WhIP

by footfungus

nederlands verhalen over mijn otp

194. Lucky 91-100

Chapter 91: Pillow Fights

Summary:

In which fights of varying types are had.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Seven years before Yusuke entered the Dark Tournament and fought for both his life and the lives of his friends, my parents took us on a weekend trip to the beach… and Yusuke spent half of it mad at me.

To be completely honest, I couldn't remember why he was mad—not seven years later at the Dark Tournament, and not even back then, hours after whatever it was I'd done to piss him off. We were eight years old at the time, and I assume I must've done something silly (like get sand in his shorts or splash his face with seawater when he wasn't ready for it). The long and short if the situation was that he spent the drive from the beach to our hotel in silence, lower lip pouting out and arms crossed petulantly over his thin chest. One minute he was yakking, the next he was all scowls and surly silence, and try though I might to make him smile with silly faces and fart sounds, he remained belligerently pissed off at me.

Mom and Dad exchanged a Look over our heads shortly after getting to the hotel room—one of amusement tempered by fatigue, not to mention the affection of parents in the face of their children's antics. They left Yusuke and me alone to track down dinner for us soon after, with strict instructions to behave while they were gone.

It was obvious (to me, at least) that they were hoping we'd make up while they were gone. Keiko's parents always did believe in me like that; apparently they believed in Yusuke, too, even though he didn't say anything to them when they left. He was too busy lying on the bed watching TV in brooding silence. It was up to me, then, to build bridges… but that wasn't unusual. It's not like both of us were reincarnated almost-30-year-olds, after all.

Hoping to make nice, I crawled up onto the hotel room's dingy duvet cover with a sigh. As soon as I got near Yusuke, however, he jumped off the bed and headed for the couch near the windows, not looking at me even once. I sat up on my elbows with a sigh, glaring at him as he stared at the TV.

"Look. I said I was sorry, OK?" I said.

Yusuke's lip jutted out. "Hmmph."

OK. So it was time to try a bribe, then. "I'll eat a hot pepper like we do on New Year's if you'll just talk to me," I promised.

His lip jutted so hard I feared it might fall off. "Hmmph!" he grunted, louder this time.

"Not even a hot pepper…?" That bribe usually worked, but apparently whatever I'd done was too grievous for such petty apologies. I flopped down onto the bed with a frustrated groan. "Yusuke, what gives?" I said. "What did I even do?"

He harrumphed yet again. "You know what you did."

"No, I really don't."

His nose thrust high into the air. "Then I've got nothin' to say to you."

I rolled my eyes. "Drama queen."

Yusuke's head swung sharply in my direction.

I stuck out my tongue.

His eyes narrowed.

And then we were grabbing pillows and lunging at each other, fluffy weapons swinging.

The fight lasted for at least ten minutes. We beat each other up with pillows until our arms ached, chests rising and falling with hard breaths until we both collapsed onto one of the beds, too tired to continue. He rested his head on my leg, and for a second I thought that meant he'd forgiven me—but he just pinched the back of my knee with a fiendish laugh when I wasn't expecting it, and the race was on once more. I squealed and gave him a vicious noogie; he tried to give me a wedgie for revenge, and we ended up having another round of pillow fighting until we collapsed from sheer exhaustion all over again. This time he didn't pinch me or try to tickle me or whatever other juvenile revenge scheme he preferred. He simply rested the back of his head on my stomach, and when I smiled down at him, he lifted his head and grinned.

"Wanna watch cartoons with me?" Yusuke said.

My brow cocked. "So you're not mad anymore?"

Yusuke's head tilted to the side. "I was mad?"

"Uh. Yes? You were literally just—"

But he looked away with a shrug and a murmur of, "Eh. Whatever."

A moment passed in silence.

I deadpan asked, "You don't even remember what you were mad about, do you?"

Yusuke sat up straight and flushed. "Shut up! Yes I do!"

"Then tell me what you were so mad about!"

Rather than answer, Yusuke reached for another pillow.

We fought again, and when we were done, we bought candy from a vending machine in the hallway. We ate it and watched cartoons, giggling at Doraemon together, and we disposed of the candy wrappers in a hallway trash can so Mom and Dad couldn't get mad at us for ruining our dinners.

We never spoke of why Yusuke was mad at me again—because I truly think that by that point, Yusuke had forgotten.

Predictably, Kuwabara was livid when he learned about the stunt his sister had pulled while he was unconscious—but a single ferocious glance from Shizuru silenced his protests in a snap.

"Still, though," he weakly argued as we walked back to the hotel in a limping, ragtag group. "Who knows what the tournament committee goons might pull now that they know you're here?" His jaw tightened. "You girls will need to come stay in our suite tonight. That's an order."

Shizuru's glare reappeared. "And who are you to be giving me orders?" Although she wasn't as tall as Kuwabara, she still somehow managed to loom over him, puffing gouts of intimidating smoke into his panicked face. "Eh, baby bro?"

Kuwabara yelped and backed off at once—but when Kurama gave a silken murmur of agreement, and Yusuke said he'd like to keep an eye on his mom so she didn't drink the hotel's entire stockpile of booze in one night, and even Hiei voiced that there was safety in numbers (a point no doubt motivated by the desire to keep Yukina close), Shizuru rolled her eyes and, on behalf of all the girls, acquiesced to her brother's paranoid demand.

But not before Botan insisted we should have a big ol' dinner party in the guys' suite, of course.

The tone of the evening was one of celebration. Yusuke was still riding a high from his fight with Jin, I think, because he backed up Botan's proposal and only barely glared at me when I suggested we order room service. Room service was complimentary and everyone was too tired to cook, I pointed out, which made it an ideal solution to the dinner issue. Once we were in agreement, we went back to the boy's suite (a floor below ours in another wing of the hotel) and scrounged up the extensive room service menu. The boys' suite was just like ours, with a kitchen and two bedrooms set off of a spacious living room, but their suite appeared to be just a little bit bigger then the girls'—and a good thing, too, considering how many of us were packed inside it. The menu was the same, though, and we all gathered around the kitchen table together to pick out what we'd be eating.

Well, all of us minus Hiei (who I instructed to go find a shirt) and Kurama (who disappeared into one of the bedrooms to perform minor surgery on himself and pick all the vines out of his veins, not to mention wash off all the blood). Kuwabara also hung back from the frenzy of picking food, huddling on the couch with his duffle bag full of instant noodles and canned coffee. He still feared getting poisoned, even when Botan lectured him that he was being unreasonable.

"Oh yeah?" Kuwabara said after she finished her lecture. "What'll you be ordering since you think it's so safe, huh?"

She grinned, chipper as always. "Why, I'm not sure! But don't order anything for me just yet."

"We weren't," I said, tapping my pen against the notepad where I'd been transcribing dinner orders. "We're waiting for later since it's too early for dinner—wait, where are you going?"

She was halfway to the suite's front door by then. Botan pivoted and walked backwards so she could look at me, fumbling behind her for the doorknob. "Oh, nowhere, nowhere!" she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'll be back soon!"

Shizuru looked up from the menu with a scowl. "Wait, where the heck are you—?"

Atsuko scowled, too. "At least use the buddy system, for cripe's sake—"

But Botan was already gone, the door falling softly shut behind her with a click.

I finished taking everyone's order, jotting down all items on the notepad I found in a desk drawer. When we finished, we waited for a bit, but when Botan didn't immediately return we settled down in the living room to… well, to wait some more. There wasn't exactly anything else to do. It wasn't quite the dinner hour and we wouldn't be placing our order for some time, anyway. Atsuko sprawled across the couch while Yusuke and Kuwabara sat in some of the large plush chairs near it; Shizuru and Yukina sat together on one of the other couches, too, as Atsuko began to fill Yusuke in about how we'd made it to the Tournament and some of the stuff we'd gotten up to since arriving. Meanwhile, I puttered about the suite tidying up. Yusuke had left his socks lying around, that slob, and just then I would have much rather faced the stench of his smelly feet than feel him glaring at me.

Because that's what he kept doing as I cleaned up and tried to avoid talking to him. Every so often I'd see his head turn and catch the barest glimpse of his eyes flashing before he looked away again. Or he'd look around the suite with faux insouciance, eyes gliding over my face without pausing for even an instant—that kind of pointed avoidance that meant the person obviously wanted to look at you but didn't want you to know they wanted to look at you.

Which meant Yusuke was still very much mad at me.

Ugh.

I ducked into the kitchen after that and got down plates and silverware, prepping for the dinner we'd soon order and then eat. At least in the kitchen, Yusuke couldn't see me, which meant I couldn't see him pretending not to look my way. Small comfort, but I'd take what I could get…

Eventually I heard a door open and shut in the other half of the suite. Poking my head out of the kitchen, I saw Kurama (sans the plants he'd placed inside his bloodstream, that masochist) walk out of a bedroom and sit beside Shizuru on the couch. He wore fresh clothes and moved with care, as if perhaps his wounds might not be completely shut beneath the long sleeves of his button-up shirt (a black shirt, which wasn't his usual color, but I suppose he was trying to hide any potential wound-leakage with the dark shade and I respect that). I waved as he sat down, but when the motion caught Yusuke's eye instead of Kurama's, earning me yet another glare, I froze in place.

Somehow that got Kurama's attention, because he looked over at me and frowned. "Kei. Are you all right?" he said, voice soft with concern.

Kuwabara turned around to shoot me a curious stare. "Huh? What's up?"

I braved a smile for both their sakes. "I'm fine." Another wave, this one as awkward as the first. "Be right back."

The feeling of eyes on my neck only abated once my feet mechanically carried me into one of the nearby bedrooms—the one Kurama hadn't just come out of, which meant it must be Yusuke's room (if Yusuke and Kuwabara roomed together like they did in the anime, at least). My hunch was confirmed when I saw a forest green duffle bag sitting in the corner, athletic wear spilling haphazardly from its unzipped innards. This was Yusuke's duffle, of course, and in the bathroom I found a tub of his preferred pomade sitting beside the sink, lid slightly askew. His frayed toothbrush sat next to it (Yusuke tended to gnaw his toothbrushes into oblivion), as did a few hair products and combs that I assumed must belong to Kuwabara.

"They have more hair products than I do," I muttered as I counted the pomade tubs, mousse bottles, and various other setting and styling products. "And they say girls are high maintenance…"

The thought made me giggle, but when my hand closed around Yusuke's pomade so I could close its lid properly, my heart sank. He'd made sure to pack his hair styling regimen when he came to the tournament. Had he thought to pack my letter, too?

I thought of Yusuke's duffle bag. I hadn't spotted a letter lying among his scattered clothes, but perhaps inside…?

"What're the odds he made handy notations in the margins that I can use to divine his true feelings?" I mused to no one. "Slim to none?" I nodded, pomade lid clicking shut under my fingers. "Yeah. Slim to none."

"Keiko?"

I jumped, but it was only Botan poking her head through the bathroom's open doorway. I put my hand to my heart with a sigh. "You scared me!"

"Oh, sorry!" she said with a laugh. "I just wanted to let you know I was back, and that I was going to place our room service order." Botan waved the notepad with all of our orders on it at me; she'd added her meal at the bottom, her handwriting far loopier and more feminine than mine. "The only phone is in here, you see. Well, there's one in Kurama's room, too, but somehow it didn't feel right to invade his space. But Yusuke? I stay with him all the time, so…" She paused mid-ramble, looking me over as her blue eyebrows knit close together. "Are you all right?"

Why did people keep asking me that? Pasting on a smile, I shook my head. "Doing fine. Go ahead and order. I won't bother you."

She seemed uncertain, but I just shooed her out of the bathroom and shut the door after her. I didn't have to pee, but I sat on the toilet anyway and stared at my toes, listening as Botan's soft voice filtered through the door like the murmur of a distant ocean. Eventually she fell silent, and some time after that I thought I heard the bedroom door open and shut. Good. She'd left, then. To really sell the fiction of "Keiko needed a pee break," I flushed the toilet and washed my hands—but when I walked out of the bathroom, Botan was sitting on the bed. I shrieked a little. She shrieked, too, but composed herself more quickly than I did.

"Keiko, you sure are jumpy tonight!" she said. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah." This was mostly a lie, of course, but she didn't need to know that. I sat beside her on the bed as my heart stopped beating out of my chest. "I just, ah—" The next words out of my mouth were more genuine. "I just needed to be alone for a few minutes."

Botan's eyes softened. "We are all stepping on each other quite a lot, aren't we? Especially since we're going to be staying with the boys tonight."

A vision of Yusuke's sharp eyes flashed through my head. "I dunno about that," I said, one knee curling toward my chest.

She frowned. "You don't—?"

"I mean, is there even enough room for all of us?" I gestured at the two beds in the room, then at the door to the living room. "We'd have to double up on beds and maybe have some people use a futon…"

Her frowned deepened. "Keiko, I'm confused. Haven't we decided to stay? Your suitcase is already here, isn't it?"

And she pointed at the green duffle bag in the corner. I looked between it and her a few times, wondering what she was on about—and then, when it hit me, I couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh, no. That's Yusuke's. We have the same duffle bag." I grinned at the memory. "My parents bought them for us when we went on a trip to the beach a long time ago."

"Oh, but it wasn't the bag that made me think—um." Her cheeks pinked; she looked away. "Never mind."

It wasn't like Botan to just drop a subject. "What?" I asked, peering at her. "What are you getting at?"

Her eyes cut from me to the bag and back again. She took a deep breath, and when my stare didn't falter, she admitted: "Those looked like your clothes, is all."

Slowly, the two of us turned toward the duffle bag. Out of it spilled a pair of high-waisted mom jeans. A cutoff shirt. Athletic shorts. A t-shirt with a torn hem—dude clothes, mostly. The things Yusuke always wore.

And the same things you could find in my green duffle bag back in the other hotel suite.

… oh.

Oh.

My ears felt hot all of a sudden. "Oh. Um. I wear a lot of Yusuke's old clothes. Once he outgrows them." I rubbed the back of my neck with a laugh. "No sense letting them go to waste, right?"

Botan gnawed on her lower lip. Just then, the door to the room opened with a creak. "Maybe," said a dry, scratchy voice. "But it wouldn't kill you to own a blouse or two, would it?"

Botan wheeled toward the door and chucked a pillow in that direction. "Shizuru!" she scolded. "At least I was being tactful about it!"

"And I do own blouses!" I protested. "And I wore a dress yesterday, thank you very much!"

Shizuru walked into the room and kicked the door shut behind her. "Yeah, a dress with shorts under it and a bunch of throwing knives strapped to your leg." She plucked the cigarette from between her lips and exhaled a plume of smoke. "Face it, Keiko. If someone could mistake your suitcase for a boy like Yusuke's, you might need to consider a wardrobe overhaul."

"Yes, Keiko. I agree!" Botan snatched up my hands and beamed. "You're such a lovely girl, but the way you dress is sometimes…"

Her beam turned into a sympathetic stare. Shizuru's was more pitying than sympathetic, but she and Botan were both looking at me with such similar expressions, it felt… odd. Odd enough to give me a rather foreboding hunch.

"Have you two discussed my wardrobe before?" I said, glancing at them one after the other. "Out of my hearing?"

Botan looked away with a nervous giggle. Shizuru very carefully inspected the end of her cigarette. The hunch budding in my chest solidified.

"Oh. So you have discussed me before." I put a hand on my chin and pretended to look thoughtful. "I think I'm having an epiphany." The hand dropped. "Oh, wait. No. Nope. It's gone. Neither of you make a fair point and I'm going to ignore everything you just said." As Botan choked on air, caught between laughter and a reprimand, I asked, "What're you doing in here, anyway, Shizuru?"

"Avoiding my brother." She rolled her eyes as the sound of Kuwabara's gruff voice penetrated the door at her back; he was yelling something at Yusuke, by the sound of it. "You?"

My turn to roll my eyes. "Avoiding my brother."

Botan frowned. "Your bro—?" She cut herself off as understanding dawned in her bright eyes. "Oh. I see. You mean Yusuke."

While I nodded, Shizuru asked, "And you, Botan? Why'd you come in here?"

"Just ordering dinner.

"And before that?" Shizuru pressed. "Where were you earlier?"

"Scheduling a meeting for Koenma, actually. He left me a note." For some reason she turned to me to say, "Yusuke should be back in time for dinner later, but Koenma requested he meet with him in half an hour in the forest outside the hotel." Her smile turned a little sad. "I'll be walking Yusuke to the meeting spot, but I'll hang back once Koenma arrives."

I patted her knee; she squeezed my fingers with a small, weary sigh. She was still not on good terms with Koenma… but aside from that, it was easy enough to guess what the meeting would be about, though I tried not to let expectations infiltrate my expression. "Yeah, try to have him back soon," I said, attempting cheer to distract her from her woes. "Don't want dinner to get cold, and Yusuke can get real picky about cold food.."

She saluted with a giggle. "Roger that."

"Speaking of Yusuke." Shizuru sat on the end of the bed, her back to us as she spoke. "Looks like you two are still—"

Shizuru didn't get to finish. The door burst open midway through her sentence as someone pelted into the room with a shout of, "Botan, wait, I think we only ordered meat but Keiko doesn't eat—" He shut up when he spotted me, brown eyes as wide as I'd ever seen them, and he uttered a very tiny, "Oh."

