured hefts of one knee and then the other. Couldn't risk moving too much, of course. Even though I wore bike shorts under my long uniform skirt, I couldn't risk letting my tattoos show even the smallest, tiniest bit. Every gust of wind threatened to expose me, and I wouldn't let Hiruko's little "gifts" get me kicked out of school just yet. Nerves still twisted at my belly, though, and by the time I made it to my usual landing for lunch, my shoulders were a rigid mess of iron-hard knots.
Not that Kaito noticed. He sat on his usual windowsill with a book in his hand, like always, and only barely glanced up when he heard me coming. He looked the same as ever, with his mop of curly black hair pushed back and out of his freckled face, glasses perched like gleaming crescent moons on the bridge of his long, thin nose.
"Yukimura," was all he said as I approached.
"Kaito," I replied, sitting near him on the flight of ascending steps. "What're you reading today?"
He turned a page without looking up. "An examination of the use of metaphor in adolescent literature."
"Sounds fun."
"Riveting." He stopped reading long enough to roll his dark, narrow eyes. "I suppose it's only natural that I ask you about your spring break. Camping, was it?"
"Yeah."
"… that's it?" he said after a time, putting down his book at last. One thin brow threatened to retreat into his hair, arching high with incredulity. "No thrilling tales of derring-do or humorous anecdotes to share?"
"It was camping." I busied myself with unwrapping my bento, motions mechanical and perfunctory. "Not much to talk about but sticks and rocks."
"Why do I find that hard to believe?" When I didn't reply and instead stuffed a bite of rice into my face, he decided to be merciful. "Because I can see you squirming, allow me to change the subject." He raised his book again, eyes scanning the page. "I had a nice break. Blessedly quiet."
"Get a lot of work done?" I said, eagerly jumping upon this new distraction.
"Of course," Kaito said. "My parents were both unexpectedly busy, so I had the house to myself. Perfect conditions for my favored pastimes."
"I see," I said, forcing myself to be interested. "What were your parents up to?"
"Saving lives," said Kaito. When my brow furrowed, he sighed. "They're physicians. Apparently there's a nasty bug going around that required their expertise."
From not too far away, a new voice musically intoned; "Then it's a good thing your parents were available to provide support, Kaito."
Relief flooded my veins with bubbles, effervescent and cool. "Minamino!" I said, eyes drawn toward him like iron shavings to a magnet. "Hey!"
"Hello, Kei." He stood by the descending flight of stairs, green eyes warm, red-tinted hair glittering in the shaft of sunlight streaming through the stairwell window. I hadn't heard him coming, but that's not exactly unusual. As he moved to sit beside me on the stairs, I couldn't keep a smile off my face, utterly overjoyed that an ally—someone who already knew, who wouldn't tell on me, who understood—had arrived at last. But if he felt similarly, he didn't say so, and only gave Kaito and me a nod. "And you, Kaito. It's good to see you."
"Minamino. Nice of you to join us." Kaito didn't bother disguising the dry antipathy in his tone. "Am I to assume you will remain as tight-lipped as Yukimura regarding your spring break?"
"Yes and no," Kurama replied with a mild, apologetic smile. "I'm afraid there's very little to keep tight-lipped about on that front."
"Oh?" said Kaito.
"I stayed home with my studies. Quite boring, I assure you."
Kaito harrumphed and did not bother to look convinced, but he shoved his nose back into his book and didn't try to argue. He just began reading aloud, stopping to insert his commentary into the recitation and demand Kurama and I engage with his analysis. I was more than happy to allow him to take the reins of the conversation, allowing Kurama to do most of the debating so I wouldn't accidentally open my mouth and say something stupid. Or incriminating. Or whatever. Basically I just pasted on my very best Keiko-Face and tried to survive.
And given the sidelong look of amusement Kurama at one point shot me, I think he knew precisely what I was up to.
I kept the aforementioned Keiko-Face intact after lunch ended, throwing me to the wolves of my return to homeroom and then my various elective classes. The day went well, for the most part. I focused on math, literature, science and German class with single-minded determination and threw every last scrap of effort into my dance lessons, grateful I wasn't taking the typical PE class with students who hadn't chosen a physical elective. The PE uniform incorporated bloomers (gag me) but I could wear tights under my dance leotard, tattoos hidden by a layer of opaque spandex.
But my happiness didn't last long. Although Meiou wasn't like your average Japanese high school, allowing electives and various other deviations from the norm, my dance teacher was something of a stickler for the dress code. As we shuffled out of the gym and back to the locker rooms to change, she flagged me down and gave me a once-over with a critical stare.
"You," she said, gesturing.
I blinked. "Who, me?"
"Yes, you. You will have to lose the leggings next time." She glared, not at all happy with me. "The leotard alone is your uniform, do you understand?"
My shoulders sagged. "Yes, ma'am."
That really threw a wet blanket over my day, let me tell you. I enjoyed dance, but without leggings, there was no way I'd be able to hide my tattoos from my classmates. Would I have to quit the class or something? No, then I'd have to take regular PE, and the bloomers were a no-go. How would I handle this, then? It was the only thing on my mind as the final bell of the day rang, dismissing us for home. Trudging to my shoe locker felt like walking to the gallows, and I barely even noticed as Junko fell into step beside me not too far from the school gates.
"Say, Keiko?" she said, clocking my weary expression and slumped shoulders. "Wanna grab a milkshake or something? Call it a reward for surviving our first day in tenth grade. Plus, I could use a little girl time, ya know?"
"Oh," I said. A distraction certainly sounded nice just then, but if my eyes starting playing tricks on me with her around… "Well—"
"Apologies, Junko. But I'm afraid Yukimura already promised me her afternoon."
For the second time that day, Kurama appeared like a phantom, steps silent and approach unheard. Junko did a double-take at him when he spoke, hand flying to her cheek as she gave a delighted gasp.
