006: Hunter Gatherer
"Don't laugh," Yusuke said, shoving past the narrow opening provided with his head ducked.
"Were you being funny? Let me prepare myself," Kurama responded, locking the door behind Yusuke.
Predicting visits was a matter of listening for the perpetual cloud of grumbling and stomping that followed Yusuke whenever he was in the vicinity of Kurama's mid-town apartment; no divination or GPS necessary, Yusuke Urameshi's arrival was easier to foretell than Santa Clause on Christmas Eve. The elevator in the building had been out of service for several months, giving Kurama at least three and a half landings notice before Yusuke would announce himself by pounding at the door.
(And who else would pound at Kurama's door, shouting, "Hey, asshole! Stop washing your hair and let me in!"? Senior citizen and well-known gossip monger Mrs. Nakamura would have wagged her tongue to the entire floor by now about Minamino-san's ill-kept company if not for a continuing stream of gift orchids.)
All things considered, though he'd never tell the spirit consultant, Kurama had found the climb a significant reason for a lease. Such was the life of a reputable former-bandit: planning living arrangements based on hypothetical enemies needing to take the stairs. Considering his neighbors though, Kurama might have preferred a bloodthirsty demon to all the social-political nuances of a tight-knit neighborhood. At least the demon would have transparent intentions, no motive for matching him with any (un)suitable granddaughters or lonely co-workers.
Yusuke shucked his shoes off, the sneakers landing on the mat by the door. His hat and high collar jacket were out of season, too thick for the recent humidity that clung and seeped into every crevice of the city in the last few days. He made quick work of losing them as well – flinging them carelessly on the sleek coat rack, which wobbled precariously for seconds before righting itself.
A whirlwind of hair gel, musk, and denim, Yusuke never lost stride making his way towards the fridge in the adjacent kitchen.
Kurama stared at the full-length winter jacket and ear-flapped hat – insulated wool garments Yusuke Urameshi had worn up three and a half flights of stairs, during peak summer time weather. Through the neighborhood. Where people had seen him.
(He would have had to take the train to get here, Kurama realized in dawning horror.)
At least no one was there to witness how long it took Minamino Shuichi to process the absurdity that had bulldozed its way into his immaculate den.
His ears picked up the sound of clinking glasses and his crisper drawers being slammed shut. Familiarity and practice with the dietary and nesting habits of the singular Urameshi kept him from rolling his eyes, though just barely.
Nudging the wayward shoes fully onto the mat, Kurama made way to the living room's sole armchair, closest to the array of flora that grew without inhibition around and past his sliding door. A decade in and this was familiar enough territory for Kurama to understand the mechanics of their friendship – a wild thing that he'd allow to grow rampant instead of culling into its own confined container, like mint taking over the herb garden because the gardener had liked it.
"Yes, Yusuke," Kurama intoned flatly, his hand waving in a futile gesture of faux supplication, "Would you like a beverage? Allow me. No, I insist. My home is always welcome to your company."
Head half-buried in the fridge, it was doubtful Yusuke even heard. If he leaned any deeper, he risked falling into a third dimension behind the bottles of organic kombucha and Shiori's homemade bean paste, both gifts in the last care package and both made from a close family friend's recipe. Neither tasted very good and Yusuke's careless shuffling was probably the most acknowledgement they'd had in the long weeks since the fox had acquired them.
("Yes, mother," Kurama had said, in a phone call – on the record. "Please pass on my regards. I enjoyed them very much, thank you.")
"Ah! Yeah, here we go." A socked foot kicked the fridge closed, bottles and jars clinking. "All-right!"
Popping out, the spirit consultant, a grown man, held the container of leftover stir-fry like a prized truffle while he precariously balanced a heavy drinking glass, two bottles of beer, two- no, three mandarin oranges, and the water pitcher in arm. A pair of chopsticks was tucked behind his ear. He presented all of this to Kurama like a traveling salesman, his mouth stretched in triumph.
Ta-da, his expression said. An overgrown puppy waiting for enthused praise at what he'd scavenged.
The redhead blinked, allowing himself the full seconds necessary to take in the human man before him. There were the familiar thick eyebrows, the slicked black hair that gleamed like a beetle's shell, the rolled t-shirt sleeves and dirty denim that spoke of a reformed punk being dragged into responsible adulthood. Everything was there except…
"Why, Yusuke, you're freckling."
"I said don't laugh, you bastard!" Yusuke swore, heatedly, nearly dropping his loot as he trudged his way across the spotless floor – here he was a beleaguered, unappreciated soldier making his way through the trenches of scrutiny and judgment, seeking only to eat free food and hydrate on someone else's filtered water and this was the type of shit he was getting?