A long, awkward silence followed.

Yusuke muttered: "You're here."

"So it would seem." I tried on my best and most grateful smile. "Thanks for looking out for me, though."

"Is that what I was doing?" Yusuke dug a finger in his ear, looking anywhere but at me. "Or was I just making sure you didn't get the meat farts later?"

My smile disappeared. "You're disgusting."

"Hey, you're the one who gets the shits if you accidentally eat pork," he shot back. "And since you're sleeping here tonight, I just can't take that risk."

"I, um." Botan raised one hand meekly into the air. "N-not to worry. I put tofu on the list for Keiko."

"Hmmph." Yusuke flashed me an impish grin. "See? Even Botan knows about the meat far—"

Words bubbled in my chest. "Yusuke—can we talk?" I blurted, hating how desperate I sounded. "Please?"

He stopped talking at once. As he stared at me in silence, Botan looked eagerly between us. Shizuru sighed and rolled to her feet. I suspected she'd head for the door, but instead she walked around the bed and hauled Botan up, tugging her out of the room by the back of her collar. "C'mon, nosey," she muttered around her cigarette. "Four's a crowd."

Botan whined. "But Shizuru!"

It was, perhaps, the closest I'd ever get to seeing Botan wear a real, live Nosey Kitty Face, but in that moment I barely noticed. I was too busy trading dire eye contact with Yusuke to really clock the way Botan looked as Shizuru dragged her from the room. I was too busy trying to get my heart out of my mouth as the door shut, leaving Yusuke and I very much alone.

Alone for the first time since the disastrous night when I tried to tell him who I really was—and the way he wouldn't quite look at me said he realized this, too.

He still refused to look at me as I curled my legs under my ass, grabbing a pillow off the head of the bed to hold tight in my arms. "Hi," I said, mostly to get his attention but also to break the silence.

My ploy worked. His eyes flickered my way, although he stayed standing at the foot of the bed. "Well, spit it out," he told me. "What do you want to talk about?"

I took a deep breath.

With every ounce of my courage to gird me, I asked him: "Did you get my letter?"

For a minute or so, silence reigned.

Then Yusuke said, "Letter?"

His tone was casual—too casual—and something about it got under my skin. I clutched the pillow in my arms a little tighter. Feathers inside it squished in on themselves with a creaking sound, small vibrations running down the length of my prickling forearms.

"Yeah. Letter." Sarcasm reared its head in response to my heart trying to bust out of my chest. "You know. Sent in an envelope, a stamp on the front, sheets of paper covered in writing inside…?"

Yusuke sat down on the bed in a huff. Although he put his back to me, he still turned one baleful eye my way. "I know what a letter is, grandma," he snarked.

"OK. Cool." I held my hands out, palms up in supplication. "So…?"

"So?" Yusuke repeated, as if the word was stupid as hell and even more annoying.

"So what did you think of my letter?" I said between my teeth. When his expression didn't change, I added, "The one I sent you? When you were training with Genkai?"

He didn't say anything. He just stared.

And that was somehow worse than him yelling or saying he hated me, because my anxiety-riddled brain filled in the silence with even worse possibilities. This silence meant he never wanted to see me again. It meant he would never talk to me after the tournament. It meant he thought the letter was full of more lies. It meant—

Yusuke swallowed, and the voices in my head fell mercifully silent to listen as he spoke.

Yusuke said: "I mean—what the fuck am I supposed to think of that letter?"

It wasn't the reaction I wanted, but it was better than hatred. "Well, hopefully you think that I'm telling the truth," I said, voice coming out in a strangled whisper. "And that you understand why—"

Yusuke did a double-take. "The truth?" he repeated. "The truth about what?" His lips curled back off his teeth. "The truth about katsudon and fairy tales?"

My throat thickened. "There—there was more to it than that."

"Bull shit." He stood and turned, looking down on me with hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. "Let me spell this out for you since you seem to have trouble understanding how things went down." One accusatory finger pointed directly at my nose, but all I could focus on were the furious brown eyes staring at me down its length. "You're shady as hell and I called you out on it. You promised to explain and then you skipped out before you could make good on that promise, and then you wrote me a letter" (here he inserted a pair of very sardonic air quotes) "that… what? Spelled out all your favorite recipes between retellings of fairy tales I don't give a crap about?"

My throat thickened even more. It was all I could do to repeat, like the most broken of all records: "There was more to it than that."

"Oh, I'll bet." Sarcasm dripped from every syllable, and his eyes blazed pure fire when he said, "'Ask Genkai,' huh?"

"Well." I swallowed my nerves as best as I could. "Did you?"

"Ask her what—which story I wanna hear before bed and what I want for breakfast the next morning?"

"Just answer the question, Yusuke."

But he rolled his eyes. "Funny how that works. You need me to answer questions, but like hell you'll ever return the favor." A beat. "And no. I didn't ask her."

The bottom fell out of my stomach. "Why not?" I asked, rising to my feet, too.

"Because after I read your damn letter I was too pissed off to even think about listening to you when you said to ask her, that's why!" He crossed his arms and shook his head, every line of his body vibrating with tension. "And by the time I calmed down and punched a few rocks into dust, the letter had—"

He stopped talking. He looked down and away, glaring at the floor like he was as mad at it as he was at me. When he didn't keep going, though, I took a small step toward him.

"And the letter had what, Yusuke?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

"Yusuke."

Something in my tone stopped him cold. He licked his lips, shook his head, started to speak—then stopped again. Slowly he looked up and met my eyes, holding them in a long, frustrated gaze until he took a deep breath.

He said: "The letter disappeared."

It took me a minute to follow. I stood there in silence, just looking at him, and repeated in a disbelieving whisper, "You… lost it?"

"What? No! No, I didn't lose it! Use your damned ears!" Yusuke snapped. "I meant it when I said it disappeared! One minute it was in my bag and the next time I looked for it, it was gone! I didn't take it somewhere and leave it lying at the bus stop or whatever."

My jaw dropped. "Oh my god!"

And with that, my legs gave out, sending me onto the bed with a bounce. I stared at him with my mouth open, thoughts racing but silent—because this was the absolute opposite of what I'd expected him to say. Mainly because it was so utterly and completely outside the realm of my expectation.

Yusuke had… lost my letter?

With a groan I cupped my face, pressing the heels of my hands into my eye sockets until I saw stars. All my carefully laid plans. All my exact, meticulous wording. All of the veiled references and double meanings, hidden messages and obscured truths layered into seemingly innocuous bits and bobs… for nothing? I'd stayed up all night crafting that letter for nothing?

And I mean, sure. The letter had been a bit obscure, but only to guard against the eyes of spies and those not meant to read it. No one who didn't already know the truth about me would've been able to make head or tail of the seemingly random assortment of stories, recipes, journal entries and correspondences I'd packed into that envelope—but that's where Genkai came in. On the very last page I'd written for Yusuke to ask her for guidance, and to trust what she had to tell him. If he had just asked Genkai, he'd know what that letter and all its weirdness represented. He would know that I'd done my goddamn best to tell him the truth from afar.

But for him to lose the letter—?

For him to lose the letter without asking Genkai about why I'd directed him to speak with her—?

Yusuke made an impatient sound in the back of his throat. "To be honest, I don't know what you're so upset about," he said, one foot drumming against the carpet with little, muffled taps. "The letter made no sense at all. Genkai's smart, but even she wouldn't understand that crap."

I lifted my face from my hands so I could glower at him. "Well, we'll never know now that you've lost it."

His jaw dropped. "Wait. You're mad at me?"

I started to deny it—but the heat in my chest stopped me cold, irony both burning and icy at once. I stood up again and rounded on him with a growl of, "I have been stewing and obsessing for the last two months about whether or not you read—" Words failed. I threw up my hands with a wordless sound of aggravation. "I have been lying awake at night—" Words failed again. I regrouped. "It's been eating me up inside and you just—" For a third time, words failed me. My hands came up and I shouted, "You lost it?!"

"Hey!" Yusuke protested, coming nose to nose with me. "If you weren't so shady, this wouldn't have happened in the first place!"

"Maybe if you weren't so irresponsible—"

"Oh, so I'm the bad guy here?!"

"No, but you're certainly not making this any easier, Yusuke!"

"Not making this—" His face turned beet read. "Shut up!"

"You shut up!" I countered.

"No, you!"

"No, you!"

He yanked the pillow out of my hands and shoved it at me. I shoved it back at him. He shoved it back at me, and I grabbed it and swung it at his face. It connected with a satisfying whump of feathers on flesh, but Yusuke dodged out from under my next attack and swiped another pillow off the bed. He aimed a blow at my legs, feathers striking thighs hard enough to send me staggering. I shrieked and rounded on him, looping an arm around his neck so I could rumple his perfectly coiffed hair, and he retaliated by hooking his fingers into the waistband of my pants and yanking, hard, so my underwear shot straight up my ass in the worst wedgie imaginable. With a scream I flipped him onto the bed and grabbed a pillow so I could smother him alive, but he grabbed another pillow and aimed it at my face with a bellow of fury—

The pillow hit my head and exploded in a shower of brilliant white feathers.

Ears ringing, I sat up on my knees on the bed. Yusuke shoved the pillow away from his face and looked skyward, mouth open in shock. Above us swirled a typhoon of feathers, pure white and infinite. One feather amid the maelstrom drifted down onto Yusuke's tongue; he grimaced and spat, sending a wad of sticky wet feather to the carpet with a splat.

Above, the ceiling fan caught the feathers and sent them soaring.

I held out my hands like a kid catching the year's first snowfall.

Yusuke's eyes met mine amid the fluffy downpour.

In unison, our eyes started to water, and our shoulders started to shake.

The door burst open right about then. "Keiko?!" came Kuwabara's rough voice. "Are you all right?! I thought I heard a scream, and—wait, wait, hold up." He stopped short, befuddled as he stared at the feathers raining from the ceiling. "What the hell—?"

And with that, we fucking lost it.

Perhaps it was the hysteria that made it all so funny. Perhaps it was merely our emotions riding high, flip-flopping from one extreme to the other in reaction to stress. Whatever made this so horrifically funny, I really can't say—but the fact remained that Yusuke and I fell to pieces together. Yusuke collapsed onto the bed, lying spread-eagle as he cackled. I buckled bonelessly across him, face buried in the feather piles accumulating on the coverlet. We wheezed; we guffawed; we hooted and screeched and beat out fists onto the mattress, tears streaming from our eyes as we rolled around in mirth. The others were gathering in the doorway in a perplexed knot to watch, tracking the fall of the feathers through the air around with expressions ranging from confusion (Kuwabara) to delight (Atsuko, Botan) to skeptical boredom (Shizuru) to wonderment (Yukina) to the barest of dry amusement (Kurama). Yusuke and I paid them little mind, however. Yusuke just shoved me off of him with another horselaugh, and I lay next to him on the feather-covered bed as our chests heaved and I tried desperately not to let my laughs turn to sobs of relief.

If Yusuke was laughing—if he wasn't glaring, and was instead laughing—that had to mean—

"Oh, man." He grabbed a handful of feathers and used them to blot at his watering eyes. "When was the last time we had a pillow fight, anyway?"

I used a feather to dab at my cheeks, too. "Years ago."

"Right, right." He dumped his fistful of feathers onto my face, laughing when I sputtered. "Well. Dunno about you, but I feel better."

Yusuke smiled at me.

And I almost started to cry.

I didn't, though. I had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep from bursting into tears, sure, but I didn't cry. I just nodded at him and traded his smile for one of my own, cheeks stretching until they hurt.

From the doorway, Shizuru said, "So did you two make up, or what?"

She sounded as bored as she looked. I was anything but. I looked anxiously at Yusuke, unable to help it—but when he looked at me, I couldn't meet his gaze. I sat up and studied the feathers settling on the floor and on the beds, hoping I didn't look too guilty as I waited for his verdict.

Yusuke said, with a smile in his voice, "Sort of."

I glanced up in hopeful surprise, hardly daring to believe it. "You mean—?"

He gave me a Look. "Still mad. And at some point, when things aren't trying to kill us so damn often, I'll want answers." But then he cracked another smile, real and broad and true. "For now we need all the friends we can get, and besides." His look turned more than a little sly. "If it's been keeping you awake at night for months… that kind of sounds like just desserts."

I blew a breath of amused air through my nose. "Justice has been served, huh?"

"Pretty much." He grinned. "But only if you bake me a cake or something."

"Just desserts; bake a cake," I mused. "Pun intended?"

"What? Oh, no! Gross! I ain't no nerd!" He sobered quickly enough, rolling off the bed so he could raise his arms in a long, languid stretch. "But still. Answers and cake, once this is all over." His lips curled at the corners. "Maybe one of the recipes from that letter, even."

Kuwabara marched into the room, glancing between Yusuke and me with a frown. "Huh? What letter?" he asked.

I ignored him and instead stretched a hand toward Yusuke. "It's a deal."

Yusuke took my hand and shook it.

Once more, I had to try very hard not to cry—because even if things hadn't been put to rest between Yusuke and me quite yet, this was a relief of the highest order. Before, he couldn't even look at me, but now he could look at me and smile? It was more than I could ask for… and even if it had come at the cost of one of the hotel's expensive feather pillows, this whole incident was so utterly and charmingly Yusuke that I couldn't help but feel my spirits soar. Of course Yusuke would want to work through his feelings physically, even if it was with something as mundane as a pillow fight and as infantile as a wedgie. He wasn't one for words when it came to self-expression; he was one for fisticuffs, even if they came in the form of feathers and wedgies and noogies.

This was my Yusuke, distilled—and my heart felt a million times lighter for it.

I was all smiles as he rose to his feet and dusted the feathers from his shoulders and pants. "Botan. We'd better head out," he said, heading for the doorway where she stood. Don't want to keep the toddler king waiting."

Botan tutted as she followed after him into the living room. "You know he doesn't like it when you call him that…!"

Kuwabara shouted at Yusuke's retreating back, "Does anyone want to explain what's going on?!"

"Gee, leaving me with cleanup duty?" I shouted after Yusuke, too. "How nice of you!"

"More payback." He winked over his shoulder. "Well. See ya in a bit."

I grinned back. "See ya."

"Hey! Yusuke!" Kuwabara said, taking a few steps after him, but Yusuke walked right out of the hotel suite with Botan on his heels. Kuwabara soon turned to me with a pout and a mutter of, "Clue me in, huh?" He blinked as I walked past him without saying anything. "Keiko?"

Coming to a stop by the doorway, I nodded at Kurama. "Hey, Kurama. I'm gonna get a trash bag. Will you call the desk and ask for a replacement pillow?" I pointed at the sad, deflated pillowcase on the floor. "We, um." I rubbed the back of my neck, grin sheepish. "We sort of destroyed one."

He smiled and turned toward his room. "Of course," he said—and his smile warmed a little. "And I'm glad to see you're feeling a bit better."

My smile warmed as well. "Thanks."

Yukina came forward then, too. "Let me help, Keiko," she said, pushing back her heavy kimono sleeves. "We can clean this faster if we work together."

"Oh, thank you," I said, unable to keep a small flush from my cheeks. "Sure."

Kuwabara threw up his hands. "Hey! Don't just leave me in the dark!"

Instead of filling him in, I only smiled. "Wanna help us clean?" I asked.

And then he was all smiles, too. "Oh! Sure thing!" he said, voice bright as a noonday sun. "We'll have this cleaned up in no time, don't you worry!"

Just like that, at the prospect of helping me, his mood turned completely around—but that's what I'd been counting on, as manipulative as that sounds. It was better for Kuwabara to gamely clean up feathers with me and Yukina than for him to pry into my business with Yusuke... and to my delight, it seemed like Kuwabara talked to Yukina as often as he talked to me while we cleaned up the feathery mess Yusuke and I had left in the wake of our small reconciliation.

At least, I hoped he was talking to her as much as he was to me.

But I didn't want to think about it too hard, for fear of what answers I might find upon taking a closer look.

With Yukina and Kuwabara's help, we made short work of the feathery mess Yusuke and I had created together. Shizuru and Atsuko watched from the doorway and gave us tips, but didn't lift a finger to assist (which Kuwabara crabbily pointed out whenever Shizuru critiqued his feather-grabbing skills). Kurama tried to help, but I told him to get lost and sit the hell down; he had just removed the plants from his bloodstream and had no business crawling around trying to catch the feathers rolling around under the beds. Hiei, of course, was nowhere to be found for any of this.

"Probably off stealing a new shirt off a clothesline," I muttered to Kurama at one point. "Really. I have no idea where Hiei gets his clothes. I just assume he steals all of them."

Kurama masked his laughter with a delicate cough, looking pained as the action jostled his wounds, and promised to look into the matter for me.

Once we got the bedroom put to rights again, Yukina and I went into the kitchen to find plates, cups and silverware for dinner. There was a table big enough for all of us in an alcove off the kitchen; we set places there for everyone, including the absentee Hiei. If he didn't want to be polite and hang out with his sister, that was fine, but I'd be damned if I didn't make an effort to include his loner ass and give him something to kvetch about later.