"Oh, Minamino!" she warbled, voice high and feminine with excitement. "I understand, it's no trouble! We'll catch up another day." Leaning toward me and turning her back on Kurama, her smile turned conspiratorial as she growled, "Keiko, you lucky dog."
"It's not like that!" I protested, but she just grinned.
"Sure, it isn't." She waved over her shoulder as she trotted away, still grinning. "See you tomorrow!"
"See you," I grumbled after her, and when I turned to Kurama, he wore an amused smile. In response, I glared, but that only made him laugh. "Oh, shut it, you!"
"Should I carry your bag?" he teased, reaching for it. "Really give them something to talk about?"
"Not on your life." Snatching it out of his reach, I backed away down the sidewalk, keeping my bag firmly tucked out of sight. "So what's the occasion, anyway?"
Here his smile faded, lines appearing on his alabaster brow. "I'd like your help with something. Or to talk about requesting your help, to be more accurate."
"Oh. Uh. All right. Lead the way."
We headed out in silence, nodding at our classmates as we passed them on the street. These instances grew fewer the further we got from campus, and soon we didn't see any of them anymore—but judging by some of their curious stares, I had to wonder if going with Kurama would bite me in the ass someday soon. I got lunch with him out of sight of the rest of the students, after all, so not everyone knew we were friends. It's not like I wanted another incident with his fangirls, even if I'd managed to make friends with them, and—
When his hand closed around my elbow, I almost ripped it away out of pure instinct, looking around with worry someone might see that all-too-familiar bit of contact. But Kurama held on tight, and when I saw the intensity on his handsome face, I stopped struggling at once.
"What's up?" I said, voice dropping low.
"We're being followed." Still hanging on tight, Kurama inclined his head and said in a voice that brooked no argument, "Whoever you are, I suggest you show yourself, now."
We had been walking down a short residential block, sentineled on all sides by tall fences, hedges and parked cars. There were too many obstacles to see the streets clearly, and the windows of the neighboring homes glimmered like a cadre of watching eyes. I scanned the streets in panicked arcs, but Kurama stayed quiet still, head drifting almost imperceptibly to the left in long, slow increments. His eyes narrowed when a footfall slapped against the pavement, and then movement from behind a car drew my gaze, too. Soon a woman stepped out from behind the parked sedan, figure clad in a black kimono, her black hair gathered at the nape of her neck in a low bun. I relaxed when I saw her, but as she bowed in our direction, my shoulder tensed once more.
"Ayame," I said, half in greeting, half in accusation. Gesturing at her, I said, "Kurama, this is—"
He shook his head. "I know who she is."
"You've met?"
"In a manner of speaking. She introduced herself in Demon World shortly after I was taken into custody, back when Hiei and I stole the artifacts from their vault."
Ayame cut in as if Kurama hadn't been speaking, words smooth and cool and deceptively pleasant. "You're looking well, Keiko. And you, Kurama," she said, and she dipped another graceful bow. "Congratulations on your victory at the Dark Tournament. You've recovered well from your final bout, I trust?"
His face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. "As well as can be expected."
Ayame smiled, expression gentle. "And you, Yukimura Keiko. I hear you had a particularly eventful stay on Hanging Neck Island."
"You could say that," I said—and when Ayame didn't say anything more, looking at me through gaze unblinking, I fidgeted where I stood. "What are you staring at?"
"Why, your eyes, of course," she said. "I had hoped to see them change color, of course."
My cheeks colored. "Very funny," I said, forcing said eyes to look down at the street. "So what brings you here? You don't usually hang out in Human World without a reason."
"So this is to be all business, then. Very well." She sounded a tad disappointed, but being the consummate professional that she was, she soldiered on without delay. "I have come to deliver a message from Prince Koenma."
My mood soured further still. "Figures," I grumbled (mostly to Kurama, although I didn't mind if Ayame heard, too). "Can't even go one day back without hearing from him, can we?"
"After everything you revealed during the tournament?" Kurama murmured back. "I should think not."
I laughed, though there was little humor in it. "Right." Taking a deep breath, I rounded on Ayame and asked, "So I suppose you're here to tell me that I'm no longer going to be functioning as Kurama and Hiei's parole officer?"
I'd been thinking about this ever since my secret had come out (which was only a few days prior, but still). Lying awake at night, I'd suspected Koenma would strip me of my duties, declare me a subject of Spirit World as opposed to an ally of it. A part of me (a large part of me) would be grateful for no longer having to report to what I viewed as a fundamentally corrupt institution, so I wasn't too beaten up over the idea of having my mandated contacgt with Kurama and Hiei come to an end. Our friendships would continue on in spite of that, after all, so I stared at Ayame with defiant eyes, as if daring her to deliver the news I was certain she'd been sent to deliver.
Only Ayame surprised me, as she always seemed to.
"No," she said with a resolute shake of her head. "You are to continue your duties in that regard without change."
A minute passed in silence.
Then: "Wait. Seriously? Are you serious?" I grabbed Kurama's sleeve, pointed at Ayame with my other hand, and said, "Is she serious?"
Kurama shook his head. "I admit, I'm flummoxed by this, as well."
We turned to Ayame as one, both of us staring at her in expectant silence. Clearly Kurama had thought about my fate as his parole officer as well. Spirit World had considered me a suspicious subject for a while now, and since confirming the truth about me, I guess we'd both been certain my reluctant alliance with them would come to an end… but Ayame only smiled in our direction, beautiful face inscrutably sphinxlike.
"Given the… unusual… nature of your presence in this world, it's only logical we continue to monitor you closely," she at last revealed. "How better to do that than to keep you meeting with me each week to give a thorough report on your activities?"
My mind raced, connecting dots until they formed a rather dubious new picture. "So… you're not firing me as a parole officer, because you're now going to be my parole officer?"
"In a manner of speaking," she said.
"… wow. Wow." I threw up my hands, lost for words. "OK, then!"
