Time heals all wounds. The oldest lie in existence, told only to offer peace to victims of tragedy. It rarely brought relief from the anguish, giving the same promise as procrastination. Later. It will feel better later. Salvation will come.

Whoever thought of that saying had never experienced loss. The years were impossible to count. They bled together, a stream of lifeblood diluting in the river of his lifespan. As Kurama stood at his open window, feeling the morning breeze pass lightly through his damp red hair, he realized that the pain never subsided. His heart would never be washed with relief. He'd merely learned to cope, growing strong with the weight of his broken love.

Green eyes closed as slender arms wrapped around his waist and warm lips found his throat. He sighed in comfort, stretching his neck to bare more skin.

"I'm surprised that you are awake. Did I wake you?" His voice was raw.

"No." A lie. "You aren't in school anymore. Come to bed." Hiei's voice, thick with the early hour, was disapproving.

Kurama's eyes shut, a smile on his face as he felt a bandaged hand slip lightly up his loose, long-sleeved sleep shirt. A delicate hand reached down, covering it through the fabric. "You won't be long without me."

The hand in on his stomach clenched lightly. "It's about him again, isn't it."

"It isn't fair to use your Jagan against me."

"I didn't need to. It's all over your face and energy." There was a moment of silence as Kurama breathed, slow and deep. "Do you need to talk about him?"

Hiei could easily rip essential information from Kurama's mind, but it would hold no meaning. Besides, Kurama had been holding his past in his heart for far too long. Hiei knew the anguish well, and wished it on nobody. He felt Kurama sink in his grasp.

"I may not have the strength." The confession was airy. He was shocked by the sudden smack against his belly.

"Stop that. You are strong enough." Hiei's lack of doubt gave Kurama confidence, and he nodded slowly. Hiei sat comfortably on the bed, and brought his hand to Kurama's head as his partner laid his head in his lap.

"Will you still love me after seeing my scars?" Kurama asked, hand resting on Hiei's thigh. Hiei had to smirk.

"Shut up. I've already seen them. You're just telling me how they got there." His fingers threaded through blood red hair. "Do you remember all of it? From the beginning?"

A smile. "As clear as the day I met you."

Silver foxes were rare. Demand grossly outweighed supply. They were considered to be no more than pets, symbols of status to be envied. They were shining examples of purity, with virgins selling for more than the common man's lifetime net worth.

By the final time he found himself on the auction block, Youko Kurama had seen his fair share of owners. He'd been passed from hand to hand since childhood, when his mother, sick and broken from poverty, handed her youngest son to a slave dealer. He'd grown up in the homes of strange men, toying with him however they saw fit, until they became bored with him. Though, vain as it sounded, he truly did not understand how someone tired of him. He was willowy and long-limbed. His hair was soft and touchable, refracting any light it could and glimmering in the darkness. His eyes were sharp, matching 24-carat gold in hue and luminosity. He was beauty, grace incarnate.

But damn his mouth.

Kurama had been cursed with an intellect to match his beauty. His teeth were sharp, literally and figuratively. He manipulated his owners with sharp claws, sometimes for years before they caught onto his game and sent him away.

By the time he'd reached adolescence, he found himself to be the treasure of a crime lord. Yuudai was a stern man, a truly charismatic leader with bright eyes and the sexual prowess of a dead fish. But, much to Kurama's pleasure, he kept a loose grip on his leash. Kurama was no longer restricted to his master's chambers. He was allowed to prowl the compound, even care for a garden of his own. He'd taken a talent to it, after all, feeding his energy into demon plants and seeing how he could manipulate them.
There were few rules that Kurama was expected to abide by. If he ran, he was dead. Yuudai wasn't concerned with losing money. His ego was bigger than concern for his wallet, which, considering his profession, felt questionable. Secondly, he was not allowed to lie in bed with another. He was not to be touched. Anybody who touched Kurama would have hell to pay, and likely would not live to brag about putting their hands on the boss' treasure.

When he was not tending to his garden, Kurama was plotting. Unlike his other masters, Yuudai embraced the fox's intellect. He was given indirect strategical training from some of the other men. After all, there were close to one hundred other men and women in the compound. He was bound to catch conversations, though he didn't make a habit of joining them. The loud parties, the brawls.. they didn't interest him. He was happy with the company of his roses. They rose to meet him, blossoms opening at the stroke of a warm finger. He had no need to socialize with the hordes of buffoons who had sought employment under Yuudai.