Kurama consulted his watch as he helped us set out plates and cups. "The food should be here shortly, if the font desk's time estimate is accurate."

"Think Yusuke'll be back in time?" I asked.

"Hopefully so. Though depending on what Koenma wants…" He shrugged, wincing when the motion tugged at his wounds. "It is difficult to say."

"Hmm." Shizuru muttered numbers under her breath for a second. "Maybe it's best he's late. We're a plate short, if you're really set on including Hiei."

We were indeed missing one place setting, which made Yukina's face fall a little. "Should we call the front desk?" she asked. She put a hand to her lips, regret clouding her luminous eyes. "Though I am afraid I do not know quite how to work a telephone…"

"It's OK," I was quick to assure her. I headed for the door with a grin, glad to see her expression lift. "I can get a plate from our suite; no worries."

"Want me to come with?" Shizuru called after me.

"Nah. It's not far. Be right back."

Kurama lifted a hand, gesturing for me to wait a moment. "Kei, are you certain—"

"It'll be fine, Kurama," I said. "I'm just going to—"

Movement flickered in my periphery. I came to a stop and turned in time to see the Masked Fighter (who had been as unobtrusive as a fly on the wall in the past few hours) step out of the kitchen to stand between me and the suite door. For a minute we just stood there, staring at each other—but then the Masked Fighter lifted their hand and pushed the door open, gesturing with their other arm for me to walk straight through.

I looked over my shoulder at Kurama and the others. "Looks like I have an escort, after all," I said, grinning. "Be right back!"

A murmur of assents followed after me and the Masked Fighter as we moved into the hallway. As soon as the door shut behind us, however, my grin faded, tension coiling in my shoulders as we walked in silence to the elevators at the end of the hall. The Masked Fighter pushed the floor button, not deigning to speak as we waited for a car to open up. Soon one did, and when we stepped through, they remained silent even after the doors shut after us.

As the car moved, stuttering as it began to ascend, I said, "Hello, Genkai."

She didn't move, head beneath its white wrapping staying perfectly still. "So you knew it was me?" she said, hoarse voice soft in the stillness of the elevator.

I resisted the urge to tell her she was the shortest person I had ever met. "I had a hunch."

"Well," she said, brusque as always. "I suppose that saves me any awkward revelations."

"True." I forced a smile. "Good to see you. It's been a minute."

"Try a few years," she said. "You're looking well. The haircut suits you."

"Thanks."

"It makes you look nearly as much of a degenerate as Yusuke."

"Aw, only nearly? I was trying to outdo him."

"Try a mohawk next time."

I hummed. "Will do."

We endured the rest of our ascent in silence, which surprised me. I'd assumed Genkai wanted to speak with me about something; she didn't seem the type to reveal herself without good reason, and I'd been very careful not to approach her or act like I knew her underneath her mask. I kept expecting her to break the silence as we got off the elevator and headed for my suite, but she said nothing at all while I unlocked the door and headed into the kitchen for a place setting. She likewise said nothing as I, acting on a sudden burst of inspiration, walked from room to room packing my friends' bags with essentials they'd need this evening and the next morning.

Genkai merely trailed behind me in silence.

Watching.

Watching, and not bothering to help at all as I wrangled toothbrushes and hairbrushes and changes of clothes for everyone. Her eyes simply bored into the back of my head through the tiniest of slats in her head wrap, as if she tried to see into the depths of my thoughts with her eyes alone.

Eventually the silence began to grate. "Not trying to be rude here," I said as I leaned into one of the showers for Atsuko's bottle of shampoo. "But do you have something to say to me?"

"Yusuke didn't lose your letter."

I jerked my head out of the shower. "Sorry; come again?"

"He didn't lose your letter." A pair of beady eyes gleamed between strips of dingy cloth. "He didn't lose it, because I took it."

My fingers went slack.

Atsuko's shampoo fell to the tile floor with the clatter of an execution bell.

And Genkai stood there in silence, eyes gleaming from the shadows, waiting for me to react.

Notes:

One of the advantages of writing week-to-week like I do is that I can pretty accurately gauge how I should update/meddle with my story's outline as I go along, owing entirely to the comments you leave each week. People have been getting pretty antsy for her to make up with Yusuke, and I wasn't necessarily planning on the pillowfight scene to come at this point in the tournament—but your reviews often tip me off to things that I need to change and alter, and thus I felt it prudent to move this scene forward a bit. So thanks for chiming in with your various comments, because they can and do affect how I handle this story's progression with each chapter. I much prefer this placement of the temporary appeasement with Yusuke as opposed to what I had originally planned; thank you for that!

And on that note: Don't be too mad at Genkai. You'll learn more next chapter, but just… don't be too mad just yet. She had her reasons. (Also I've been sitting on the knowledge that Genkai took the letter for MONTHS now, and I'm happy to finally get to reveal that the letter never quite made it to its intended destination.)

OK. So I don't think I've ever done this before, but… please go watch "One Day at a Time" on Netflix if you're able to. It's my favorite show and they're trying to get it renewed but it needs more streams. The show got me through some tough times and if you can do me (not to mention the show) this favor, I'd appreciate it. It's incredibly diverse, funny, and poignant, and way better than a lot of shows that get tons of seasons for no reason. Lydia Alvarez is a blessing unto mankind. You will understand once you watch "One Day at a Time." THANK YOU!

Sorry this chapter was a bit short (8,500 instead of the 10,000+ monsters I've put out recently) but I felt this was a good stopping point and I HATE wasting nice cliffhangers when they arise, haha. Anyway, many thanks to all those who chimed in on the previous chapter. I know the biweekly schedule is hard for some people to remember/keep up with, and I appreciate your feedback very much: Beastrage, sdelacruz, jlol, DragonsTower, incredibly incompetent, Anon, Erisandmira, Momma, JestWine, Gerbilfriend, Rosethornli, katsheswims, Ms_Liz, scallionite, actively apathetic, rosesandlion, Keet, Nollyn!

Chapter 92: Don't Know You At All

Summary:

In which Not-Quite-Keiko knows, and doesn't know, familiar characters.

Notes:

This is a short chapter but I plan to update next weekend, too, to make up for it; please see my notes at the end of this chapter.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The faucet in the shower was leaking.

It was a small leak. Small, but rhythmic, each drip striking porcelain tub with the same musical plink of falling water. One after another drops fell from the metal spigot and into the spacious garden tub below, and for a moment, this was the only sound in the bathroom aside from the beat of my own heart.

But then, and soon, somewhere in the wall to my left a pipe began to hum. The AC unit keeping the bathroom cool vibrated in the ceiling overhead when it kicked on. A draft of cold air sluiced over the hairs on my nape, teasing them upward as goosebumps broke out across my skin. My empty, sweaty hands rasped as I scraped them over my shirt, blotting moisture into fabric with the sound of sandpaper on flesh.

For a moment, these details crowded forward, taking up every last ounce of my conscious mind until there was room for nothing else.

But beneath all that, my subconscious toiled—and then, as Genkai's beady brown eyes bored into my own from across the small, tiled bathroom, the penny finally dropped.

Voice like a snake's in the cold room, I rounded on her and snarled: "You did what?!"

Unlike me, Genkai didn't miss a beat. "It was for his own good," she shot back, tone curt and dry and as caustic as corrosive chemicals. "Yusuke was distracted as it was when we first started training. Seems you weren't careful with who you really are and the boy picked up on that, but rather than tell him the truth when he demanded it, you obfuscated."

"Hey, I tried to tell him," I said through my own grit teeth. "It's not my fault a psychopath—"

"I don't care." Her deadpan gaze brooked absolutely zero room for argument, and in spite of the rage bubbling hot and arid in my chest, I still stumbled backward against the sink's ensconcing marble countertops when she took one quick step in my direction. "What matters is that he came to me a divided soul, torn between training to make it through this tournament alive and running back home to hash out his petty differences with a childhood friend. He was unfocused, scattered, and incapable of concentrating long enough to make any sort of improvements whatsoever." Her eyes narrowed between the slits in her headwrap; they seemed too bright to belong to the ancient Genkai, and I had to wonder if she overflowed with power in that moment, energy potent but undetectable to my mundane eyes. Speaking with utter, undisguised derision, Genkai said to me: "I decided his life was more important than putting a trivial argument to bed, so when that letter came, I acted as I saw fit to save his life."

I gaped at her and stammered, "You—you had no right to make that choice for him!"

"YOU had no right to make the choice for him!" she retorted.

"Better him distracted while training than distracted while here, at the actual Tournament!"

"And yet it seems you were able to ameliorate his feelings well enough tonight, weren't you?" Her cold words, uttered with the barest touch of wry, patronizing amusement, rendered me once more speechless. Genkai slowly shook her head, eyes not wavering in the slightest. "The truth can wait, Keiko. It can wait until our lives no longer hang in the balance. It can wait until we've won, when Yusuke can look the truth in the eye without risking his own safety in the bargain."

We stood there in silence after that, just staring at each other. Three times I started to speak, thought better of it, and lapsed back into silence—because dammit, Genkai had a point, and that meant I found myself fresh out of witty rejoinders or tempered arguments (it wasn't like I'd seen this coming, after all). Genkai had a point, and it sucked. It sucked to know that it was too late to tell him the truth here, at the Tournament, much though I'd started to want to rip the band aid off of that confession and just get the damn thing over with. He suspected too much for me to continue to keep my secrets, and I hated waiting too much to guard them for much longer.

Much though she had a point, though, she was also not entirely in the right. Genkai thought if I told the truth to Yusuke, he'd be too distracted to give it his everything in the fights—and sure, there was a chance that could indeed happen. But I knew Yusuke well enough to know that he wasn't the type to dwell and linger once you reached a peace. Hold a grudge while things are uncertain? Sure. But the fight with the pillows showed that once he had his desired catharsis, he could move past his issues and compartmentalize.

It was a toss-up, in the end, which of us was right about the timing of my big reveal… but by now my character should be pretty obvious, and it should be likewise obvious that Genkai's theory about Yusuke's reaction made me too damn anxious to not listen to her. Genkai was smart, after all. It was the first thing I'd noticed about her when we met. And now, much though I knew Yusuke and his personality, I'd be a fool not to take Genkai's advice to heart.

I pinched the bridge of my nose with a sigh. "Dammit, Genkai." In spite of myself, my lips curled in a knowing smirk. "But I suppose it was asking a lot for you to trust my judgement. "You aren't the type to—"

"Quit acting like you know me."

My hand dropped from my face. "Huh?"

"You know my story. But that isn't the same thing as knowing me." Her eyes bored into mine, their color closer to amber than brown in their intensity. "And I don't know you at all."

Her glare gave me pause—like, a decade's worth of pause, if we're being honest. I doubted I'd ever not find Genkai intimidating, and being on the receiving end of her glare was intimidating indeed. That glare warned me that if I deigned to step too close to her without her express permission, she wouldn't hesitate to retaliate in whatever way she saw fit. And honestly? I wouldn't blame her for doing so. Her glare was a reminder that whole I knew startling (and often intimate) details of those around me, my familiarity with canon characters was a one-way street. This wasn't the first time this had been brought to my attention, of course. It was just easy to forget that just because I loved and admired a character, there was absolutely no guarantee they'd love or admire me back.

Genkai's eyes, admirable as they were, spoke volumes in this regard.

I knew Genkai, but Genkai… she resented me for it. She resented me and my familiarity, and under the weight of that warning gaze, I found myself shrinking in embarrassment.

My hands came up behind me, grasping the lip of the cold marble counter. Nervously I pulled them away. Blotted them on my clothes. Gripped the counter again. Found myself looking everywhere but at Genkai as I bent to pick up Atsuko's shampoo, which lay discarded on its side at my feet.

"I don't—" I swallowed as I straightened up, gripping the bottle tightly. "I don't even know what to say right now."

"Say you'll keep your damn mouth shut, for starters," she said. "And say you'll keep it shut until the day we win."

I didn't say either of those things, though, and I do not know how Genkai interpreted my silence. Instead I merely turned around and grabbed the bag I'd placed on the counter, slipping Atsuko's bottle inside it as I tried to ignore the way Genkai stared at me in the mirror.

"And we will win," Genkai said… and then in a low voice she added, "won't we?"

My breathing hitched, though because of the question itself or the quiet manner in which she spoke it I can't say. Rather than reply, I scanned the countertops. Found everyone's toothbrushes. Put them in my bag along with Atsuko's hair oil and Shizuru's tooth-whitening paste. My hands jerked more than I'd have liked as I debated what to say to her, and once again, I started speaking more than once before finding the strength to respond in full.

In the end I settled on a mild, noncommittal: "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Somehow I managed to give her pause, this time. She said nothing, face inscrutable behind her mask—and then, slowly, she walked to my side. Her footsteps clicked in time to the dripping faucet, and when at last she settled into stillness beside me, her eyes remained in shadow. Neither of us spoke for a time. I busied myself by gathering more of Atsuko's toiletries.

"No," she said at last. "What I want is for you to tell me if what I'm planning is worth the effort."

There was no need for her to spell her plans for me outright. I knew them well enough already. Genkai's Spirit Orb was the first thing I'd talked with her about, the first inside information I'd used to get her to believe me when I said I knew the eventual outcome of her life's long story. But although I knew what she was asking of me, I had no idea if I should answer her. Was it possible for me to talk about this without putting the future in jeopardy?

Eventually I closed my eyes, hands lying still and chilly in front of the sink. "If I say no, you'll just think of something equally reckless to attempt," I said, each word chosen with utmost care. "If I say yes, you—" I paused to swallow down the nerves in my throat. "You know what'll happen, I think, without me saying it." I opened my eyes and began hunting for more toiletries. "So I'll say nothing."

Genkai harrumphed. "Fine. I won't ask if we win, or if my methods will work." Her enrobed head ducked, chin tucking to her chest. "But will Yusuke live, if I do this?"

Her intent—to keep Yusuke safe, and not to safeguard her own wellbeing—brought an instant lump to my throat. My eyes pricked, but I didn't let my poker face slip. I kept hunting for toiletries, opening and shutting drawers to distract myself from Genkai (because, let's face it, Atsuko wasn't the type to unpack and actually use hotel storage spaces). Genkai's inscrutable wrapped face pointed without flinching in my direction, but even so, my blank expression held firm.

Genkai gave a low chuckle. "Stubborn," she said. "But so am I."

I couldn't help but look at her, then. "So you're going to…?"

"Go through with my plan?" She nodded. "Yes."

The lump in my neck grew bigger. "OK," I said. I nodded, too. "Understood."

I hunted for more of Atsuko's things.

Genkai kept staring.

Soon Genkai chuckled again. "You think you're slick," she said, and I thought I detected a hint of a smile in her voice. "The fact that you're not trying to dissuade me speaks volumes."

I drew in a breath. "Genkai…"

But I stopped talking after that, because what could I possibly say?

Tough though it was to admit, Genkai… Genkai needed to die. She needed to give Yusuke her Orb, and in doing so, she would die—or, rather, Toguro would kill her in her weakened state after she handed it over, and this sacrifice (much though I loathed the idea of knowingly sending Genkai to her death) was a crucial component in Yusuke's survival. Her death would power him up enough to beat Toguro, and he would be so galvanized by his mentor's death that he would have no choice but to pour everything he had into the fight against her killer.

Obviously Yusuke needed the Orb. Obviously Genkai needed to go through with her plan for everyone to win. Obviously Genkai would have to die for this to happen. And yes, Koenma would bring her back to life at the end of the Tournament… but that didn't mean advocating for her eventual demise was easy.

Just because I needed to send her to her doom didn't mean I had to like it.

My poker face didn't flicker as I considered these things.

Genkai saw through it anyway.

"You're conflicted," she said when the silence thinned near to breaking. "And that tells me everything I need to know."

She didn't sound upset when she said it.

And unlike me, she didn't know what the future held.

But in the smallest glimpse I caught of her eyes before she left the bathroom, I saw serenity—serenity in the face of painful inevitability, and contentment that her decision (whatever it may bring) was the correct decision to make.

I gathered up the rest of Atsuko, Botan and Shizuru's things in silence. Genkai stood near the windows in the living room, gazing down at the courtyard with the pool in silence. Soon she followed me into the hall without a word, dogging my steps all the way down to the elevator. We pushed the button without speaking. We waited for the car to arrive without speaking. Boarded it quietly, each lost to our own thoughts.

As the doors shut behind us, Genkai said: "You were right, you know."

I glanced at her askance. On the number panel above the floor buttons, a red down arrow flashed. Around us the car shuddered as it began its slow descent.

"He's the best apprentice I've ever had," Genkai said. Her eyes flickered toward me. "And he's far and away the only one I'd die for."

The lump returned to my throat at once. It was so large I couldn't say anything. I just gripped the bag in my hand more tightly, hefting my backpack higher up my shoulder.

Genkai said, "I sense you understand the feeling."

As she was with most thing, she was right about that. I swiped at my eyes, dragging a snuffling breath in through my tingling nose. The car came to a stop shortly thereafter. Genkai walked ahead as the doors slid open, giving me a moment's privacy to rag my sleeve across my eyelids and wet cheeks.