Covering his mouth to hide his chuckles, Kurama turned to regard the potted garden beside him. Aloe vera, then, and plenty of it if Yusuke's complexion was anything to go by; he was brown as a nut in some places, while flushed a feverish-looking red in others – the unfortunate marriage of a lobster and a macadamia.
White peeling skin and sun-kissed freckles dotted his body like a topographical map of shorelines and deserts.
The fox leaned out of his seat, fingers trailing along the spiny ridges of his thickest aloe leaves, nestled in among a bed of fat succulents. "What have you been up to, Yusuke?"
His pilfered goods dropped haphazardly on the coffee table, Yusuke fell onto the sofa in a sigh of relief. "I know I said it was tacky before, but I'm really okay with the leather right now."
Yusuke had a way of meandering his way to a point, when he wanted to, and he did it so often in the manner of a closed-off patron to Kurama's bar. Luckily, patience was a virtue and Kurama could out-wait even hard to crack stone eggs.
Yusuke sniffed, rubbing his nose. Then he sniffed again, mouth twisting like a dog catching a bad scent. The sunburnt man poured himself a glass from the pitcher, the water sloshing in his haste. The corner of Kurama's mouth quirked. No doubt Yusuke would have preferred something dark, amber, and three times strong from a glass, but he knew he would find none of that here. It took a glass and a half, gulped down in quick succession, before Yusuke stopped – grimacing as he rubbed at his temple.
"Okay, so something weird happened."
Kurama blinked slowly, tipping his head in acknowledgement. "I surmised."
"No," Yusuke scrubbed at his face. Flakes of skin drifted downwards like snow. Gesturing towards his body, "Something really weird happened – like, this, I don't even know how this happened. Hell, I don't even really understand everything I saw."
Lifting his hips, Yusuke dug around for a moment in his pockets before pulling something out. He tossed it onto the spotless surface of the finished wood, his fingers flicking like he was dispelling excess dust or static. A second of thought, then the consultant silently reached across the table for a coaster, slipping it under the sweating glass.
Green eyes took in the innocuous fabric pouch; no different than the omamori he used to see his classmates wearing during exam time. Kurama looked up at the other man, nodding his head to continue.
Yusuke tapped emphatically on the surface beside the charm, mouth twisting in a grimace. "This little bastard right here," he started, "is why I look like this and why four sub-standard demons look like the tray I know you've got stashed away somewhere."
Without prompting, his hand reached underneath the coffee table to the lower storage area. Deftly reaching behind the potted ferns and stack of high-resolution photography collections and other reads, Yusuke pulled out the small crystal ashtray, brandishing it with a smirk; a successful hunt.
"You bastard. I thought you quit."
Mouth pursing, Kurama took the ashtray from the smug detective, placing it on the table with a heavy clink. "What my mother doesn't know, Yusuke-"
"-You could fill entire libraries with, yeah, yeah." Waving it off, Yusuke gestured towards the charm again. "But seriously, this thing did some damage."
"It burnt them as well?"
Yusuke hummed, tipping his head back as he downed the rest of the glass. "No, no, it fucking incinerated the existence out of them. Kurama, there's probably not enough left of them to even fit in that tray."
His brows rising in surprise, Kurama regarded the omamori with new eyes. "How long have you had it?"
The incredulous 'And you've been carrying it around with you?' was evident enough in his voice. Disapproval ran through the tick of his brow.
"Like, two weeks before the whole thing happened. Maybe three, tops." Yusuke shrugged, rolling an orange across the back of his hand before he set to peel it.
Two weeks in Yusuke's pocket and the fabric was pristine – even the white glimmered under the fluorescents with the pearly, silk shine of good quality thread. Not only was it spotless, it smelled fresh, which should have been impossible considering where it'd been kept. No, now that he examined it closer, every inch of it seemed utterly spotless; in quality, scent, and aura. Crisp. Clean.
Curiosity piqued, the fox leaned forward, fingers curling in loamy soil.
"Tell me everything, from the start."
12/31/18. Another update - so soon, so fast, but I just had to get it out while I still had that flow. I'm sure you don't mind. Also, though no one's asked, you've probably noticed I'm decidedly in the "Let Yusuke say Fuck" Camp. I mean, look at that loud boy. He's that friend, you know. That one. Let him eat your food, let him sleep on your couch. Dude's had it rough.
Comments are fun and help me gauge interest. I hope you're enjoying the slow worldbuilding and character development I'm rolling out; this story has been an exercise in getting to explore and reflect on some nostalgic, old love fandoms. I will admit I am indulging, even at a snail's pace, all the things I've always wanted to see as a reader. Tell me all your theories and curiosities! Let me know how you're enjoying the sandbox. After this week, updates will be slow to come again.