"And I am not the only one," Ayame continued. "Yusuke, too, has been instructed to keep a close eye on you in the weeks to come, and he will be contacting you shortly with his conditions for your service." Her lips twitched, a spark of humor lighting her dark eyes. "But knowing his temperament and tendency toward truancy, we thought it best to task me with monitoring you, as well."
I guffawed, but wryly. I think. It was hard to tell just what I was feeling right them. Kurama proved my saving grace just then, thank my lucky stars, putting himself between Ayame and I with one swift step forward.
"How closely will you be watching her?" he said. "Although I wouldn't put it past Spirit World, I should hope you'd still afford a former operative her privacy."
A valiant question, on his part—but Ayame only smiled again, silent as an Egyptian monument. I couldn't help but blanche at the sight of her impassive face, shouldering forward next to Kurama with a growl.
"Right. You won't say," I said with unconcealed accusation. "What is this, the panopticon?"
Her lips twitched at the corner. "Your words, not mine." And with that, Ayame's job was done. She wheeled with a flutter of black sleeve, her wooden sandals striking the pavement with a clatter. "The park this Saturday after school. See you then."
"Sure," I said, rolling my eyes. "Bye, Ayame."
"Goodbye," she said—and although I thought she'd walk away, her footsteps instead slowed, and then they stopped completely. One dark eye turned over her shoulder as she asked, "Yukimura?"
"Yeah?"
Her lips twitched again. "A manga?" she asked, skepticism dripping from every syllable. "A manga? Truly?"
My eyes rolled. "It's too weird a detail for me to make up, if that's what you're asking."
"… yes. I suppose it is." Ayame shook her head, laughing like a rustle of velvet. "But a manga, of all things…"
She continued to laugh as she began to walk away again, vanishing from sight as she rounded the corner of a fence and out of sight. Her laughter lingered a moment longer, and when it faded away entirely, I turned to Kurama with a look of deadpan annoyance.
"I don't know what's worse," I said. "Ayame being my legit parole officer instead of just a vague eye in the sky, or Yusuke being in charge."
Now it was Kurama's turn to laugh like warm wind through the trees. "Time will tell, it seems. But in the meantime, I welcome you to the ranks of felonious degeneracy."
"Oh, so there's a club? Do I get a nice lapel pin or something?"
"I'm afraid not," he solemnly intoned. "We gave up the idea after Hiei destroyed his."
"Ha!" Finally, a genuine laugh escaped me. Unable to keep a grin off my face, I laced my hands behind me and rocked back onto my heels, humming under my breath. "Well, this has still gone better than expected."
"Do tell."
"Well, I half thought I'd end up in a Spirit World jail, once my secret came out," I confessed—and saying that out loud felt good. "Ayame was keeping an eye on me even before I spilled the beans, so… this isn't all that bad, in the grand scheme of things."
"What remarkable optimism," Kurama observed. "Typically you're rather dour."
"Yeah, well. What's that saying?" Summoning the idiom from the depths of my past, I said, "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose?"
Kurama's brow shot up. "Can't say I've heard that one before."
"Maybe not the words," I said. "But I bet you know the tune."
Kurama didn't argue. I get the feeling he knew what I meant, language barrier notwithstanding. In silence he merely fell into step beside me, walking with companionship quiet into the evening's descending dark.
Kurama's house looked just as I remembered it—only with more flowers, because springtime at Kurama's house would not be complete without a garden in full bloom. The cherry tree in the front yard wept bright petals onto the sidewalk and across the grass, drifting on the evening air like drifts of pale pink snow. Irises bloomed in the flower beds beside the front door, and as we walked across the picturesque front yard, I realized not all was as I recalled from past visits to Kurama's home.
The motorcycle parked in the narrow driveway was certainly new, after all.
Kurama barely paid the vehicle a second look, however. Perhaps he had seen it before; I wasn't sure. But as he opened the front door and bade me enter ahead of him, I realized I should've seen the owner of the bike coming. He saw at a low table in the center of the home's Japanese-style living room, large hands cupped around a mug of tea, black ponytail hanging like a glossy snake over his shoulder. Even though he'd tipped back his head with laughter, the man still cut an imposing figure thanks to his earring and facial hair, looks contrasting sharply with Shiori's traditional Japanese beauty as she sat across from him at the table, fingers picking gently over a platter of crackers and fruit. They were an unexpected pairing, and as Shiori rose to her feet with a cry of Kurama's human name, I realized exactly why Kurama was so alarmed by the man sitting so closely to his mother.
Kuwabara senior was, after all, spitting image of a member of the Yakuza—but Shiori didn't seem perturbed by him in the slightest. In fact, as she rounded the table to join her son and me in the home's foyer, her fingers trailed lightly over Kuwabara-senior's shoulder, a gesture that telegraphed ease and intimacy as unmistakably as thunder heralds a storm.
As Shiori made her way toward us, I snuck a glance at Kurama.
His face remained perfectly composed into a small, bland smile, eyes locked on his mother's beaming face—and not sparing Kuwabara even the smallest spare look.
"Shuichi, you're home!" Shiori said, voice as soft and warm and gentle as her dark, liquid eyes. "Come say hello to Kuwabara-san—" She spotted me at last, smile growing as I gave her an awkward wave and bow. "Oh, and Kei-chan! You're here, too?"
My bow deepened. "I'm sorry for coming over unannounced."
"And I apologize for not asking for permission to bring over a friend, Mother," Kurama said, taking the blame with smooth alacrity. "But there is a test coming up, and we would like to study together."
Shiori put a hand to her gorgeous face. "A test so soon?" she said. "Well, I suppose you're in a new year now; of course it's harder."
Kuwabara laughed again, a booming sound that would've been infectious under other circumstances. "Wish my boy would study as hard as you two do!" he said in his deep, rich baritone. "Think you'll swing by for a tutoring session soon, Keiko?"
"Ah, maybe?" I said, rubbing the back of my neck. To my feet I mumbled, "Depends on Kuwabara, I think."