"Take care of him when I'm gone, girl of many lives." One brown eye turned over her shoulder—and now the skin around it seemed as ancient as the forest that surrounded her temple home. "Promise me."

Helplessly, I nodded.

She turned her face away. "Good."

We walked back to the suite without speaking. When we went inside, I placed the extra place setting I'd grabbed on the dining table and dragged my backpack and duffle into one of the bedrooms. Along the way, Shizuru caught my eye from where she lounged against a wall, one brow lifting as she looked me over.

"You OK, kid?" Shizuru asked around her cigarette.

"Fine," I said—but I wasn't fine at all.

Even though we'd likely (probably, hopefully) use the wish we were granted for winning the Dark Tournament to resurrect Genkai, I still could not shake the taste of betrayal from my lips.

Would Yusuke forgive me, when and if he discovered the grim business toward which I'd just sent Genkai?

I couldn't say for sure.

I could merely hope that he would one day understand.

A bellhop had delivered our room service and we had just sat down to eat it when the suite door, hidden from the dining table around a corner, opened yet again. Two pairs of feet entered the suite. One of them veered to the left and into the kitchen. The other continued forward, and soon Botan appeared before us with her hand over her mouth, eyes wide and enormous above her fingers. I couldn't quite discern her expression as she sat down at the table and stared with oddball intensity at her water glass, and over the plates of food between us, Kurama and I exchanged a Look.

Shizuru, meanwhile, shot the unseen kitchen a Look of her own. "Welcome back, Yusuke?" she said. "I assume that's Yusuke in there, at least."

"He didn't even say hello," Kuwabara muttered into his plate of sad-lookin' ramen (which he had, true to character, prepared from a packet, distrustful of the hotel's intent to poison us).

I could practically see Yusuke rolling his eyes at that. "Yeah, yeah," he said. Cabinets opened and closed with a bang in the kitchen; drawers rolled out of and back into place soon after. "Where the heck's my food?" he groused.

I giggled. "In the container on the counter labelled 'for Yusuke.'"

"… found it."

The entire table laughed at that. Yusuke grumbled something, voice distinct but unintelligible. A plastic container opened with a zippering noise, and soon came the telltale sound of someone slurping noodles with barely a pause between bites. Atsuko frowned at that, putting down her chopsticks so she could cross her arms and scowl.

"I know I didn't teach you manners," she called at the kitchen, "but even I know you shouldn't eat in the damn kitchen, Yusuke!"

The slurping stopped. "Uh," he said, eloquently, but he didn't appear from around the corner.

Botan swallowed, hand dropping into her lap. "Yes, Yusuke," she said, each word a struggle for some reason. "Join us!"

Her cheeks puffed out. She clapped her hand over her mouth, made a strangled noise in her chest, and put her head onto the table before her with a 'thunk.' Kuwabara (not to mention the rest of us) stared at her as her shoulders began to shake, looking between Botan and the far-away kitchen in turns.

"Hey," Kuwabara said. "What's going on?" He pushed back his chair and stood, balling up his napkin and tossing it next to his plate. Walking toward the kitchen, he disappeared around the corner while saying, "I mean, what gives? Both of you are being really weir—oh my god, what the hell is that?!"

"Oh for the love of—SHUT THE HELL UP!" Yusuke bellowed.

And beside me, Botan burst out laughing.

It was almost cartoonish, the way we all looked at Botan before standing up in unison and rushing toward the kitchen, but that's exactly what we did. Shizuru, Kurama, Atsuko, Yukina, the masked Genkai and crowded around the kitchen doorway to find a stricken, ashen-faced Kuwabara backed up against the sink. Yusuke had perched himself atop a counter to eat his beef and noodles; he slouched in place, glaring at his food as if it had done him personal wrong and eating it was an act of divine retribution.

And atop his head perched a familiar blue blob.

Well. A mostly familiar blue blob, I guess.

The creature was royal blue with a mop of black hair on its head. It was shaped sort of like a penguin, in the most general sense imaginable (except it didn't really have much of a neck to speak of). A little yellow beak occupied the middle of its face. Above the nose were a pair of enormous, watery brown eyes, and jutting out from below the mop of hair hung two huge flaps of ear-like skin that fell from the top of the creature's head to brush Yusuke's shellacked hair, and in those senses it looked infinitely familiar—but that's where the similarities between this creature and canon-Puu both ended and began. The creature's feet were clawed, digging into Yusuke's hair with a vice grip, and the ears weren't like the giant floppy ears of canon Puu at all. Instead they were more like the wings of a flying squirrel, skin connected to the bulk of Puu's body from top to bottom along its sides, with folds of furry flesh gathered under the armpits (armpits connected to might-be-Puu's head instead of its shoulder? Its anatomy was confusing as fuck). Or perhaps they were more like bat wings, really, because midway down them on their outside edge I spotted a set of shiny little claws.

Puu (or the creature I assumed was Puu, at least) lay on its belly on Yusuke's head, grabbing the hair on the nape of his neck and above his ears in its clawed feet and wing-hands, spread like a sentient and wobbly hat over the punk's skull. Despite the differences in its appearance and anatomy when compared to canon-Puu, this creature was still damn cute, staring over at us with its enormous eyes and blinking with slow, adorable blinks.

Yusuke didn't acknowledge the creature, of course. He ate without speaking, looking only at his food, not caring when he bent low and the creature had to dig in its claws to stay on Yusuke's head (though Yusuke's eyes watered a bit when that happened, so it seemed he wasn't totally oblivious). Soon, though, Yusuke had to acknowledge the thing clinging to his head, because the-thing-that-might-be-Puu spotted a morsel of food as Yusuke brought it to his mouth. The creature's wing-claws darted out and snatched the bit of beef out of Yusuke's chopsticks without hesitation before popping it into its beak and chewing with little mouthy snaps. Yusuke crossed his eyes and glared up at the thing, growling as he picked up another bite of beef.

No one said a word.

Behind us, Botan began to laugh again—this time hysterically—and the confused spell upon us broke.

"Wha… what is that thing?" Kuwabara stammered, unnerved as he all but climbed into the kitchen sink.

"It's adorable!" Atsuko said.

"Yes, it is very cute," Yukina agreed.

From the dining room came Botan's laugh-weakened call of, "It's Yusuke's Spirit Beast!"

"His what?"

Botan staggered into view at that point, leaning against the wall for support as she giggled. Haltingly she explained what Spirit Beasts were and how Yusuke, while a ghost, had acquired the egg of one to act as the barometer against which the purity of his soul would be measured as he sought to be revived. We listened in stunned silence; Yusuke listened with growing disgruntlement, a growl building in his chest with every one of Botan's chortled words.

"That thing—that thing is a reflection of, of Yusuke's spirit!" she was saying as she slid down the wall, knees giving out as she gave a cackle of mirth. "And it's so cute!"

"Oh my god, Yusuke!" Kuwabara crawled out of the sink and pointed at the creature, mouth agape but curling with a smile at the corners. "You mean this is your soul?" He threw back his head and guffawed. "Who knew you were so soft and squishy inside!"

"Can it, asshole," Yusuke said, glaring. "And you can shut up too, Botan, because I've had it up to here with your—"

Not-Quite-Puu ignored Yusuke's ranting, staring over at us with his gargantuan, slightly bulbous eyes in silence. Then its body tensed, and Yusuke yelped when the creature shoved away from his head and pitch itself into the air. Pretty much everyone made the same shocked sound of fright and surprise as the creature plummeted toward the floor, but then its wings beat, thick skin thinning into a sky-blue membrane it used to flitter and flutter through the air, soaring up and then down again—and straight at my face. I almost shrieked as it hit my face like a pie hitting the face of a clown, but somehow I held my tongue as its wing-claws grabbed onto my short hair. I found my face covered by its body, light turning pale blue as it filtered through its wings and into my wide, stunned eyes.

This thing had a second set of hands, I realized then, in the same place canon-Puu had had them. These soft paws cupped my face beneath the canopy of its wings, eyes staring directly into mine, nose to… well, nose to beak as it clung to my face and looked me over.

"It—he—um." I couldn't see much, but I assumed everyone had to be staring at me giving the utter silence, and I lifted a hand to point at the creature on my face. "He likes me. I think?"

"Puu," the creature agreed in a voice like a cartoon chipmunk.

"Puu." I repeated the word with relief, sigh pouring unbidden from my mouth. "Oh, thank god."

"God? What the hell are you thanking god for?" Yusuke griped. "Clearly I've been cursed by the devil to have a stupid Spirit Beast like that!"

Everyone laughed. Yusuke grumbled some more. Atsuko peeled Puu away from my face and cuddled it, cooing about the preciousness of her son's soul (which pulled yet more grumbling from Yusuke and more laughter from Kuwabara). Even Kurama had a good chuckle over the whole thing, and even Shizuru stared at Puu like she thought it was cute, and as everyone peeled away from the kitchen to discuss Puu over dinner, I lingered behind in the doorway and mopped a hand over my face. I'd suspected the egg was about to hatch when Botan set up a meeting with Koenma; it fit the canon timeline, so seeing Yusuke's Spirit Beast wasn't exactly a shock—but for a minute there, I thought Puu wasn't Puu at all, and that had been zero fun in the moment. Perhaps this Puu wasn't exactly the same as canon-Puu, but he was still cute and sweet and bright blue, right? And that had to count for something. I was just grateful Puu hadn't turned out to be a monster. He was still Puu… but why did he look different?

Was that my influence?

I suspected it was, but I didn't want to think about it too hard as I followed everyone to dinner and then, when dinner ended, to the couches in the living room. Botan held Puu like a baby in her arms, cooing at him as she tickled his belly, but as we sat down beside one another, Puu climbed out of her arms and crawled to the curve of her knee. He clambered down her leg by scaling down her jeans (clinging to the vertical surface of her shin like a bat crawling down a cave wall) and then walks on his two clumsy back feet (just like canon-Puu, I was pleased to note) over to the legs of the coffee table. He then used his upgraded wings and their hooked claws to crawl up a leg of the table to its top, where he walked upright on his clumsy feet again toward a plate of cookies Kuwabara had earlier been munching on, a hungry gleam in his bright eyes.

"Should we…?" Atsuko said.

"Just watch, maybe," said Shizuru.

The room (except for the belligerently oblivious Yusuke) seemed to hold its collective breath as Puu picked up a cookie, turning it like a car's steering wheel in his dexterous little wing-claws as he inspected it. Soon he gave it a nibble, and a little burble of happiness bubbled in his chest.

"Guess he likes cookies," I said.

"Indeed," Kurama murmured back.

We watched in silence as Puu licked crumbs from his claws, eyes closed in relish. He wobbled away from the cookie plate, then, picking up and examining a pen, a set of socks, a business card, and whatever other object he could find as he completed a circuit of the tabletop. He looked curious, almost. He looked curious but cute—and also like a troublemaker, because when he reached a water glass sitting near the edge of the table, he shoved it over the side and watched it fall to the floor with an expression as quizzical as it was delighted.

"He really is very cute," Yukina said as I mopped up the water with a napkin.

"He's like a stuffed animal," Botan agreed.

I shrugged. "More like a Pokémon."

"A what?"

"Oh. Never mind." I would need to save Pokémon references until 1995, or whenever the games came out. Setting aside my sodden napkin, I scooped Puu up and settled onto the couch beside Botan again. "Well, buddy," I said, holding him aloft like Simba atop Pride Rock. "What do you think? You a fan of Yusuke's friends, or what?"

"Puu!" he said with gusto, and when I set him down on my knee, he fluttered toward me with a flutter of fleshy wings and snuggled into the gap between me and Botan. She gasped and gently pet the top of his head, smile gentle and bright as Puu began to softly snoer; Yusuke, across the room, looked flustered and turned away, grumbling something about Puu being an embarrassment. At this display I could only grin, especially when Puu hooked one wing-claw into the side of my shirt and snuggled up even tighter still.

"Yeah." I smiled. "This is Yusuke, all right."

Yusuke's face turned so he could glare at me over his shoulder, but I didn't mind.

The fact that Puu was willing to use me as his own personal pillow told me that no matter how dicey things got between Yusuke and I (ameliorating pillow fights notwithstanding), Yusuke's core feelings for me hadn't changed. There was comfort immeasurable in the idea that Puu would let me know how Yusuke felt, even when (especially when) Yusuke could not find the words to express his feelings himself.

When the day came for my dark confession, I only hoped that Puu—this familiar, unfamiliar creature—would still wish to sleep so soundly by my side.

Notes:

Sorry about this chapter's length. Long story short, I got a new dog (YAY) but then I fell down while walking him (BOO). I landed on my back and there was this really awful crack sound and my back has been on fire ever since. It was scary, but the new puppy sat with me like a champ until I could move again. But now I can't get comfy enough to write a chapter of a decent length. I'm predicting I'll update this coming weekend with the rest of what this chapter was SUPPOSED to contain (two updates in a row, y'all!)… provided I can figure out how to sit comfortably sometime between now and then. I'm guessing I'm just bruised or something since, y'know, I have full feeling in my extremities and whatnot.

So, see you next weekend (March 30-31) with another chapter on the short side, and thanks so much to all those who chimed in last chapter with their thoughts (not to mention all those who've been helping me try to name my dog on Tumblr… also please send suggestions if you have them; he's a husky-corgi mix, is very cute and affectionate, and likes to eat/cuddle/chase squirrels, which is how I got into my falling-down-mess this morning. Also my boyfriend loves dogs with food names, so bonus points for a name in that genre).

Love all of you very much, and thanks a million: Tactile, ViviCatLover, SarcasticallyDances, Ms_Liz, KittyWillCutYou, scallionite, TokiMirage, Anon, katsheswims, Gerbilfriend, yao-oh-no (Aiselua), zoostitcher89!

Chapter 93: Tickets

Summary:

In which Keiko has a reprieve and receives an unexpected gift.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

We taught Yukina to play "go fish" and stayed up playing cards till midnight, whereupon Botan rose from her seat and announced that it was high time for everyone go to bed. Yusuke grumbled about this, of course, but Botan remained unmoved in the face of his mutterings.

"You need to go to bed now so you can wake up early tomorrow," she told him as he rolled his eyes. "There's a match early tomorrow that you'd do well to observe—it's good to get a read on the competition, you know!—and you won't want to get out of bed if you don't turn in early." She giggled behind her hand. "I've seen you on school mornings, after all. You're a lump!"

Yusuke glared (and stifled a yawn, but badly, which meant Botan had won the argument fair and square).

Since Kuwabara had insisted we stay in the boys' suite ("For your own protection!" he insisted, ignoring the fact that his sister was a Grade A Badass and could defend us on her own, a fact said sister reminded him of in increasingly dry tones every time he conveniently forgot about her powers) some adjusting had to be done to the boys' previous sleeping arrangements. Botan and I were to share the queen-sized bed that had previously belonged to Kurama; Shizuru slept in her brother's old bed; Atsuko took her son's; Yukina (quite ironically) was given Hiei's bed in the room he shared with Kurama. Apparently the Masked Fighter had slept nowhere, or maybe on the couch, because there were only four beds for five fighters and no one could tell me where she'd slept the previous nights.

"And speaking of people not sleeping in their beds," I said as Kurama and I went into his bedroom to grab his things and carry in my duffle bag. "I don't think Hiei slept here last night, either."

Sure enough, the bed by the windows remained untouched. Maid service had made all the beds in the suite while we were away at the fights, but Kurama's was rumpled (and perhaps blood-spattered, if the telltale red pinpricks on the golden comforter were to be believed; perhaps he'd sat there to tend to his vine-infested veins). Hiei's bed was utterly perfect, comforter smooth and totally ignored.

"So it seems," Kurama said in his typical pleasant tones. His suitcase sat in the room's corner; he grabbed it and vanished into the bathroom to fetch his toothbrush, or whatever it was he wanted. From inside the tiled room he called, "Hiei dislikes being inside, as far as I know."

I nodded absently as I wandered toward Hiei's bed. "He prefers a tree to a mattress, probably." I sat on the bed and gave an experimental bounce or three. "Oh, yeah. This is way too soft for him."

Kurama's head appeared in the bathroom doorway. "You think so?" he said, one red brow rising.

"Yeah. Most he'll want is a futon on the floor, probably." I smiled and patted the coverlet; Kurama's head disappeared into the bathroom again. "But he tends to sleep against a wall even when a futon is available."

Kurama's head whipped back into view, both brows raised now.

"He comes and sleeps on my floor when it rains," I explained, and then I frowned. "You didn't know that?"

"I suppose not."

"Well. He does." I smiled again. "He's just like Sorei like that. Stray cat syndrome and whatnot, coming and going as he pleases."

Kurama's brows lowered. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, footsteps brushed against the carpet; he withdrew into the bathroom as Botan and Yukina walked in, and soon the sound of the faucet hissed through the open doorway.

Botan had the good sense not to walk in on Kurama in the bathroom, open door notwithstanding. "Kurama, I'm so sorry to kick you out of your own room," she called to him as she hovered near the foot of his bed. "If you think you need it after the injuries you incurred in your match—"

"It's all right, Botan." He leaned out of the bathroom, wet and toothpaste-smeared toothbrush in hand; somehow he managed to make the toothbrush look glamorous, like an intentional movie prop and not a simple hygiene tool. "I volunteered to give up my bed. The couch will be fine."