Being second-in-command of a crime circle was hardly as exciting as it had been made out to be. It was hard to keep legitimate friends. Everyone talked to you because you were good with the boss. Every conversation started with 'Hey, can I ask you something real quick?' It was never 'real quick.' There were days where Kuronue honestly wished that he could step down without being killed.

But, then again, he honestly liked fucking with people.

Kuronue exuded power. Nobody fucked with him. They were too busy being intimidated by his narrow, glaring, purple eyes and the upturned sneer he wore. His steps were heavy, wings held high. He'd earned the right to strut, unlike the inexperienced whelps who made a habit of padding their pants with tissues. His hair was long with age, luxuriously thick and voluminous, more reminiscent of horsehair than that of a person.

Weekends were reserved for socialization. To a testosterone-fueled, male-dominated pack of demons, that meant drinking, fighting, and sex. The bat demon sneered as he entered the main den, the scent of blood mixed with that of moonshine. The air was unbreathable, thick with smoke from tobacco, as well as a much more entertaining plant. Though he was used to it, the first breath never failed to make him cough. He traveled with wings partially unfolded, forcing people to give him space to pass. He caught sight of his only friend, who happened to be clutching a suspicious cigarette.

"Satoshi," he greeted, smirking as his buddy looked up at him, mid-drag. Without warning, Kuronue snatched the lit cigarette out of his hand, and placed it between his lips. He coughed with the weight of the smoke.

"Shoulda warned me," he coughed, holding what had been identified as a joint high above his friend's reach.

"You didn't give me time! Don't be a dick, Kuronue," Satoshi drawled. Only he could call the bat demon a dick and get away with it. Kuronue took another long, deep hit before passing the joint back to its original owner. He sat down next to his friend, throwing his feet up on a coffee table, which, miraculously, hadn't been broken. His eyes closed as he reveled in his high.

"Anythin' new?" It was a standard question. Satoshi remembered people. He remembered good as well as bad. It was a habit of theirs, gossiping over wine.. or, in this case, something stronger. Kuronue saw the fire demon's hand cover his face in thought.

"Uhh.. Oh! Yuudai's pet is out for a walk." Kuronue raised an eyebrow.

"Is he really? Where?" The silver fox was very good at not being seen unless he wanted to. It had been four months since the pup came to live at the compound, and the only glances Kuronue had managed to sneak were during Kurama's slumber. That was his name, right? Kurama?

Satoshi pointed off into the distance, in the direction of a large, circular couch in the very corner of the room. Kuronue peeked over discreetly, not wanting Yuudai to catch him staring at his toy. He caught sight of silvery hair and a mostly-empty glass of wine in a delicate hand. And, best of all, Yuudai was nowhere in the vicinity. He stole the joint from a very complacent Satoshi, and took a hit before handing it back.

"What're you doin'?" Satoshi asked, but didn't even bother looking up.

"Just a little experiment. Don't worry about it."

"Don't get your ass kicked."

" What do you take me for, Toshi?" he asked with a smirk. Satoshi's grin gave him away.

Kuronue stalked over to the couch, where Youko Kurama, in all of his glory, laid out among a group of his friends. His lips were stained from the expensive red wine he drank. His pale cheeks were tinted an agreeable red. No wonder Yuudai had dropped so much damn money. Kitsunes in general were gorgeous, but this one was a knockout. His head was in the lap of who Kuronue had recognized to be their sniper, a demon named Kyo. His feet were bare, some female badger demon's hand holding them steady.

"Can we help you?" An airy voice knocked Kuronue out of the five-second delay caused by his high. Oh, those wine-stained lips were moving.

"Just thought I'd come see what the fuss was about. You're a popular little boy, huh, Kisuke?" Kuronue smirked as those oversized silver ears flattened against their owner's head. Call Kuronue a dick, but he loved seeing just how far he could push his underlings. Not that Kurama was technically his underling. That pretty boy answered only to Yuudai.