His happy expression clouded. "That's right. Shizuru mentioned you're fighting."
"Fighting?" Shiori repeated. She turned to me with a gasp, reaching for my hand with a mother's instinct to give comfort. "I'm so sorry to hear that! Whatever could you be fighting about?"
"Just a teenage squabble, right?" Kuwabara suggested (and when Shiori's back was turned, he gave me a knowing wink. "It'll pass like a summer shower, don't you worry." Turning from me at last, he nodded at Kurama, smile still firmly affixed across his broad face. "Good to see you, Shuichi-san."
"Likewise, Kuwabara-san." Kurama's smooth reply bore no malice that I could see, perfectly pleasant as always. "Do you intend to stay long?"
"No, not today—though your mother was kind enough to offer me something to eat before I leave."
"Well, of course I did!" Shiori chided—and as a faint flush entered her pale cheeks, I almost did a double-take. She's been so unhappily pale the last time I'd seen her, cheeks wan and colorless after her near brush with death… but now she faced Kuwabara with a smile, face flushed with health and pleasure, both. To Kuwabara she said, "I couldn't let you go emptyhanded!"
It didn't seem possible, but his smile grew even wider. "Your mother is a generous woman, Shuichi-san. You're one lucky guy."
"Yes, I am." I swore I heard a firm note creep into his voice there, but it vanished as he bowed low to his mother and Kuwabara's father. "Apologies, but Kei and I must—"
"Of course, of course," Shiori said, ushering us toward the stairs. "I'll be up in a minute with some study-snacks."
"Thank you, Mother." Another bow, formal and prescribed. "Kuwabara-san."
Kuwabara waved back—and as Kurama mounted the first step, I happened to look over my shoulder at him.
When our eyes met, he shot me another wink.
Uneasily I followed Kurama up the stairs, listening with half an ear to the sound of Shiori talking to Kuwabara on the floor below. As I kept my eyes locked on the space between Kurama's shoulder blades, I had to wonder what, exactly, he was thinking. Kurama hadn't seemed outright upset by Kuwabara-senior's presence in his home, but that lay in sharp contrast to his behavior on Hanging Neck Island. In fact, he'd seemed downright pleasant to Kuwabara—and that made me incredibly suspicious. Had his congenial interaction been nothing more than a façade? Despite our closeness, Kurama was still impossible to read when he didn't want to be read. But I supposed it was possible he could've gotten over his feelings of animosity toward Kuwabara-senior… right? Only it had only been two days since Kurama and Kuwabara and had their blow-up, so that wasn't likely, was it?
At the top of the stairs lay a short hallway lined with a handful of doors, spaces between them sporting photographs in carefully matted frames. As we passed, I noted that most of them were of Kurama and his mother from various points in Kurama's life. One of them in particular showed Kurama as a small child, face round and absolutely goddamn adorable as he sat beside his mother on a bench. The photos that didn't depict the Minamino family showcased close-ups of various flowers in full bloom—and unexpectedly cliché item to find in Kurama's house, of all places. I didn't comment on them as he led me to a room at the end of the hall and opened the door, gesturing for me to step inside ahead of him.
Stepping into Kurama's room—because that's undoubtedly where he'd taken me—was like stepping into a dream, or diving underwater, or disembarking a ship in another country. The scent of evergreen, mint and earth washed over my face as we entered, Kurama's scent concentrated in his space in a way I had never experienced before. I tried not to grin like a dork as I looked around, cognizant that I bore witness something every fangirl dreamed about. His room was extremely tidy, to the point of austerity, minimalist décor complementing the complete lack of clutter on the single bed, desk and trio of neatly arranged bookshelves lining the walls. The only protest to Kurama's minimalism lay in the rack of houseplants plants sitting in front of the window on the far wall, healthy greenery soaking in the last fitful rays of sunlight streaming through the north-facing pane even as they showcased Kurama's green-thumbed touch. An assortment of posters tacked to the wall in perfectly spaced intervals also added some personality, but upon closer inspection, most of them were movie posters dating back a few years, and I'd never heard him mention any of the films before. Had he hung them up just to have something on the walls, I wondered?
"Enjoying yourself?"
I spun in place with a gasp, feet having carried me on curiosity's wake deeper into Kurama's room. I couldn't keep a nervous laugh at bay when I saw his knowing smirk, fiddling with the edge of my sleeve as I tried not to look like a cat caught with a canary in its mouth.
"Sorry," I said, waving at the posters. "I've just never been in your room before."
"Does it live up to your expectations?" Kurama teased.
"Yes and no." Desperate for anything to distract him, I wandered over to one of his bookshelves. The titles represented a strangely diverse range of topics, from a book about the history of combustion to dictionaries to classics to some novels far too pedestrian to suit him. I ignored them, though, in favor of an object on one of the middle shelves. "Are you into photography?"
"Hmm?" Kurama said.
I pointed. "I saw the pictures of flowers outside on the wall, and then there's this, so I thought maybe…"
The camera on the middle shelf was nice; I knew just enough about photography to tell that much, although I wasn't sure of its exact brand. Definitely a traditional film camera, though, all black plastic and brushed nickel, item displayed in front of a sturdy but plain leather case that looked deceptively expensive. Kurama joined me in front of it after a time, trailing a fingertip over the camera's lens cap as a smile ghosted across his face.
"I did take those, actually," he said. "The photos of the flowers, at least."
I resisted the urge to drop my jaw. "You're pretty good. You know that, right?" I said instead, impressed. "How did I not know you're into photography, though? Have we never talked about it?"
He shrugged. "I suppose it's never come up." He chuckled when he noticed my aggressively curious expression, humoring me as he said, "The camera was a gift from my mother. She was a photographer before she fell ill. Weddings, mostly, and portraits. But she enjoyed fine art photography when she had the time for it."
"Oh." A beat. "I had no idea."
"To be fair to you, I've never brought it up," Kurama said. "And I confess I mostly pursued the hobby to please her."