Botan's lips pursed. "Still…"

"I can sleep on the couch instead, Kurama-san. I truly don't mind," Yukina added.

But Kurama shook his head, and firmly, though he continued to smile as he made assurances. He put down his toothbrush to help Botan carry a bag into the room, and as the three of them arranged the room and helped Kurama gather the last of his possessions, I slipped out the door and into the living room. Yusuke and Kuwabara were putting out futons, which we'd earlier requested from the hotel, while Shizuru gave them directions and criticism. They didn't notice me as I skimmed the ice bucket off the counter in the kitchen, and no one said anything as I carried the bucket to the suite's door and went into the hall with a soft call of, "Be right back; need ice."

Truthfully, I wasn't after ice. The bucket was just an alibi, because I was relatively certain I wouldn't be allowed to leave the room without a good reason or an escort. And when it came to the latter, I definitely felt I should go without.

The trip downstairs to the hotel lobby was uneventful. The lobby was quiet at this time of night, though in the distance I heard a strain of thumping bass; probably a party for the tournament's backers, if I had to guess. I ignored the steady throb of music as I approached the gilt front desk and smiled at the woman sitting behind it. She wasn't Otoha, sadly, but she still offered me a polite smile as I set the ice bucket on the polished tabletop.

"Hello," I said as I tried to ignore the reflection of my face in the desk's mirror-glossy wood. "I'm sorry to impose, but I need to make a phone call and I'm not sure if the phone in my room—"

She was already on her feet. "It's no imposition. If you'll follow me."

The woman led me across the lobby to a large set of wooden double doors; above them gleamed a golden sign engraved with a telephone symbol. Beyond the doors lay a long room lined with rows of telephone booths, maybe about 30 in all. These boxes were made of glass with folding doors on their fronts, which I assumed were intended to afford occupants the minor illusion of privacy. My guide led me to one of these booths and ushered me inside to sit on the velvet-cushioned bench within. She informed me that calls here were complimentary just as I began to wonder how much spare change I had in my purse upstairs and just before I noticed that the payphone didn't have a slot for coins.

"Will you be calling Japan?" she asked as I settled in.

"Yes."

"I'll connect you via the front desk." Her words sounded quite rehearsed, even if they were cheery. "Please wait until you hear a dial tone before placing your call."

And then she left me alone, high heels clicking against the tile floor. I took the phone off of the hook, cradling it between my cheek and my shoulder as I nudged the glass door shut with a toe and waited to hear a tone. When one sounded, I input a phone number on the rotary dial below the phone's hook. The hiss of the spinning wheel filled the glass booth with a sound like wind-driven rain; the hairs rose on my arms, but when the phone rang and was promptly picked up on the other end, the warmth in my chest chased the chill away. "It's me," I said. "What's up?"

Minato hummed. "So they do have phone on the island, I see."

"And free long-distance calls, at that."

"How generous," he said. "Would you like to connect to Kagome as well?"

"Sure."

There was a pause, and then there came a musical chime before more ringing sang over the line. I wasn't entirely sure if this was a standard three-way call or if I owed the conference call to Minato's moon technology, but I suspected it was the latter when Kagome picked up and her voice came through the receiver with crystalline clarity.

"Eeyore! Thank god!" she yelped when I said hello. Something rustled and creaked, like maybe she'd thrown herself across her bed. "I was worried you'd been eaten alive!"

"Not quite yet, I'm afraid."

"How goes it?" Minato asked.

"Yeah! Tell us everything!" said Kagome.

I took a very deep breath. It was time to rip the band aid off. "An old friend is here," I said—and at once, silence filled the line to the brim. For quite some time, no one spoke. Eventually, though, Kagome heaved a heavy sigh. She and Minato both knew exactly which 'old friend' I was talking about, and both were intensely aware that I was being as sarcastic as the cast of Saturday Night Live.

"… shit," Kagome said, along with some other, more colorful swears.

"As expected," Minato said when she was through. Cold precision informed each word he spoke. "Have you managed to say hello?"

"Not yet. Working on it." I huddled against the side of the phone booth and wrapped my free arm around myself with a grunt. "Not sure what I'll do or say when I get a chance, but…"

Another grim silence followed. We'd spoken at length of what we'd do or say if we ever got the chance to speak with Hiruko, and for the life of us, we'd never quite been able to nail it down. There was still so much we didn't know, after all. Yelling at him and demanding answers was the logical thing to do, but without knowing the context in which we'd get that chance…

"Tread carefully," Minato advised.

"Or here's a better idea: Kick his ass for me?" Kagome countered.

I couldn't keep a grin off my face when Minato muttered Kagome's name, annoyed but unable to keep the smile from his voice. "Roger that," I said as Kagome giggled. "Will keep you both updated."

"On another note," Minato said. "I suppose they must have made it through a few matches at this point."

"Yeah." I swallowed. "Three teams down, two to go."

"And how did they fare?"

"They fared… unexpectedly."

"Oh," Kagome said. Then she paused. She followed this pause with another, more horrified: "Oh!"

"Ominous," Minato concurred. "Care to elaborate?"

Another swallow; another deep breath. "Well, they made it through their first fight all right." I tried to keep my tone light and breezy as I said, "Yusuke beat a demon named Chu. Kurama beat a demon named Risho. And then Kuwabara won his fight with Rinku."

There followed an extremely pregnant pause.

Then Kagome squeaked: "… what do you mean, he won?"

"He won." Another band aid needed to be ripped off, so I very quickly added, "And Hiei's match with a fire demon named Zeru was a draw."

"WHAT?!" Minato and Kagome chorused; I yanked the phone away from my ringing ear with a curse.

"That's—that's—I don't even know what that is!" Kagome said, ignoring me completely. "Holy cow!"

"These results are… definitely unexpected, to put it mildly," Minato said with only a fraction more restraint. "How did this even happen?"

It was somewhat difficult to explain the details without giving away the fact that they knew half of the stuff I wanted to talk about already, but in the event that we had eavesdroppers, it was imperative I fill in all of the storytelling gaps that they'd need me to fill in if they weren't already "in the know"—and to anyone listening, there was no way for them to be "in", so I had to treat them like they were "out". We had discussed this ahead of time, naturally, and they waited with patience (and appropriate reactions, mostly from the enthusiastic Kagome) as I recapped my experience at the tournament thus far. Luckily (or perhaps unluckily) there were enough differences from canon to make this playacting somewhat natural, and their interest in what I had to say was definitely not feigned at all. We all played our parts well, and by the time I caught them up on everything, they had been stunned into what I interpreted as horrified silence.

As I'd spoken, I'd wrapped the phone's spiral cord tighter and tighter around my hand. As the silence lengthened, I wrapped the cord even tighter still, fingers tingling as blood slowed from a flow to a trickle. I'd been afraid of this—of this silence and uncertainty, of this quiet confirmation that this turn of events was as bad as I thought it was.

And Kagome's next statement didn't help matters. "I mean… from what you told me, it's wild Hiei could possibly lose to Zeru," she said, picking her words more carefully than usual.

"He didn't lose; it was a draw." But that wheedling protest rang hollow even to me, so I admitted, "And I'm sick over it."

"How so?" Minato asked.

"Well…" I gave them the details of how he'd spoken to me on the uppermost level of the stadium, which had kept him away long enough for a ring-out, and at the sound of them Kagome let out a startled gasp. Grimacing, I concluded, "And he hasn't looked me in the eye since."

"That makes him and Yusuke who're mad at you?" she asked.

"Oh. Well. About that…" More story rolled off my tongue, this part happier than the last—and somehow talk of the pillow fight loosened my tongue a little. The story about Yusuke organically rolled into more details about Jin, the chat with Genkai, playing "go fish" with Yukina, and the garden talk with Kurama. The tension drained from Minato and Kagome's voices soon, too, and for a minute I forgot about the mess I'd caused with Hiei. For a minute I was just a friend telling her friends about the things she had experienced, and nothing more. Pressure drained from my shoulders bit by bit; I sagged against the glass booth, leaning my temple against the cool panes with a sigh.

"Eeyore?" Kagome said. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah. Fine. Just… happy to hear your voices, I think." This was the truth, easy to admit and a pleasure to say… but the next bit of truth was a tougher sell. I debated against it, but soon I couldn't help but whisper, "I think I don't want to talk much longer."

I could practically hear Minato's eyes narrowing and his back straightening through the phone. "Are you all right?"

I shifted in place and grumbled, "Everyone keeps asking me that."

"Well duh," said Kagome. "You sound tense as heck!"

"Agreed," said Minato.

"Oh, I have an idea!" Kagome said. "Maybe hunt down the hotel spa? Take a breather?"

I started to protest—but then I paused to consider it. "Well, we do have the day off tomorrow since the match against Team Masho got moved up," I said, thinking about essential oils and a nice deep-tissue massage and oh my dear sweet fucking lord, that actually sounded amazing?! But I tried my best to keep my cool as I said, "Maybe I will."

"Girl, please," Kagome said. "Seaweed wrap. Mudmask. Massage. Spa those cares away!"

"I agree," Minato said, voice calm. "A massage works wonders for a tired mind."

I blinked owlishly in the dim light of the phone booth. "Minato, you're into massages?"

"Is that a shock?"

"You don't seem like the spa type, is all."

He hummed, noncommittal and amused. "I'll have you know that I've been known to spring for a pedicure on occasion."

"Wait," Kagome said. "Wait. Are you for real?!"

"The upkeep on one's appearance is an oftentimes an important part of mental health maintenance," he said with absolute sincerity.

She stammered. "B-but pedicures—?!"

Minato laughed. Kagome kept asking questions. Soon the pair of them bantered back and forth about Minato's diligent attention to self-care, Kagome wielding her disbelief like an astonished sledgehammer. Content for the first time in what felt like millennia, I leaned against the side of the booth and smiled, happy to remain silent and let the pair of them take the lead. Something told me they knew I needed that.

They were my good friends, after all.

That's why I'd called them in the first place—because I knew they'd know exactly what to say to keep the guilt brewing in my heart at bay, at least for a little while.

Botan, it turns out, is a cuddler.

This was news to me. Whenever she'd stayed over at my house ion the past, she'd slept in my bed while I took the futon on the floor. We'd never actually shared a bed over the course of our many sleepovers, which is why it was just the littlest bit confusing to wake up with her face smooshed against my collarbone and her breath tickling my chest. She'd hooked a leg through my knees and draped an arm across me, too. When I recovered from my shock and gently extricated myself from her iron grip, she mumbled in her sleep and grabbed a pillow to smother in her arms.

Light eked into the room around the thick curtains that covered the window; judging by its brightness, it was still early. Yukina slept demurely on her side in the bed by the window, her back turned to me as I donned my house slippers and tugged a hoodie over my tank top. Neither Botan nor Yukina stirred when I opened the door and slipped into the living room, letting in the sound of Kuwabara's snores in the process. I nearly bungled my quiet exit when movement flickered in the corner of my eye and my heart leapt into my throat—but it was just Kurama standing near the kitchen over his opened suitcase.

He was buttoning up his shirt when our eyes met. For a second his fingers stilled, but then they resumed their movements as a smile narrowed his bright eyes. He jerked his head toward the kitchen; I padded over and followed him into the marble-floored room, where I set about making coffee. I needed something to do to calm my beating heart, and coffee would surely cure the sleep from my eyes in short order.

"Leaving already?" I whispered when I found my voice again.

Kurama shook his head. "In a few minutes." He nodded toward the French press on the counter. "I'd like some of that, if you're feeling generous."

"You'll have to fight me for it." I stuck out my tongue when he blanched. "Kidding. How's the wound?"

"I'll be fighting fit by tomorrow." He glanced toward the door to the living room. "As will Yusuke and Kuwabara after a good night's rest, I imagine."

"Should you wake them up?" I said as I got down a set of fine china mugs. "For the Team Uraotogi match observation?"

"No. I'll let them sleep." Kurama chuckled as Kuwabara gave a particularly loud snore. "They'll catch up in due time, I'm sure."

I nodded absently, because that made sense at face value and Kurama was rarely wrong about stuff like that. Also I was still, like, half asleep? Coffee. Coffee was much needed just then. I made coffee with the French press in silence, whispering words of thanks to the hotel staff for supplying the suite with a bag of high-quality brew. When it was ready, Kurama and I sipped on it for a few minutes in silence, just enjoying the taste of the coffee as the light coming through the kitchen doorway grew brighter in time with the rising sun. I cupped my mug in both hands with a sigh, inhaling the rich steam with deep, steadying breaths.

Eventually I murmured, "I used to be allergic to coffee, you know."

Mid-drink, Kurama paused. "Really?" he said over the rim of his mug.

"Yeah. But it wasn't the caffeine. It was something in the beans." As I took a sip, I lifted a thumb from my mug's rim and pointed with it at my left eye. "Gave me a stye in my eye. Did the same to my dad." I shrugged. "Genetics, I guess."

He didn't say anything—or rather, he started to say something, but then his eyes narrowed. Kurama set his cup atop the counter with a gentle clink, staring off toward the suite's front door in silence… until his expression cleared. He headed for the door without a word, and on instinct I followed. I hovered in the kitchen doorway as he opened the door and stepped aside, gesturing with one hand for the person standing there to come inside.

Persons, I mean.

As soon as Kurama stepped aside, I saw the pair of them. Hiei and the Masked Fighter somehow managed to cut an imposing pair of figures despite their collective lack of height; I think it was the combination of Genkai's enigmatic mask and Hiei's goth ensemble (not to mention his scarlet eyes) that did the trick. The air caught in my lungs as the Masked Fighter gave me a curt nod, which I returned, but as I took a deep breath and started to greet Hiei, he scowled and pivoted on his heel. In silence he marched out of sight down the hall, the flash of his red gaze lingering like a strobe light in my stunned vision.

Kurama chuckled when my face fell. "Give it time," he murmured as Genkai followed Hiei away from the suite.

I grimaced. "But I hate waiting."

"I know you do." He gently shut the door, lock engaging with the smallest of clicks. Kurama headed back to the kitchen, on his way placing one hand delicately upon my shoulder. "Trust me," he murmured as he paused at my side. "He'll come around."

"Generously allowing me to go crazy in the meantime," I reminded him.

Kurama's lips curled, chin tucking closer to his chest. "Perhaps," he said. His hand left my shoulder as he made his way into the kitchen, reaching for his nearly depleted coffee cup. "See waiting on Hiei as an exercise in your personal growth, I suppose."

My eyes rolled; I darted into the kitchen and shooed him away from his mug. "In exchange for your valuable life advice, sensei, I'll clean up." I shooed him away harder, pushing against his shoulder blades when he turned around. "Get the leg out. Match will be starting soon."

Kurama chuckled again, but he did as asked and left the suite with another soft click of lock hitting latch. For a few minutes I puttered around the kitchen, washing the French press and putting away dishes as quietly as I could. The suite was pretty much silence (aside from the sound of Kuwabara sawing logs on his futon) and a consult with my watch told me they had time to make it to the match if they got up in maybe half an hour. To bide my time, I checked out the suite's fridge and pantry, taking inventory of the food items with which the hotel had seen fit to stock the kitchen. There were plenty of items to use to make breakfast, lunch and dinner, so in my head I planned the day's menu and set aside the breakfast items I'd soon need… but I could only plan menus for so long before getting bored out of my skull, even after putting some meat in a marinade and pre-portioning various spices. Sure, I like to cook, but it's not like it's my favorite thing ever or whatever.

When prepping food got tiresome, I stole back into the bedrooms and grabbed my backpack off the floor. I had chemistry homework to take care of—but as soon as I saw the problems on my worksheet, my mind scattered like chaff on the wind. I set aside the homework with a sigh and paced, trying to keep my footsteps airy and silence as I carved a path around Yusuke on the couch and Kuwabara on his futon.

Waking up early was sort of fun, sometimes. Being alone meant you could do whatever you wanted without anyone saying anything, and I reveled in that solitude—but because people were sleeping, I didn't feel comfortable turning on the radio or the TV. Homework was ugh-inducing, cooking was boring, pacing in circles wasn't at all productive… which left me with just one quiet option for occupying my time. Stripping out of my sweatshirt, I padded around to the back of the couch, suppressing a giggle when Yusuke said something in his sleep about kicking someone's ass if they didn't hand over the pineapple (boy said hilarious things in his sleep sometime, I swear). I tested my footing on the plush carpet a few times before lying on my stomach and concentrating on my breathing, eventually transitioning into a good bow-pose stretch that soon turned into a whole series of yoga asanas.

Yoga hadn't been of much interest to me in my past life. My various injuries and pains had made most poses and transitions difficult, with few teachers able to help me make enough adjustments to be able to follow along without totally disrupting a class. My new life, however, saw me as more of an athlete, in need of stretching and conditioning to keep my muscles in top shape (and it didn't help that Genkai had advised me to meditate as I strove to become psychic, bringing another attractive benefit to the yoga-shaped table). Once I'd learned where yoga came from and how to respect the art without being too horrifically appropriative, yoga helped me disconnect and manage stress, calming my racing thoughts and keyed-up nerves. It was also fun to see how long I could hold various poses, challenging me to up my records and strive for self-motivated self-improvement.