"Excuse me?" Even through the veil of alcohol, Kurama's voice was liquid sex, dripping with venom. Kuronue reached down, taking the long-stemmed wine gas out of the fox's claw, and located the bottle of wine. He pulled the cork and took a swig, right before filling the glass. As it was handed back, Kurama gave a bemused, sour look.

"It's tainted." He swirled the liquid slowly, bringing it to his nose. "It stinks of bat," he complained, though gold eyes never left purple.

Kuronue smirked, bringing the glass to his lips. "Oh? Then don't mind if I indulge," he purred.

If Youko Kurama was one thing, it was possessive. Right as Kuronue went to sip at the wine- his wine- he snatched the glass and downed its contents in two large gulps. Kuronue's thin brows rose in mild amazement. For such a young little thing, the fox knew how to handle his alcohol.

"Why don't you return to whatever Hellpit you spawned from?" Kurama asked, returning to his spot on the couch. His companions parted to allow him access, his feet rested casually on one of his friend's laps, and he crossed his arm. Kuronue was unmoving.

"I think you have me all wrong, puppy." A warning growl left Kurama's lips. "I'm Yuudai's second. Kuronue." He held out his hand.

Kurama stared at the outstretched hand, expression utterly bored. He leaned over, taking the bottle of wine and shaking it before deciding that it wasn't worth pouring another glass. He drank straight from the bottle, eyes closing in contentment. "I hardly concern myself with mannerless thieves," he scoffed.

Kuronue chuckled. "Fine, then. Be like that. See you 'round, whelp."

He turned quickly on his heels, locking onto Satoshi in the distance. As he took a step, he felt the air by his ear displace. His eyes narrowed as he looked down, a rose stuck in the makeshift wood floor of the warehouse. He looked back to see Kurama sitting up in his friend's lap, hair framing his face and eyes dangerously narrow.

"My name is Kurama."

He followed the demon ahead of him, whose wings quivered with excitement. Kuronue knew the demon well- the hummingbird had been around for a while. Yuudai liked him, and used him as a personal messenger.

"Did he tell you what he wanted?" Kuronue asked boredly, rubbing his eyes as light filtered through the curtained windows. Was it light already? Damn Daisuke for waking him any time before sunset.

"He just told me that he wanted to see you," Daisuke shrugged, shaking iridescent purple-green bangs out of pale blue eyes.

Kuronue's eyes rolled in irritation. Yuudai's timetables were his own. He didn't care that, once sunlight hit, Kuronue was useless. 'Blind as a bat' was more than a cliche. After all, cliches became so for a reason.

Daisuke threw the double doors open. Yuudai stood by the bed, his pet perched neatly in the center of the mattress. Kuronue sneered. Him again? Really?

"What do you want, Yuudai?" Kuronue asked, flipping his hair off of his shoulder. "You know how I get when it's past my bedtime."

Yuudai smirked, reaching a clawed hand out to stroke Kuronue's cheek. The bat recoiled slightly, showing his displeasure in his face. Yuudai motioned to Kurama, adding a wink of a thickly-lined brown eye.

"Train him."

Kuronue smirked. "What, can't control your pet?"

Smack. Kuronue rubbed his abused cheek, though didn't fight back. He'd deserved it. Though, he should consider himself lucky. Most insolent jerks got their fingernails ripped off.

"He'd be a powerful asset. Feel his energy," Yuudai instructed. Kuronue closed his eyes and isolated Kurama's spiritual pressure. His presence was intoxicating, rose-scented and gentle, but holding an unmistakable coldness behind it. With proper training, the kit would be a force to reckon with. Kuronue's eyes opened, and he locked his gaze on Kurama.

"And if I refuse?"

"I give his training to Yomi, and, as punishment for your incompetence, Yomi will take over your rank."

Kuronue groaned. Nobody liked Yomi. Nobody but Yuudai. He was the lowest form of demon, merely a power-hungry child.

"Fine. I'll do it." Slowly, he approached Kurama, whose spiritual energy surged as he grew closer. It was akin to a warning growl. "Don't worry, baby. I'll take good care of you." As the bat reached out to stroke Kurama's cheek, he was greeted by the feeling of sharp fangs in his finger. He recoiled with a snarl, and stuck the wounded digit into his mouth.

Kurama licked the blood off of his fangs, eyes never leaving Kuronue's.

"We'll see."