Picking up the camera, he turned it over in his hands, long fingers pale against the camera's dark body. He wore an almost fond expression, luminous eyes distant as he examined the viewfinder and wiped a streak of dust from the knob that controlled the F-stop. I held my breath as the moment extended into one, then two, afraid to break that delicate look. It wasn't often Kurama looked like this, after all: unvarnished, genuine, vulnerable. Trusting me with this feeling of softness, letting me witness something other than his careful affectations and purposed masks.
"When she became too sick to continue taking photographs, I made use of her gift so I'd have something to share with her," Kurama murmured. "To keep her spirits up." He placed it back on the shelf, hand disappearing into his pocket. "I haven't touched a camera since she recovered, however."
"Is that so?" Grinning, I told him, "I bet she'd like it if you two went out sometime and took some pictures together."
Kurama chuckled. "She would, I believe. I'll have to ask about her schedule." But then he tensed, face swinging toward the door. Under his breath he muttered, "She's coming upstairs."
It's a testament to his hearing, the fact that I didn't hear her coming up the stairs until almost ten seconds later. But soon the door creaked open, Shiori's lovely face appearing past the frame, bearing a smile that grew even warmer when she caught sight of her son.
"Shuichi?" she said. "I'm sorry to bother you, but would you mind helping me in the kitchen? I'm making a tray for the two of you."
"Yes, Mother," he said, moving toward her at once. "Is Kuwabara-san still here?"
"He just left."
"May I ask why he came by?"
Her face flushed; words poured forth as if someone had uncorked a bottle of champagne. "Of course you can!" she said, opening the door wider to let Kurama through. "He dropped off some fresh bread as a way of saying thanks for the photos I took of his motorcycle. He's opening a new shop, and he needed—"
They continued talking as they descended the stairs—and every word Shiori said came out a bit too quickly, a bit too eagerly. Like she was over-explaining Kuwabara's presence, trying so hard to justify his presence that she couldn't quite keep from babbling. It made me wonder if she had formally told Kurama that she was dating Kuwabara's father. If she had, she wouldn't need to work so hard to explain why he'd dropped by. But then again, maybe she hadn't told Kurama; he was more than smart enough to pick up on her obvious, giddy, fondness for the man without her help. But why would she cover up her feelings? Did she not think her son would approve?
Uneasy, I turned back to the bookshelf, skimming the titles from right to left, top to bottom. Their weird variety didn't make a lot of sense, but my confusion turned to satisfaction when I reached the bottom shelf. It was almost completely full of books about plants and flowers, from an encyclopedia of native Japanese flowers to books on the soil types represented throughout Asia—AKA, the exact type of book I'd hoped I'd find, because this was Kurama encapsulated. Grinning, I knelt and pulled one of them onto my lap, unable to keep from giggling as I flipped through its glossy pages. The air disturbed by the pages stirred my long bangs, sending a fresh waft of Kurama's evergreen-and-mint scent across my face. Putting the book back, I let my fingers drift down the spines of a few more titles—and then they froze as they crept over the image of a single, very familiar flower. Tall and thin and shaped like a teardrop, comprising a dozen small royal blue blossoms with a cluster of white at the top, the image of that flower stole the breath from my lungs and the thoughts from my head with the force of pure nostalgia.
It was, of course, a bluebonnet—which was only natural, given the book was titled The Native Wildflowers of Texas.
For a long time, I didn't move. Then, as if fearing the book might disintegrate on contact, I gently pulled it off the shelf. Opened it across my lap. Gasped and covered my mouth with my hand as I beheld the sight of native paintbrush, pink evening primrose, wine cup, star thistle, Texas lantana—and more bluebonnets, of course, dotting Texas' rolling hills and splayed beneath the state's infinite span of bright blue sky. I had run through fields of those flowers a million times before, but I hadn't laid eyes on most of them in 15 years.
In response, my wildflower-starved eyes—suddenly full after so long spent empty—filled with a glut of tears.
"Kei, I can't remember—do you prefer green tea, or should I—Kei?"
I turned, still holding the book. Kurama stood in the doorway with a tray in his hands. He watched me in silence, eyes flickering first to the book and then to my face and then back again. Without a word he crossed the room and placed the tray on his desk, brushing away a vine trailing from one of the planters in the window.
"Ah," he said, eyes lingering on the book. "You saw that."
I held it up, open to a panoramic shot of a field of wild bluebonnets. "Why do you have this?" I demanded. "Why?"
Kurama stared at me without speaking.
Then, slowly: "I should think that would be obvious, Kei."
The book fell back into my lap. My eyes fell with it.
"I guess," I said. "Just…"
The tears welled again. Angrily I wiped them on my sleeve, but Kurama had already appeared beside me with a flutter of his dark hair, evergreen invading my personal space like wildflowers creeping across the Texas plains. A hand found mine, warm and gentle but still so firm.
"Kei," Kurama said. "Are you all right?"
I tapped the book with my knuckles, shaking my head—though whether this was a yes or a no, I wasn't sure. "Homesick, I think," was what I eventually settled on. "Just surprised me, that's all."
Kurama eased back, leaning against the bookcase as I continued to flip through the volume on my lap. Every page bore a full-color photo and some text about the flowers. I drank it down like water after too long spent in a desert, the taste of home like wildflower honey on my tongue. Kurama watched in silence, observing without speaking. And I was grateful for that.
"My grandmother," I said when my scattered thoughts at last settled. "She would go out each winter and scatter windflower seeds along the highway. Bluebonnets, mostly. But her favorites were the native blanket. I always liked the brown-eyed Susans, though." Flipping to the back of the book, I hunted for an index. "Are those in here? I can't find—"
I never did find an index.