It didn't hurt that it also amused Yusuke to no end.

I was in the middle of a scorpion pose when I heard the couch creak, breaking me from the static reverie of my thoughts just as his voice croaked froglike through the air. "The fuck 'er ya doin'?" Yusuke said as he hauled himself upright and blinked blearily at me over the back of the couch.

I didn't fall out of my pose. "Morning," was all I said. "Sleep well?"

He yawned so hard, I could count his molars. "Sure." He stretched his arms over his head, hair cowlicked and untamed atop his head. "What's your spine even made out of, anyway? Rubber bands?"

"Yup." I released my back leg, letting it drift in a controlled descent back to earth. "Also jello."

"I believe it." He glanced over at Kuwabara, then caught sight of the folded-up futon Kurama had left on one of the suite's many plush chairs. "Hey. Where's Kurama?"

I performed a back-bend (which wasn't exactly yoga, and more me showing off to make Yusuke's eyes go kind of buggy). "He went to the stadium," I said as I grinned at Yusuke upside-down.

His brow furrowed. "When?"

"Little while ago."

Kuwabara's snores puttered; sheets rustled as Kuwabara said, "Huh? Wuz 'appenin'?" The couch creaked as his knees dug into it, and soon his face appeared alongside Yusuke's over the back of the couch. "Keiko, what are you doing?" he asked, jaw dropping.

"She's trying to join the circus, I think," Yusuke quipped.

I huffed and collapsed into a pile on the floor. "Can't a girl do a little yoga in peace?" I groused as I rolled onto my stomach.

Yusuke grinned—but then his smile faded. "Wait," he said. "Did you say Kurama went to the stadium?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Yusuke's face screwed up. "The stadium. Hmm. Why does that sound—oh shit!" Now his eyes really bugged out of his head. "The next team we're fighting had a match this morning, didn't they?!"

"Huh?" Kuwabara blinked twice, movements sleepy and sluggish. "Oh yeah, that's right! Hold on, let me check my—" He glanced at the watch on his wrist and yelped, sleep clearing from his gaze at once. "Holy crap, it's already 9:30!"

Yusuke shot to his feet. "Jesus, fuck!"

And thus commenced a mad scramble the likes of which I had never seen from Yusuke, who was chronically late to everything and also allergic to hurrying to meet deadlines or appointments. He and Kuwabara leapt over furniture and the their bags around, hogging the mirror in the suite's entry hallway so they could do their hair, the scent of pomade sweet and sticky in the early morning air. I watched from the couch without a word, too amused to even crack jokes as Kuwabara hurriedly brushed his teeth in the kitchen and Yusuke screeched there wasn't fucking time for that, dammit!, and Kuwabara countered that there was always time to take care of your teeth, and Yusuke would know that if he paid attention in health class, goshdarnit! They only remembered that I was there when they started stripping out if their pajamas and Kuwabara recalled that they also taught lessons on basic decency in health class. He blushed beet red when he stripped out of his shirt and realized I was about five feet away; Kuwabara clutched his shirt to his chest as I hid my eyes with a giggle, after which he muttered an embarrassed than you and kept changing. I only dared uncover my eyes when I heard them yelling about finding their damn shoes. They hopped around by the door as they put them on, nearly losing balance more than once in their mad haste to get out the door.

"Crap crap crap crap—" Yusuke was saying.

"Shit shit shit shit shit!" Kuwabara was also saying as he finished tying his laces and fumbled for the door handle.

I waved. "Make good choices, you two!"

But my words fell on deaf ears—or, more accurately, onto the door as it shut behind them. A beat passed, though, and the door burst open once again to emit Yusuke. He looked annoyed as he dashed to the couch, not bothering to remove his shoes, and began rummaging through the rumpled sheets and pillows covering the cushions with curses that'd make a sailor blush.

"Forget your wallet?" I asked as he searched.

"Nah, I wish!" His eyes lit up and he gave a crow of triumph as he pulled a familiar blue blob out of the bedclothes. "Gotcha!" he said, stuffing the sleepy creature down the front of his shirt. "Now c'mere, ya little weasel."

"Pretty sure he's closer to a bat-penguin lovechild."

Yusuke bared his teeth and headed for the door. "What he really is is a pain in my—"

And the door slammed shut behind him.

On cue, the bedroom door behind me swung open. Botan shuffled into the room with a yawn, blue hair tangled and rumpled around the moon of her pretty face. "Oh, hello, Keiko," she said when she saw me. "What's the ruckus?"

"Morning." I jerked a thumb at the door. "Boys just left."

"Did they?" she asked, and then she blinked the sleep from her eyes and shook her head. "Oh, right. To watch our next opponents? Getting the scoop on the enemy is a smart choice."

"Yeah." I looked her over. "Say, Botan?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you wanna maybe check out the hotel spa with me?"

I probably shouldn't have bothered to ask, because the second I finished speaking, her face lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree. Of course Botan would check out the spa with me—because as surely as I'd known I could count on Kagome and Minato to be there for me when I needed it, I knew I could count on Botan to keep me company on a girl's day out.

They say you get what you pay for—but the hotel's complimentary spa was absolutely the exception to that rule.

Botan wanted to go all out, of course, and take advantage of the whole glorious, sandalwood-scented shebang. We got manicures and pedicures, facials and a seaweed wrap, salt-scrubs and sugar-scrubs galore, and when that was said and done we got a hot-stone massage complete with essential oils to promote relaxation. It was absolutely heaven on earth, and more than once I found myself silently thanking Kagome for being an absolute genius for suggesting this in the first place. I was practically a puddle of Keiko-flavored goo by the time we got back to our suite, where we found Atsuko and Shizuru waiting for us and not enjoying the realization that we'd gone to the spa without them.

"Spas are for early risers!" Botan declared when Shizuru got grumpy over missing out. "We traded sleeping in for our experience, you know."

Atsuko grumbled something about being too hungover for this shit, and Shizuru grumbled something about how they'd have their own spa day later without the children present, and Botan told them not to be sore about the fact that they slept through their alarm clocks and had missed their tickets to paradise. I got in the shower to the sound of their good-natured bickering, and when I was finished I left the suite to head downstairs to the boys' room.

But I wasn't the only one with that idea. When the elevator doors opened in front of me upon getting to the boys' floor, I saw two sets of shoulders walking away from the elevators down the hall. Even if they hadn't had some pretty unique hairstyles between the both of them, Kurama and Kuwabara's builds and manners of dress were both distinctive enough to recognize when seen from behind.

"Oh hey, guys," I said as I trotted to catch up. "Back already?"

Kuwabara started, like I'd woken him from a deep sleep, and he turned with a murmur of, "Keiko?"

"I said, you're back already." I stopped walking just as Kuwabara and Kurama did, glancing between the pair of them in turns. "OK, hold up. Why the long faces?"

Kurama and Kuwabara exchanged a Look, but their expressions didn't change. Kurama wore his blandest and most pleasant smile—the one he reserved for particularly annoying teachers or for breaking bad news—and Kuwabara just looked… shuttered. Like a door had closed behind his eyes, carving lines around his mouth from the force of its slam. He averted his gaze when our eyes met, scratching the back of his neck as he stared with those shuttered eyes at the carpeted floor.

Sensing neither of them were going to answer me, I changed the subject. "Also, where're Hiei and Yusuke and the Masked Fighter?"

"Um," said Kuwabara, still not looking at me. "Hiei went off somewhere—"

"Toward the coast," Kurama interjected. "To train, I presume."

"—and the Masked Fighter dragged Yusuke off after the match. Dunno where to, though."

I knew exactly where they'd gone, but of course I couldn't say that. Instead I scanned Kurama and Kuwabara and asked, "Looks like he took Puu with him?"

Kuwabara nodded. "Yeah."

"Think they'll be back in time for dinner?" I said, even though I knew the answer was "no way in hell."

"I'm not sure," said Kurama, "but given the Masked Fighter's parting words to us, I'm guessing not."

The smile on my face was as bitter as it was wry. "Why do I sense you're about to parrot something cryptically alarming?"

"Because I am," he said, with that same kind of smile. "As they left, the Masked Fighter requested that we try not to die while they're gone."

No one said anything for a second. Then Kuwabara laughed, low in his chest, and he didn't sound amused at all.

"Figures Yusuke and ol' masky would go runnin' off right before the semifinals," he grumbled as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Team Uraotogi can't hold a candle to Team Toguro, but they're still not demons we should face without our full team!"

There was an edge to his voice—and uncharacteristic edge, one informed by tension and also the barest waver, obscured by his rough diction and brusque tone but still obvious to me. It wasn't like Kuwabara at all to sound that strained, that unsettled, and I could do nothing more than stare at his broad back as he turned and stalked off down the hall.

Kurama stepped into the space by my elbow with a sound like leaves whispering over grass. "The match ended quickly—too quickly—with a decisive victory in favor of Uraotogi," he murmured in my ear.

I nodded, tracking the path of canon in my mind. Team Uraotogi was the team's next foe, and if my memory served me correctly, that meant today's trip to the stadium to observe the fights had involved seeing not only Uraotogi in action, but Team Toguro. That bit where Toguro had flexed his power, made Yusuke and the others quake… not to mention that scene where Hiei saw Puu for the first time and wondered about Yusuke's new blue appendage. I suppressed a giggle at the thought; now was not the time for fond recollections of an anime Kurama had never seen.

Instead I just said, "Ouch."

"Indeed." He wore a carefully neutral expression, smile bland and perfunctory. "Although the power levels of a few members of Team Uraotogi were not necessarily impressive at face value, it seems they have been outfitted with unique weapons and items of supernatural persuasions. We will need to stay on our toes for whatever tricks they may attempt to pull."

Down the hall, Kuwabara tossed another wry laugh over his shoulder. "You wanna talk about power levels, you oughtta take a look at Toguro's team, anyway." I caught a glimpse of one dark eye as he stopped in front of the suite's door and reached for the handle. "Can hardly blame Yusuke for runnin' off when Toguro's power feels like that…"

His eyes glittered strangely, and then he stepped into the suite and disappeared.

"Is it just me, or does Kuwabara seem rattled?" I said.

Kurama drew in a long, deep breath. "As you likely inferred from his earlier comments, we encountered the Toguro brothers and their teammates at the stadium." More careful diction accompanied his speech, as if he feared he might break something if he said one even slightly indelicate word. "Toguro is making no effort to conceal his energy levels from us at this late juncture. It caught Kuwabara off guard."

I considered this a moment, thinking of the anime—of how Kuwabara had had something resembling a breakdown upon feeling Toguro's true power for the first time during the Uraotogi observation. That bit of canon had indeed remained intact despite Kuwabara's additional training with Genkai. I wasn't sure how I felt about it, honestly. Kuwabara was stronger now than he'd been in canon, but Toguro was still in another league entirely, and yet I thought Kuwabara would have more confidence at this point…

"Toguro lost the fight at Tarukane's mansion on purpose." I eyed Kurama askance, gauging his reaction. "I guess this is the first time Kuwabara is really getting a taste of Toguro's unfiltered power, huh?"

All he said was a single, measured, "Yes."

"Do you think he's so rattled he'll have trouble fighting tomorrow?"

"Sorry." His eyes shut, smile ghosting over his lips. "Although I consider Kuwabara a friend, I'm still getting to know his many quirks." The smile thinned. "But I admit the thought of him freezing up had crossed my mind."

I suppressed a curse, covering the look on my face with a swipe of my hand. In silence Kurama and I went into the suite; in one of the bedrooms I heard a shower hiss on, presumably an indicator that Kuwabara was bathing. Keeping my head down and my eyes trained on the floor, I wandered through the suite picking up dirty dishes, discarded clothes and mussed pillows. Cleaning helped me clear some of the clutter in my head, too… sort of. I was trying to think of what I could do to help Kuwabara, but as my scattered thoughts organized themselves in time with the cleaned suite, the only conclusion I came upon was not one I enjoyed entertaining. If Kuwabara froze in his next match, or in the match against Toguro, I wouldn't be able to do shit for him. I couldn't even step in like Shizuru to be the alternate; I was nowhere near strong enough to help, a plain vanilla human to the core. If I was stronger, I wouldn't hesitate to take the burden of fighting off of any member of the team who wanted out. I wouldn't pause for even a second to bear that weight for them.

Part of me had to wonder if this—this keen desire to protect and buoy—was what parenting was like, but I had no way to tell for sure.

Kurama stood in the kitchen doorway, watching me anxiety-clean in silence. I shot him an apologetic smile a few times, which he returned with a bracing look of his own, but I think he knew better than to try and intervene. He knew me well enough to know that I needed time to stew by myself before acting. He only spoke when the sound of the shower ceased in the next room and a curtain rattled down a length of metal pipe.

"What should we do?" he murmured.

I shrugged. "Not so much 'we' as 'me.'"

His eyes narrowed. "I don't follow."

"I mean that I'm going to give him a pep-talk." I said—and in my mind I couldn't help but add, "Since apparently that's all I'm good for."

Unaware of my self-deprecating inner monologue, Kurama's eyes brightened. He did nothing more than give me an encouraging nod as I headed for Kuwabara's room and knocked three times on the door. For a minute Kuwabara didn't reply, but when I knocked again, his voice drifted through the door in answer.

"Who's there?" he grumbled.

"It's me," I said. "You dressed? I need to talk to you."

"Oh. Uh." Something thumped against the floor. "One sec." I heard rustling and a zippering noise before Kuwabara cleared his throat. "OK. Come in."

He stood near the foot of his bed, toweling dry his hair—hair which was way longer than I'd realized, now that I saw it weighed down by water and not coaxed into its typical pompadour. The curl had gone out of it, bleached strands falling in softer waves on either side of his face, just brushing his severe cheek bones. The relaxed style looked kind of like something out of the mid-2000s emo scene, the fall of his hair changing the composition of his features as he ran his fingers through the damp strands. He did this without looking at me, keeping his eyes averted as I sat in a chair near the window and pulled a pillow off the bed and into my lap.

"Kurama told me you saw the Uraotogi fight today," I said, toying with the edge of the soft pillowcase. "What did you think?"

Kuwabara snorted. "Their leader is a pretty-boy with a bad attitude and a pair of horns to match, basically."

"Any idea how you'll beat him?"

"Hit 'im with my sword, I guess."

I hummed. "Solid plan."

"Really?" He finally looked at me, then, eyes wide with surprise. "You think so?"

"Yup." Obviously Shishiwakamaru wouldn't be so easily beaten, but this was a pep-talk, not a psych-out. Still, there was no sense in lulling Kuwabara into a false sense of security, so when he grinned, I raised one finger into the air and said, "Just watch out for if he tries to do anything tricky. Kurama said they had some weird items with them that could have all kinds of nasty side-effects. Just stay on your toes, like Kurama said before, and there's nobody you can't beat." Then I beamed, because that's what a pep-talk called for—especially since Kuwabara's face had grown worryingly and mystifyingly overcast. "I know you can do it. You're going to win this whole tournament, and that's a fact."

Kuwabara tossed his towel onto the bed. He wore jeans and a tank top, but even in these casual clothes he looked oddly uncomfortable. He moved stiffly as he sat on the bed and said, eyes locked on the floor, "You really value the things Kurama says, huh?"

Weird tangent, but OK. I tried kept the confusion off my face as I nodded, smile bright and cheery. "Of course I do. He's super smart, especially about stuff like this. You're all smart in different ways." It was easy to gush because these boys were my favorites, all of them, and I could gush for days at only the slightest provocation. "All of you have so many good qualitie—"

"No." The word cut sharp through the air, and immediately Kuwabara was running his fingers through his hair. "I mean… ugh. Sorry, Keiko." He shook his head. "Never mind."

I rose up and resettled, tucking my ankles beneath me as I gripped the pillow tighter. "Kuwabara," I said. "Are you OK?"

He drew in a deep breath that shook. "Yeah," he said, but his face spasmed like he'd bit into a lemon. "No. Maybe. I don't know."

I waited in silence for him to continue, but he didn't. Not right away, at least. He sat hunched on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, one large hand covering his mouth as he stared ahead of him at the bedroom's half-closed door. I let him have his quiet moment, and soon something seemed to gel in the depths of his dark eyes. Another deep breath expanded his broad chest. His head turned, Kuwabara regarding me through the fall of his wet hair.

"If I do something," Kuwabara said, "will you promise not to freak out?"

He spoke softly—too softly. Like he was scared of something big and hairy finding him and eating him if he gave away his hiding spot. It wasn't often Kuwabara's voice quavered the way it did just then, and I couldn't help but feel my expression soften in response.

I turned that softness into a look of skepticism, though, because I didn't want him to feel patronized. "Well, that depends," I told him. "It depends on what it is and if it involves spiders."

He grinned a little. "No spiders."

"Pinkie swear?" I said, holding up said digit.

He held his up, too. "Promise." He stood. "One sec."

I sat in silence as Kuwabara headed for his duffle bag in the corner. He knelt and rooted through it, eventually pulling free of white envelope held shut by a little piece of tape. This he brought to me and held out in my direction, jaw set so hard a vein pulsed in his neck. I stared at the envelope in silence even when he gave it a little shake, because what in the world was this? And what about this tiny little envelope could possibly have put Kuwabara so on edge? It looked like he was holding his breath as he looked at me, unblinking, hand drifting up and down through the air as his arm adopted the slightest of tremors.

"Here," he said through his teeth. He gave the envelope another shake. "Take it."

I did as asked. "What's this?"

"It's a present. From me." He swallowed. "To you."

He said nothing else. Slowly I slid my thumb beneath the tape, popping it away from paper with a rustle and a creak. Kuwabara's chest hitched as I pulled two glossy cardstock rectangles out of the envelope and looked them over—and when my eyes caught on the big letter M with stylized lightning bolt motifs on the edges, my breathing hitch, too. I stared at the objects in my hands in shock, mouth working around empty air as I tried to find the words… but no words came. None of importance, really.

The only things of importance were the concert tickets in my hands.

"Kuwabara." I looked up at him with my mouth open, still unable to comprehend just what he had given me—and all of the myriad implications that went with it. "Kuwabara—these…?"

"Yeah." He swallowed again, but then he squared his shoulders and declared, "Yukimura Keiko… this summer, will you go to the Megallica concert with me?"

Notes:

A couple of housekeeping odds and ends: Long story short, someone unexpectedly quit at my workplace and I'm having to do weekend work to pick up the slack, hence the disruption in the update schedule I proposed last time I updated. I added some shorts to "Written In Ink" to hopefully make up for the sporadic schedule; one of them is about Minato, which should please some of you. I also FINISHED my Scooby-Doo/YYH crossover apart from a few silly epilogues, so check that out for a laugh if you'd like. I'm oddly proud of it.

I'll be at an anime convention on the east coast next weekend (actually working it, not attending for fun). Will be pretty busy as a result, but I'm still going to try and update a few things. Be on the lookout. Also if you're going to a con out that way next weekend, hit me up and I'll let you know if we're attending the same one. Would be cool to say hi, but maybe that's weird? IDK but I thought I'd mention it anyway.

Aaaand, yeah. Not much else to say this week beyond the fact that we have several character moments to get through before we return to the Tournament's main action. I'm excited to really delve deep into one character in particular next time who hasn't had much limelight in the story but TOTALLY DESERVES to get a moment of good character study. Any guesses as to who that might be? Huh? Anyone? Bueller? Buuueeeellerrrrr?

Big thanks to those who came out for the last chapter; it's been a rough few weeks and your comments honestly meant the world to me. You rock: Kuramag33, CDang, zoostitcher89, DragonsTower, NerdyQwerty, redcoconutcurry, Gerbilfriend, katsheswims, shini_tenshi, too0lazy0to0login, activelyapathetic, forever_kouhai, Ms_Liz, Anon, Not_Quite_A_Morning_Person, jlol, Xailany!

Chapter 94: Spring Is the Time for Romance

Summary:

In which love is in the air.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Midday light, strong and the color of platinum, eked into the room from behind the drawn curtains. Kuwabara's face looked particularly gaunt in the fitful light, but his eyes radiated visible clarity—clarity and hope, tempered with the barest flush of anxiety telegraphed by his wrinkled brow and the tightness around his mouth. He shifted from foot to foot, staring me down with the most hesitant of smiles on his face, hands balled into fists of tight anticipation at his sides.

He had a lot to say to me, it seemed.

But looking at him there, in that moment, I had no frickin' clue what to say back.

"Kuwabara." On reflex I tried to hand the ticket back to him. "This is…"

He rebuffed my hand, pushing it toward my chest as he shook his head. "I won them on the radio."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"I won them on the radio." He scratched the back of his neck, eyes sliding sideways and to the floor. "So if you think they cost too much—"

"That wasn't what I—"

"Well, I won four tickets on the radio, anyway. I had to save up my allowance to get the fifth. Okubo couldn't afford to pay for a ticket of his own and normally he wouldn't let me get him something like this, but since he thinks I won all of the tickets…" His gaze shifted back to me, suddenly sheepish. "Don't tell him I had to buy one, OK? He really wants to go to this and I don't want him feeling guilty, y'know?"

I blinked again. "Okubo's coming too?"

"Yup. And so are Sawamura and Kirishima. It'll be the five of us going together." He took a deep breath. "Which means that this isn't a date."

The words budding on my lips withered away.

Kuwabara swallowed, and he forced a smile.

"I know you don't date." Kuwabara shrugged. "Still don't understand why, not really, because you're way too smart to fall behind on your schoolwork even if you went on dates, and… well, point is, I don't need to understand it to respect you." He grinned. "My dad taught me better than that."

For a moment, I thought I'd misheard him.

Then reality snapped into place around me like a tight-fitting glove. The shock of his initial offer, the fears and apprehensions that had accompanied it, and then the relief when he said the very thing I had been preparing myself to say—it was all too much, too much whiplash to fit into the narrow handful of moments that had just past. The dry air blowing from the AC vent in the ceiling dried out my eyes and parched my skin; the crinkle of the comforter under me and the creak of the mattress grew too loud to bear; the wet hair on the nape of my neck felt slick and cold atop my skin. But even though the physical world had begun to overwhelm, in that moment I could focus not on those things, but rather on the way Kuwabara was smiling at me. I raked my hands over my face and breathed deeply, panic warring against relief inside my chest.

"Thank you," I said, pasting on a smile I wasn't entirely sure I felt inside. But then a laugh built in my chest, at once skeptical and pleased. "Thank you, that… that means a lot to me. I just—" I waved one hand vaguely, trying to find an excuse that wouldn't hurt him, still be true and keep him at bay all at once. "It's not just school. We're so young. Too young to know what we want. And I just can't afford to get distracted. Not right now, anyway. It's… it's just that there's so much going on between school and all the supernatural bullshit, and…"

I trailed off, lost for words. Kuwabara looked at me with a frown, and then he sighed.

"Look, Keiko. I get it. I get your reasons for… for not dating and whatever." He didn't look like he got it, even though his jaw was set with resolute determination. "And I respect those reasons. I'm not going to argue with them. But—"

"But what?"

His eyes cut toward the door. "Don't go making an exception for him, OK?"

It was an odd request, one made even odder because I wasn't sure what the hell he even meant by it. It's no wonder I could do little more, then, than stare at him in consternation. "Him who?"

His chin tucked close to his broad chest. "You know who."

For a moment, neither of us spoke. He stared at me, and I stared at him in return, the pair of us locked in a silent battle of wills. Kuwabara was trying to tell me what he meant with his eyes, it was clear—but it wasn't until there came a low murmur of voices from beyond the door, and Kuwabara's eyes flickered toward it, that I understood.

"Kuwabara…" I trailed off as that familiar voice murmured once more on the other side of the door. "What makes you think…?"

He shrugged, looking frustrated. "You two are always off talking to each other by yourselves. You're the smartest person I know, and so is he, so you have a lot in common. I know you hang out outside of school, too." Kuwabara hesitated. "And he's… pretty." His chin lowered again; he spoke out of the corner of his mouth, eyes toward the floor. "Which I'm not."

My heart gave a pang—but much though I wanted to step in and totally assure him he had nothing to worry about in the look department, I held back. Instead I turned it around on me. "I'm not entirely shallow, Kuwabara," I chided, trying to lighten the mood. "Sometimes I even care about personality a little."

Kuwabara sputtered, hands coming up in defense. "I'm not saying you're shallow! It's just that you said you wouldn't date till you're 18, and that's fine, but…" Once more he glanced at the door, just as a certain someone's low chuckle sounded in the other room. "If you made an exception for him, it'd be…" He shook his head. "Look, Keiko, I just don't know what I'd do if you—!"

And he stopped.

And he just looked at me.

The look—raw and vulnerable, sad and hopeful and pained all at once—said everything he wasn't saying just then, but I could read him fine. Even without words, what he was saying came through loud and clear. That look, and the words that had come before it, were a confession, and with him looking at me like that, there was little denying what I was sensing. I'd sensed it many times from him, but each time I wrote it off, made excuses to comfort myself that this extreme breach to canon wasn't happening… but now, no more excuses could be made. Kuwabara might respect my wishes to not date, but… he was thinking about it. And he was thinking about it a lot. Enough to notice when I went off with Kurama (that part was clear, too) alone. Enough to feel jealous of a guy I wasn't even dating yet.

Which meant that when I showed up and he beat Risho, he was reacting to… oh my fucking god.

My face descended into my hands like a brick falling off a skyscraper. "This is 1000% not the direction I saw this conversation going in today," I groaned into my palms. "Like, not at all."

"Yeah, well, staring death in its sunglasses-covered face has a way of making you think about weird crap, all right?" Kuwabara said, and between my fingers I saw his face turn the color of a ripe beet. "Don't go reading into anything I said just now, 'kay?" He turned even redder, hands running through his hair. "Now's not the time, but if I went into the ring tomorrow and got creamed and my last thought was about how I didn't say how I felt, I just—"

"I get that." Because the statement sounded a little too hasty, I smiled and caught his eye. "Thanks for being honest with me." The smile bittered. "You know, I came in here to give you a pep-talk."

It was his turn to blink. "You did?"

"Yeah. But apparently I'm useless at that, too, because now you're talking about dying in the fights and whatnot, which is the opposite of what I wanted." The statement had been a bit of self-deprecation, an attempt at ironic levity, but immediately Kuwabara's expression turned pained. As he opened his mouth (no doubt to try and comfort me), I cursed. "Sorry. I don't know what to say right now."

Kuwabara shrugged. "Say you'll be there to cheer me on. It—it matters to me a lot."

The hesitated.

But soon resolution gelled behind his eyes, and he blurted, "You matter a lot to me."

The air left my lungs like it had vanished into an empty vacuum—because there it was.

Kuwabara… he definitely liked me.

And no matter how tempting it was to stuff my fingers in my ears and pretend I hadn't heard him, the soft look on his face and the little light burning gently in his eyes were unmistakable. My cheeks heated on reflex, out of embarrassment and awkwardness because he'd never looked so young before—but at the same time, he'd never looked so old, because there was a gaunt and haunted look in his eyes as he stared at me. Like that little flickering candle of affection stood before a vast emptiness just waiting to snuff it out.

In the face of that, I shuddered, and wondered just what the hell I was supposed to do.

The obvious choice was to shut this down ASAP. Just nip it in the bud and tell him he had no chance; that would be the kindest thing, and it might free him enough to go after Yukina, who canon dictated was supposed to be his love interest. And it was the kinder thing to do when you considered that there was no chance of us dating for another three years. We were 15. We had three years until I would even entertain the idea of something other than friendship with him, or anyone—and no matter how my feelings for anyone changed between now and then, I wouldn't break my own rules for anyone. Yes. That meant it was best to shut this down now, because both for his sake and for the sake of canon, it was cruel to keep him on a string, and—

Someone walked over my distant grave, and a shiver ghosted up my spine.

Kuwabara saw it at once. "Aw jeez, Keiko, are you cold?" he said, looking me over with concern.

"Oh, um—"

His eyes fixed on my hair; he went knock-kneed, arms awkward at his sides. "Keiko! Why did you leave your suite with wet hair!" he said, pointing at the wet strands against my cheek. "You'll catch a cold at this rate and then you'll never make the fights!" He spun and lumbered toward his suitcase. "Here, hold on just a—"

"Kuwabara, I'm fine—"

"My butt, you're fine! Ah, there it is!" He stood and turned, and in his hands he held a wool scarf. It was forest green with a cream-colored pattern on the edges, but I didn't get a good look at it before he trotted over and started draping it around my neck. "You hold onto that for now. I'm gonna go make tea."

"That's really not—"

"Be back in a minute!"

Kuwabara ran out of the room without another word, and with a sigh I followed, exiting the room just in time to see his broad back disappear around the corner and into the kitchen.

There was no one around to hear me sigh, though. Kurama wasn't in the living room, and neither was anyone else. I sat on the nearest couch with shoulders hunched, hands braced on either side of my thighs while I stared moodily at the floor. Call me dramatic, but as I listened to Kuwabara banging around in the kitchen, I figured I had every right to be a little moody.

Canon really was in tatters now, wasn't it?

Not that Kuwabara's confession wasn't without its silver lining. This handily explained his lukewarm reactions to Yukina. He had been too hung up on me to even consider switching his affections to her—but why? Why had he glommed onto me like this? Why had I been the one he fell for, and not her?

Or had Kagome, so many months prior, been right after all?

"He's a teenage boy, you're a pretty girl, and you like all the same things he does," she'd said to me on the eve of the Rescue Yukina arc, when I told her about Kuwabara's non-reaction to seeing Yukina for the very first time and my fears of what it might entail. "How was he not supposed to imprint like a sweet little baby duckling onto you? You just gotta hope Kuwabara isn't so far in love with you that this can't be fixed."

It had been a long time since Kagome had first posited that Kuwabara was in love with me. I hadn't denied it at the time, but I had expressed hope that when he saw Yukina, his crush on me would disappear. And then his crush on me didn't evaporate, but still I held onto the hope that one day it would fade under the light Yukina's sweetness and beauty. Wait for the Dark Tournament Arc, I'd told myself more than once. Once Yukina came on the scene again, surely sparks would fly.

But "denial is a pretty color on you" Kagome had snarked at my continued wishful thinking… and yet, against all evidence, I just couldn't believe it was really that simple. Was simply being nice to him really enough to change canon so drastically?

"Maybe I could've been aloof? Distant?" I'd told Kagome when we'd talked it over. "But Kuwabara is just—he's my favorite character. I couldn't not be nice and supportive and whatnot. Being a dick to him would break my heart!"

But maybe it wasn't my heart I'd needed to worry about.

Groaning yet again, replaying that distant conversation over and over in my head, I put my face in my hands and rested my elbows on my knees. All the time I'd spent with Kuwabara—studying and listening to music and hanging out with his friends—had added up in ways I hadn't dared examine closely. And he'd made that comment about not being pretty, too, which revealed a hidden vein of insecurity I hadn't seen Kuwabara reveal too often, if at all, and I had a sinking suspicion that that had more to do with my current predicament than I'd ever dreamed.

Because Kuwabara was right: He wasn't pretty. He wasn't ugly like the anime had made him out to be, but he wasn't a pretty-boy like Kurama, and his proximity to that pretty boy no doubt brought his insecurities into stark relief. Kuwabara was all angles and severe lines, features stronger than his age could bear, and he'd grow into his face with time (his handsome father, whom Kuwabara greatly resembled, was proof enough of that), but rugged and pretty aren't the same thing… and in the end, maybe Kuwabara's apparent insecurities about his looks were responsible for the ruination of romantic canon. Was his affection for me caused simply by the fact that I'd never shied away from his Yankee hairstyle and scary-strong jawline?

Girls ran away from him in the anime at first glance, after all. When he got beaten up, which was often, people literally turned and ran away from his scary face. But I'd never done that. I'd been nice. He was my favorite. We'd talked about Megallica and I'd helped him study English and looked him dead in the eye with a smile even when his eye was blackened with a bruise, and I'd been nice to him.

In spite of everything I believed about treating people kindly, maybe that Mister-Rogers-inspired instinct had been an utter and complete mistake.

Once more I groaned, fingers digging through my hair and into my scalp. If I really cared about canon, I ought to rip the band-aid off immediately. I ought to tell him to give up on me, and that even when I turned 18, he'd have no shot. Only by cutting him completely loose would he be free enough to give his heart to Yukina, like he was supposed to—but could that possibly rattle him badly enough to hurt his performance in the next fight? Or was thinking that I mattered that much to him conceited?

No. It wasn't conceited. He'd just told me that I mattered to him, and my impact on his fight with Risho spoke for itself. Kuwabara cared for me in a deep and impactful way, and I was just plain lucky that he was a respectful enough guy to not ask to go on a real date. An outing that felt like a date, sure, but he respected my no-dating rule even in spite of his feelings. That was literally the only thing that had saved me from having to date him just to help carry him through the fights, and lying to him about my feelings was something I just couldn't do.

Because even if he respected my rules, it was abundantly clear he liked me, and I didn't feel the same way. He was too young, full stop. He was too young, I was mentally too old, and until he grew the heck up, there was no way we could work out.

But for him to pine after me for another three years, with no guarantee that I'd grow to feel for him the way he felt for me… that was unspeakably cruel, wasn't it? Keeping him on a string would be awful. It was best to just cut him loose, tell him he had no chance whatsoever, and the sooner the better.

… but he was my favorite character, and the heart was fickle. What if breaking his heart so early meant that, years from now, I'd end all chances of…?

And did I even want the merest possibility of a chance so many years down the line, or…?

Footsteps crossed the carpet with a sound like a whisper, and then someone chuckled. "Kei," came Kurama's smooth tones as a shadow fell over me. "If you were really that cold, all you had to do was ask."

I wrenched my face from my hands with a frown. Kurama stood on the other side of the living room coffee table, an amused smile playing across his full lips as just a hint of scolding lurked in the lines on his brow. His brilliant eyes were fixed on my neck—or, more accurately, on the scarf around it. I reached for it on reflex and quirked a brow; Kurama nodded, and the lines of admonition on his forehead deepened when I didn't speak.