The book had, instead, fallen open to a specific page near the back—because between that page in the next lay a bookmark. Or at least I thought it was a bookmark until I got a closer look. What I'd found was some glossy paper, like from a magazine, depicting a trio of flowers stacked and glued together with a bow of ribbon affixed to the places where the stems intersected. They were arranged like a 2D bouquet, a collage of chrysanthemums, azaleas and bells of Ireland... a familiar collage of chrysanthemums, azaleas and bells of Ireland. Half laughing, half gasping, I held it up and grinned, pointing at it with my other, startled hand.
"You kept this?" I said, hardly daring to believe it.
He mopped a hand across his face, looking both tired and amused. "You're discovering all my secrets today, it seems."
"Turnabout is fair play after what I went through last week. But don't think you can distract me." I held the bouquet toward him, slapping his knee with it. "Why do you still have this, huh?"
"You put effort into it. Seemed a waste to throw it out."
"Well, thanks for respecting my emotional labor, I guess." Tracing the flowers with a fingertip, I muttered, "I was so mad at you when I put this together."
"Funny," Kurama said. "Those flowers don't speak of anger."
"That's because I left out the anemones."
"… anemones," he deadpanned, because he knew exactly what they meant. "Really."
"Yup," I said, feeling oddly proud of myself. "Had them all picked out, but… thought I'd catch more flies with honey, if you'll pardon the expression." At his unamused expression, I explained, "I spent all that time getting to know you, getting to be your friend, only for you to hide that stupid goodbye bouquet in my locker. A totally indirect goodbye. You shut me out the second you stole that stupid mirror. Just… acted like we weren't even friends."
"I wasn't—"
I know you shut me out to keep me safe," I interjected, rolling my eyes. "You thought I was just a regular human at that point, all your suspicions about me aside."
"The puns were difficult to ignore, I will admit." Kurama's lips curled, though I couldn't quite tell if he was smiling or grimacing at the memory of the horrors I'd put him through. "But you aren't wrong. That is exactly why I sent you that bouquet."
"You thought you'd signed your death sentence when you stole that mirror." It was bittersweet, thinking back on those early days of knowing him. "You thought you were a walking dead man, and it was just a matter of time until you disappeared for good. I knew no matter how mad I got, I couldn't just throw up my hands and walk away. Not when you were in a mindset like that. So I made this." I placed the papers on his knee, letting them rest there, giving that gift to him a second time. "To tell you that even if you'd given up, I hadn't. And I'd be there when you got back from your little burglary lark."
"And that's why I kept it, in the end." Picking it up, he traced the bow on the front and the images of the blossoms, a genuine smile curling his mouth, this time. "It brought me comfort in a time I needed it most. Would I were to need that comfort again, I…"
He trailed off, just staring at the flowers, smile lingering even still. When I proffered the open book of wildflowers, he set them back between the pages, watching without a word as I closed them into the book again and returning it to the shelf for safekeeping.
We knew what those flowers meant. No sense belaboring that point. It wasn't why he'd brought me here, after all.
"So." I braced my hands on my knees, grinning. "You said you needed my help with something?"
His smile vanished, jaw settling into stiff, all-business tension. "Kei—you are familiar with the Kuwabaras, correct?" he said, cutting right to it.
"… yes?" I said, earlier feelings of suspicion returning in full force.
He nodded, matter-of-factly ignoring my distrustful stare. "Given your familiarity with that family, and your familiarity with them from the source material that is—what was it called? Yu Yu Hakusho?"
"Yeees?"
He nodded. "Given your familiarity with the aforementioned, is it safe to say you will be able to in some manner predict their reactions to certain stressors?"
"I don't think I like where this is going," I muttered, resisting the urge to run the hell away.
"Perhaps not," Kurama said. "Regardless, it should come as no surprise that I am requesting your assistance in ending the relationship between Kuwabara's father and my mother."
Silence reigned for a good long while after that. Kurama watched me without blinking, a predator watching their prey for any sign of weakness. I stared back with blank detachment for a bit, but soon the reality of his request sank home, and I was forced to heave a sigh and hang my head.
"Kurama," I said.
"Kei," he countered with maddening calm.
"You can't—you can't just put me in the middle of this." I searched his face for recognition, but I found none. "You know that, don't you?" And when he still did not respond, I pressed, "Right?!"
"Of course," he replied at once, "and that is not my intention. I merely wish to acquire your guidance." He grinned, a, incomparably charming and guileless smile I did not trust in the slightest. "A trivial thing, I assure you."
"Is it, though?" I said, letting my disbelief fly free. "Because it sure as heck sounds like you're asking me to reverse-Parent-Trap your mom and Kuwabara's dad."
"If that's a reference to something, I don't follow."
"Never mind. Just—are you sure that's the right thing to do?" I said, desperation creeping into my voice unbidden. "Breaking them up, I mean?"
More maddening sincerity followed that question. "You heard my reasoning when I explained it to Kuwabara, did you not?" he said, every word measured, slow, and intentioned.
"I mean, I did," I admitted, "but—"
"Then you know that I'm right," said Kurama, head rising like an emperor from his throne. "To involve my mother in the supernatural is to place her even further into harm's way. She has already been targeted once by my enemies." When I said nothing and did not agree, he continued, "In the first round of the Dark Tournament, the demon Roto—"
"Took your mom hostage and threatened to kill her if you fought back, yeah, I know," I said, rubbing at my aching temples. "I remember."
He frowned, but soon his expression cleared. "This was in the manga, I presume."
"Of course."
Kurama smiled. "Then you know full well the dangers of increasing her exposure to the supernatural, Kei," he said. When I groaned and pillowed my head in my hands, he added, "And besides. Prolonged association with the Kuwabaras brings her one step closer to discovering my secrets. And we both know from firsthand experience that that is unacceptable."
I looked up at him with unintended sharpness, but he didn't so much as flinch. I wanted to tell him that his mother loved him and would accept him not matter what, as I'd done in the past—but I'd be a hypocrite if I argued such a thing. I, too, was too chicken to "come out" to my family, and he knew it. It was all I could do to glare and grumble that he was a stubborn ass, scrambling to my feet so I could investigate the snack tray. My nerve-filled stomach balked at the idea of eating, however, so I settled for crumbling a sesame cracker between my agitated fingers.
"It's just… I do think Kuwabara junior had a point," I said to the sesame crumbs coating my fingertips. "About not standing in the way of your mother's happiness, specifically."
Kurama hummed. "She was seeing someone before she met Kuwabara senior. She mentioned him when you had dinner here—a man named Hatanaka."
Keeping my face impassive, I turned around. Kurama had not moved from his spot on the floor. He'd pillowed an elbow on one bent knee, back resting against the bookcase in a way that probably would've been uncomfortable for anyone less graceful than him (which meant… anyone else, really). Somehow he managed to appear in control, powerful despite this relaxed position, face not betraying anything but unyielding resolution.
"Hatanka was a kind man, gentle and respectful," he said. "He made her happy enough… but she prefers Kuwabara-senior. She stopped seeing Hatanka shortly after meeting Kuwabara." Finally his expression soured a little, lips thinning into a severe gash. "If I had to guess, she's enamored of his… what's the word? Tough guy attitude?" He huffed, air rushing from his nose in an unamused laugh. "Quite different from my human father or her past paramours."
"Girls do tend to put the bad-boy types on a pedestal," I said, hoping that helped make sense of things for him. "It's honestly kind of annoying. You wouldn't believe the fangirls and what they did with Hiei."
Kurama startled. "Hiei? Fangirls?" he repeated, and when I nodded, his lips parted in horror. "I… I cannot even begin to imagine that. And I'm not sure I want to."
"You're better off not knowing, honestly." Blotting my hand on my skirt, I said, "Anyway. So is your plan to get her back together with the old flame?"
"In part, yes."
Looking demurely at the floor, I said, "I see."
I said nothing else. He studied my carefully neutral face with eyes that could cut. Soon his eyes narrowed; Kurama rose with a flex of lithe muscle, standing a few feet away, though it might as well have been a few inches. The pressure of his presence had me backing up a step on reflex, bumping into his desk so hard the rack of plants upon it rattled. Suddenly, being in Kurama's room wasn't quite so fun.
"Is this the correct course of action?" he said, searching my unnerved face like a hound scenting a fox—ironic, all things considered, but no less scary for the effort of that joke. Watching without pity as I squirmed, Kurama said, "I have heretofore refrained from asking you to divulge the details of canon to me directly, but I am afraid I must set aside my caution in this instance." Taking one sharp step in my direction, I could've sworn his eyes flashed gold when he demanded, "Is my mother meant to associate with Kuwabara senior in the long term? Or is my plan to reunite her with her former romantic interest more prudent?"
Casting about for some, for any means of escape, I said, "Kurama, you know that I can't—"
"Kei."
We held a staring contest, then. I'm ashamed (but not at all surprised) to admit that he won. Far too soon for my pride, I found myself lowering my head and running my fingers through my hair, aggravation and fear a potent drug inside my throbbing veins.
"I guess it depends on which former romantic partner you're talking about," I grudgingly admitted. "But—"
"Good. As I suspected." Though I'd tried to be vague, he saw right through me, snaring his answer as a hunter snares weak game. Despite the glow of his make-a-girl-go-weak smile, all I felt was annoyance when he said, "Thank you for your cooperation, Kei."
"This doesn't mean I approve of what you're doing," I said, glaring all the while.
"Of course not," he said with breezy insouciance. "But I'm happy for your assistance, just the same."
"I didn't assist you. You dragged it out of me."
"If that's the way you want to see it…"
"Sometimes, you can be a total ass."
I swear to god his eyes once again sparked gold. "And yet, you find me charming."
"Whatever, fox boy. I'm a gullible fool." With a huff I threw myself into the chair at his desk, arms crossed and tense. "Just—just promise me you're not going to do anything to break your mother's heart, OK?"
"I would never willingly harm my mother or her emotional wellbeing," Kurama said, eyes as hard as malachite. "You know better than to suggest otherwise."
My hands shot up. "Hey. I'm not coming at you, OK? So stop glaring at me." When the green fire in his gaze cooled, mollified at last, I shrugged and said, "I'm just saying that sometimes we get so wrapped up in "I know what's best" that we forget to wonder what other people want. That's what happens to me when I start overanalyzing canon, anyway, and I can see you doing the same thing if given the opportunity." I tapped a finger to my temple. "Different body, same mind and all that. Literally and metaphorically, in our cases. But anyway."
Understanding dawned behind his eyes. "You think I'm taking my mother's wishes for granted."
"I'm saying it's a possibility you should be wary of." But when he did not look convinced, I shook my head and sighed. "Just… if you really need my help, ask me for it, but don't get mad if I say no, or if I ask for time to think about giving it, OK?"
For a minute, I thought he might not agree. He stared without speaking, without moving so much as an inch. But two could play at that game, and I stared back without letting myself back down. He'd won one staring contest, but I had no intention of losing a second time.
And somehow, I got my wish. Kurama looked away first, a deep breath swelling his chest like a gently rising tide.
"Fine," he said, words much softer than before. "I can respect that request."
"Thanks," I said, and I meant it. Because this conversation wasn't one I wanted to continue, I reached for my school bag. "Well. We should probably do a little work. Make it look real for your mom, and stuff."
"Yes." Kurama nodded. "You're right."
Kurama on his bed and me at his desk, we did our homework in silence punctuated only by the rustle of papers and the scratch of pens. Sometimes one or both of us would ask questions, but these were few and far between. Banal math problems and routine essays weren't exactly engaging, and soon my mind—which I'd held to such rigorous standards while at school—wandered away from the books open on the desk before me. It felt odd, sitting there with him in that calm quiet, working on homework when so much else had happened, and when so much more would happen soon. My pen tapped a restless tattoo against my work, beating along with the pulse of my frayed heart. Even the fact that I was sitting at Kurama's desk, in his room, in his home, couldn't chase the anxiety from my chest. Shouldn't being here, at least, bring me some kind of peace? I would've killed for this opportunity fifteen years prior. Heck, I would've been over the moon last month! But now nothing felt the same, and I could not stop fidgeting.
Papers rustled, and Kurama asked, "Is there something on your mind, Kei?"
I didn't bother turning my head, staring instead at my homework. "This just doesn't feel real, I guess," I muttered—and then I winced, because although the words felt true enough, I hated that I'd said them. I tried to cover my unease as Kurama shifted on the bed, cognizant of his eyes cataloging my every move. "I guess I'm just thinking about what Kuwabara said back on the island, right before we left." Looking at Kurama askance, I waved vaguely at him, the room, our homework. "It's weird. To be here like this, I mean. We were just fighting for our lives a few days ago, y'know? And now we're sitting here doing homework like none of it ever happened." I threw up my hands and sighed. "It's too normal to be normal."
"The homework never ends," Kurama quipped.
"I mean, I guess." Hesitating for a second, I added, "Do you feel any differently?"
"In what sense?"
"You… you were Youko for the first time in forever." Wishing, hoping, praying he knew how I felt, I turned to him in full to ask, "What does coming back here, to your human life, feel like to you?"
For a long time, Kurama said nothing.
Then he murmured, "I'm not sure. Not yet." Before I could ask him to elaborate, however, he kept speaking, smiling a smile that made him look the spitting image of Shiori. "Everything will be all right, Kei. Barring some notable exceptions, the revelation of your secrets went smoothly indeed." His eyes glittered; with a laugh he added, "Supernaturally smoothly, one might say. It's a testament to your handling of the situation that events went as well as they did."
"Flatterer," I grumbled. "But thanks. That's kind of you."
"I'm not being kind. I'm being honest." It seemed inevitable, the way our eyes met, his full of the comfort that I'd hoped he'd share, but ones that did nothing to quiet the storm brewing inside my heart. Still, I didn't look away as he slowly said, "You have nothing to worry about, Kei. The worst is over. You've made it through to the other side, and the skies ahead are clear."
"Maybe you're right," I said, after a time.
"I am right," Kurama insisted.
But as we returned to our endless homework, I couldn't shake the memory of how he'd changed the subject, refusing to talk about himself and offering reassurances, instead.
I could not shake that memory because I suspected those reassurances might, in fact, ring hollow.
NOTES
There are about 1,500 people following this story. That's not a huge number compared to others, but it's big in this fandom, and I'd be remiss if I didn't use this platform to say the following:
BLACK LIVES MATTER
Please get informed about the protests going on not just in America, but around the world. They're led by people fighting for necessary and long overdue civil rights. There are lists of charities, essays, videos, and all kinds of articles to read to get educated about what's happening. I've amassed some on my Tumblr (LuckyStarChild) if you need a place to get started. Scroll through it, follow the hashtags, and educate yourselves, PLEASE. Prioritize Black and other POC voices and then amplify them. And then donate your money or time or attention and do some good in the world.
But most importantly, white readers: LISTEN TO THE BIPOC IN YOUR LIVES WHEN THEY TELL YOU THAT THEY'RE SUFFERING. Listen and DO NOT tell them that their experiences aren't real. They have been trying to speak for decades. It shouldn't have taken this long for us to LISTEN.
White supremacy is a cancer, and it's going to take all of us to excise it from society.
I get that some people aren't going to like that I'm talking about this. Some of you may even quit this story over it… but if this issue makes you that uncomfortable, you need to take a long look in the mirror and ask yourself WHY THAT IS. If a fanfic author stating their belief in civil rights upsets you more than the fact that innocent people are dying at the hands of police, you need to reevaluate your moral compass.
Spent my week volunteering at my county jail and washing tear gas out of teenage protestors' hair, and I'm mad as hell, and you should be mad, too.
NOTES, Part 02
If chapter 106 was a "tie up loose threads" chapter, chapter 107 is a "pull new threads loose" chapter. Before the ball of the plot really gets rolling, we're going to have a few "Keiko lives her life" chapters that will set up events to come. Setting up the new status quo through exposition, I guess. I hope the character work is fun to read, even if it's not as tense/action-packed as the recent tournament arc. But then again, a lot of you have stressed that you really need a break from the action, so maybe this "normal life" stuff is just what the doctor ordered? I dunno; you tell me! This was at least fun to write. Lots of tiny things in this chapter will actually matter very soon.
In any case, we're basically entering the last formal arc of LC's storyline (… surprise…?), so we need to take these character moments while we can get 'em.
The paper flower bouquet in this chapter was first mentioned in chapter 38 of this story. Reread that chapter for more information. I hope y'all enjoyed the fun Kurama moments!
The phrase "Different body, same mind" in Japanese is basically analogous to the saying "those two are kindred spirits" in English.
See you in two weeks on June 21 for chapter 108.
Many thanks to everyone who tuned into chapter 106. You make updating a joy: tehquila mockingburd, EdenMae, Domitia Ivory, read a rainbow, Forthwith16, MissIdeophobia, LadyEllesmere, TheEccentric1, kiralol101, noble phantasm, MiYuki Kurama, rezgurnk, MyWorldHeartBeating, tammywammy9, CaelynM, KhaleesiRenee, Call Brig on Over, buzzk97, Convoluted Compassion, vodka-and-tea, Kuesuno, MysticWold71891, Vienna22, Kaiya Azure, McMousie, cestlavie, IronDBZ, Sorlian, xenocanaan, SterlingBee, BOSS02109, WondlaMaster, cezarina, ewokling, OdinsReaper, AnimePleaseGood, A, WingedColors, Biku-sensei-sez-meow, Neko-Mitsuko, WWJuliet, SleepyOwlette, The Eternal Forgotten, RandomR15, Deus Venenare, Ouca/kitty-ryn!