"I'm surprised at you, Kei," he said, voice light but tempered by the barest edge of annoyance. "You aren't the type to search through someone's things without permission."

"I—what?"

"No need to play coy. I can see you wearing my scarf just fine."

I pinched the edge of it between my fingers. The cream-colored lining had a diamond pattern, edges jagged but soft, with little whorls of stitchery in the centers. "Your scarf?" I said, not understanding.

"Yes. My scarf." His head tilted just a hair to the left. "What's gotten into you?"

"Um." I lifted the edge of the scarf. "Kuwabara gave me this."

His smile dropped. "I understand he can be protective of his friends, and you are very much included in that number, but for him to rummage through my things is—"

"He got it from his own bag, actually."

Kurama stared.

"I watched him do it."

A shake of his head. "That's impossible."

"I mean, not really? You just have the same scarf."

His eyes flashed viridian. "Impossible."

Kurama turned on his heel and marched away, toward the open door to the bedroom on the far wall—the place where he'd probably been while I spoke with Kuwabara, if I had to guess, though that hardly mattered now. No sooner had he disappeared beyond the doorway did Kuwabara appear around the corner of the kitchen with a coffee mug cupped in his large hands. A string with a paper tag trailed from its rim; tea in a teabag, obviously. One had to wonder why it had taken Kuwabara so long to prepare it, but whatever. He marched over and set it on the coffee tag with a flourish like he was presenting a home-cooked meal.

"Here ya go, Keiko," he said with a bright smile. "Drink up."

"Um. Thanks." I picked up the cup because he was favoring me with a rather expectant stare. "But Kuwabara, I gotta ask." I gestured with one hand at the scarf. "Where did you get this—?"

"Oh, that's my dad's. Nice, right?" He chortled as he sat on the couch beside me, weight making me bounce a little in my seat. "I didn't think it would be cold or anything since it's already spring and stuff, but it's better safe than sorry so I grabbed it at the last minute while I was packing because my scarves are already in the attic, and for some reason he's been keeping this one on the coatrack all the time—"

And with that, all the pieces clicked into place inside my head, and right on cue, Kurama reappeared in his bedroom doorway. Kuwabara looked over at him with a grin, though his smile faded just a little at the stormy expression on Kurama's face.

"Hey, Kurama. You want some tea?" he asked. "I just made some for me and Keiko, and—wait. Hold on a sec." He squinted at Kurama's right hand, from which trailed a green scarf—a familiar one, color deep and edged with cream-colored diamonds. His eyes lit up as he pointed at Kurama's scarf and then at the one around my neck, narrow eyes opening wide with delight. "Oh hey! That's funny! We've got the same scarf! Great minds, huh?"

"I doubt that," Kurama said.

"Huh?"

Kurama lifted the scarf. He lowered it slowly into the palm of his other hand, fabric layering atop itself until it keeled under its own weight. Before the fabric could tumble to the floor, Kurama clenched his fist, crumpling the wide knitting with a flex of his fair fingers.

"This scarf was knitted for me by my mother," he said as he pulled the fabric through his hands, over and over again, voice murmuring low and silky in the suite's quiet air. "She did not use a pattern. She rarely ever does. She knits her own designs, and, as such, the question becomes this." His eyes flashed like an emerald storm, and then he posed the query: "Why do you, Kuwabara Kazuma, own an item of my mother's knitting?"

My second thought was that maybe Kurama's mom had an Etsy store, but that was the wrong decade.

My first theory, though—the one that had clicked so neatly into place the minute Kuwabara explained his dad's attachment to the scarf—was the more plausible scenario. The pieces had all fallen into formation of their own volition, creating a picture I hadn't even realized was possible, image swimming into sudden and distinct clarity before I could stop it… and I just wasn't sure what to make of it. Kurama too looked surprised, though not upset. Just confused, mostly. Confused the same way Kuwabara looked confused, pair of them staring at one another's scarves with pursed lips and lowered brows. I glanced between them in turns, wondering when Kurama's big brain would put it together, wondering when the penny would drop and they'd each figure it out. Because if my hunch was correct…

Well, I frankly had no fucking idea how they'd react if my dawning hunch was correct, because I had no idea what it even meant, myself.

Eventually Kuwabara just shrugged. "I mean. It's my dad's scarf, not mine," he said, as if that explained it.

Kurama repeated, "Your father's scarf."

"Yeah." He fidgeted under Kurama's hard gaze, rubbing the back of his neck with pronounced awkwardness. "I dunno," he eventually ventured when the tension stretched too tightly. "Maybe your mom sells her scarves sometimes?"

"Not to my knowledge, no," Kurama said. Wheels turned in his eyes, variables cycling into one another in an endless swirl. "And it's highly improbable that she, for instance, dropped the scarf, only for your father to pick it up and keep it." His chin lowered so he could look at Kuwabara from beneath his brows. "That would be quite a coincidence, indeed."

"Maybe she actually did use a pattern for that scarf?" Kuwabara suggested.

"She never does, I'm afraid. And your scarf and mine are made of the same colored fabrics. Even if a common pattern was used to make both scarves, the identical colors are harder to explain away." He didn't look away from the scarf around my neck even once, words clipped and automatic. "Do you know where your father acquired his scarf, by any chance?"

Kuwabara shrugged. "Sorry, I don't. I mean, I guess I can ask when we get home next week?"

"If we get home next week, you mean."

Everyone in the room flinched as one, but it was only Shizuru who had spoken. Somehow I don't think even Kurama had heard her come in, because his eyes widened when he spotted her leaning against the living room doorway. She held an unlit cigarette in her lips, eyes intense but bored as she glanced between Kurama's scarf and Kuwabara's. Like Kurama, wheels turned behind her eyes, but they settled into a pattern sooner than did his.

"Shizuru?" Kuwabara said. He rose to his feet on reflex and scowled. "When did you get here?"

"Fifteen seconds ago, give or take." Her honey-colored eyes slid toward Kurama. "And the scarf was a gift, by the way."

Kurama's chest stilled. "A gift?" he said, words slipping from between his teeth as quietly as an exhaled breath.

"Yeah. A gift. From your mother to our dad." One eyebrow lifted. "Aren't you supposed to be smart? Occam's Razor or whatever?"

His eyes hooded at once. "I am working through all variables before drawing a conclusion, thank you," Kurama said, voice clipped, and his frown turned absolutely blistering.

Shizuru remained unmoved, however, rolling her eyes as she reached into a pocket for her lighter. Kuwabara just stared at her, cupping his pointed chin as she thumbed her lighter's strike wheel.

"Wait." His lower lip jutted out when he frowned. "What the heck was Kurama's mom giving our dad a gift for, anyway?"

"For walking her home from Keiko's New Year's party." Sparks lit up her face in flickers of illumination, catching in her eyes like snared stars. "Remember?"

"Oh yeah!" He turned to Kurama eagerly. "Well that explains everything! I forgot that was when they met. Heck, I forgot they even met at all!"

"Yeah." Shizuru's cigarette caught; she inhaled, blowing a plume of silvery smoke into the air as she tucked her lighter back inside her vest. "They met, all right."

Kurama's eyes narrowed.

Shizuru smirked.

Kurama's eyes narrowed further. The wheels behind them turned faster.

"How often do they see one another?" Kurama asked with delicate precision.

Shizuru looked at him askance. "Hmm?"

"My mother and your father." Kurama did not lose his patience, though judging by the way his hands had tightened, he was thinking about doing so. "How often do they see one another?"

Shizuru took another drag. "How should I know?"

"You're an observant person, Shizuru." His smile sent a chill up my back, because it showed all of his teeth without touching his eyes at all. "I highly doubt you haven't been paying attention."

Shizuru didn't reply right away. She took a long, slow drag on her cigarette, eyes locked on Kurama's without blinking. Kuwabara glanced between his sister and Kurama in turns, face screwed up in concentration, confusion, and god knows what the hell else. I just tried not to look too guilty, because I was pretty damn sure I knew what was going on, even if Kurama didn't want to believe it just yet—and I didn't want him knowing I knew, because ooooooh, boy. That wouldn't end well for me, now would it?

And also, Shizuru and Kurama are scary.

Best just let them hash it out and fade into the wallpaper for the sake of my health.

Eventually Shizuru decided to put the poor guy out of his misery. Sort of? "Does your mom wear magnolia perfume?" she asked, and when Kurama said nothing and his shoulders went the smallest bit stiff, Shizuru shut her eyes. "Thought so. It's good stuff." She waved her cigarette. "Lingers."

Kurama spoke from between his teeth, enunciating each word with care. "How. Often?" he demanded.

Kuwabara stepped between them, hands upraised. "Hey. What's going on?" he asked.

Shizuru ignored him. She just pointed her cigarette at Kurama and said, "If your mom is the one with magnolia perfume, then they saw each other maybe twice a month at first. But lately they've been seeing each other more."

Kurama ground out, "How much more?"

"Twice a week, give or take."

Kurama's eyes widened. Kuwabara's jaw dropped. He looked at Kurama and then Shizuru and back again, eyes almost as wide open as his mouth.

"Our dad's been seeing Kurama's mom that much?" he said. He cupped his chin, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. "Huh. Well, I guess this makes sense? Maybe? I've noticed he's been coming home late and going out a lot on his days off, but… hey, wait a second." He turned to Shizuru with a gasp. "Does this mean—?"

"Dunno." She shrugged again. "Not our business. He hasn't bothered to tell us, so I haven't bothered to ask."

Kuwabara wasn't so easy to placate, though. He stuttered and stammered, eventually grinding out the words, "But Shizuru—ever since Mom died—our dad has never—Kurama!" He turned to the aforementioned demon and asked, "Are our parents dating?"

And… there it was. The hunch I'd been entertaining for the past five minutes, spoken into the universe by none other than Kuwabara—Kuwabara, who still had his mouth open as he stared at Kurama, who was staring at Shizuru was a carefully neutral mask on his face, who was staring right back with a bored look on hers while she puffed her cigarette. A muscle twitched in Kurama's jaw, and when Shizuru quirked a brow at him, he turned away from her with a quiet murmur of, "If you'll excuse me."

And then he wheeled away from us and stalked out of the suite, door shutting with a whispering creak behind him.

For a minute, no one spoke.

Then Kuwabara opened his mouth.

Before he could talk, the suite's door opened again, and through it strode Atsuko. She held a six-pack under her arm; on her heels followed Botan and Yukina. The door banged shut at their heels, and when the lock clicked into place, Atsuko lifted her thumb and pointed over her shoulder with it.

"What's eating him, huh?" she asked.

Shizuru said, "We think our dad might be dating Kurama's mom."

"WHAT?! No!" The six-pack fell to the floor with a clatter; her face purpled, teeth showing in a livid grimace. "But I was the one who was supposed to—ugh, I need a beer. Or a tequila shot." She snatched her beer off the floor and veered toward the kitchen. "Do we got anything strong to drink in this place or what?"

Grumbling, she marched away, disappearing into the kitchen with a curse. Botan tittered and followed, saying something about keeping Atsuko at least somewhat in check ("We can't have her getting totally soused before lunch, now can we?"). Yukina watched them with a concerned look on her face, but soon she turned to us and, with a polite smile on her face, took a seat on one of the chairs in the living room. Kuwabara greeted her, but he was too busy stroking his chin and staring at the floor to pay her any rapt attention.

My heart gave a little pang when I saw that.

Oh, canon. You poor, forgotten thing…

Oblivious to my internal struggle, Kuwabara heaved a sigh. "Our dad. Dating," he said as he settled back onto the couch next to me. "Dating. Dating Kurama's mom." He looked at the ceiling for a second. "You know… I don't hate that." A light dawned behind his eyes. "I didn't talk to her for very long at the New Year's party, but Kurama's mom—what's Kurama's last name again?"

"Minamino," I said.

He beamed. "Minamino-san seemed like a super nice lady. And she's pretty, too. And age-appropriate, even." He looked at the scarf he'd lent me with new appreciation. "And she can knit really nice scarves, and Dad has been in a great mood lately…"

"True." Shizuru strode toward the nearest chair and sat with a huff, long legs crossing at the thigh. "He's had a spring in his step this spring. Figure she has a lot to do with it." She grinned a little, cigarette bobbing between her lips. "But I guess spring is the time for romance…"

"Heh. Heh-heh." Kuwabara's cheek turned bright pink, the silliest of warm smiles plastered across his face. "Dad is dating again. I never thought he'd…" The smile turned into an enormous grin. "This is awesome!"

I did a double-take, which I tried to hide behind the mug of tea in my hands. "It is?" I said, lifting it hurriedly to my mouth.

"Well, duh! Mom passed away a long time ago and it's about time he got back out there!" He sobered just a bit, catching Shizuru's eye as they shared a knowing look. "Y'know, I kinda worried that when he started dating again, it'd be some lady we didn't like, but if it's Kurama's mom…!" And then the silly-grin was back in business. "Heh. Heh-heh! Wow" The dork was staring at the ceiling as if it had just given him a million dollars. "Kurama and me might be stepbrothers someday!"

I almost did a spit-take. Shizuru rolled her eyes.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she said. "They've only known each other for a few months. It's probably still casual between them."

"Hey, can't a guy dream?" Kuwabara protested. "I think it's a good match! We're gonna have to have them over for dinner, and we're gonna have to invite her and Kurama to the movies sometime." He turned to me all of a sudden, twisting his hands together on his lap. "Should I get another concert ticket for Kurama? Does he like Megallica, do ya think? Oh, and he can help me with my homework and I can show him how to wear a pompadour, but that doesn't seem like his style I guess, but anyway, he'd be a much better brother than Yusuke, that's for sure, and—"

We watched in silence as he gushed, big guy giggling to himself as he daydreamed about what it would be like to have a mom again, not to mention as cool of a brother as Kurama. Shizuru remained comparatively more stolid, watching her brother without commentary (though I did catch her smiling a few times at his enthusiasm). Yukina mostly seemed puzzled at Kuwabara's behavior, listening and nodding, though it didn't quite look like she really understood.

And me, through all of this?

I just tucked myself into the corner of the couch and clutched my tepid mug of tea, trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone—because out of all the romantic changes to canon that had come today, this had been the most unexpected (not to mention mystifying) of them all.

Kuwabara pushed his plate away and sighed. "That was delicious!"

Everyone murmured in agreement, chopsticks descending to various plates with a series of loud clatters. Yukina set hers down delicately and dabbed her mouth with a napkin, staring at the crumbs and leftover sauce on her plate with a small, happy smile. Botan and I had cooked lunch, and we'd made sure to ask her if she had any preferred human foods—which she did not, she said. She'd been eager to try as many new foods as she could while spending time in Human World (with her people's permission, she mentioned a few times; I knew this was a lie, but I said nothing). It was charming to watch her marvel at new tastes and textures, asking which ingredients were in what dishes and requesting we one day teach her to make some of our favorites.

I couldn't help but wonder how many things Tarukane allowed her to eat while holding her captive.

Like with most of my canon curiosities, I knew better than to ask.

When we finished our meal, Yukina was the first to stand and begin collecting plates; she was eager to be helpful, even suggesting we pack a plate with leftovers for Kurama. He hadn't come back before we'd eaten. She looked at his unused plate with a sad frown as I carried it toward the kitchen, hesitating until Botan asked what was wrong.

"The food you made won't be warm when he comes back," she said, anxiety carving a small line between her brilliant eyebrows. "Will it be as good if it's cold?"

"It'll be fine if we reheat it," I assured her.

"And besides," Botan added as Yukina looked relieved, "we'll order room service tonight, anyway. He probably won't eat the leftovers even if he comes back soon."

Yukina looked confused. "Room… service?"

"Oh, yes." Botan nodded, hair flapping over her shoulder. "You're not supposed to work or cook on vacation. Tonight we'll have to order room service and really live it up!"

Shizuru gave her a fish-eyed stare. "This isn't a vacation, Botan."

"Maybe not, but you know what I mean!" She spun in place, beaming at the gleaming hotel suite. "We're in a fancy hotel and I went to the spa and now we need a free fancy dinner to top it all off!"

"Greedy, huh?" Atsuko teased.

"Hey!" said Botan with a giggle. "I resemble that remark."

"Anybody interested in dessert?" I asked.

A chorus of yeses came from the lunch table. With Yukina's help I carried the dirty dishes into the kitchen, piling them into the sink as the others drifted toward the living room, the murmur of their voices like a steady tide through the wall. I'd baked a cake that morning and made a tub of icing, too, but the cake had been too hot to frost before lunch. I got it out of the icebox and pulled a spatula from one of the drawers (really, this suite kitchen was super well-stocked), wondering how evenly I'd be able to coat the two-layer cake without a proper turntable (even this fancy kitchen had its limits, I guess).

Before I could get started, movement from the kitchen doorway caught my eye. It was only Yukina, though, hovering in the entryway with hands folded primly in front of her light blue yukata. "May I help?" she said when our eyes met.

My cheeks colored at once. "Oh, Yukina. Hi." I turned back toward the cake. "Um."

"I'd like to help, if I could." Her voice was as soft as spun cotton, airy and light. "Just tell me what I should do."

How very like Yukina, I thought to myself. She was just as helpful and eager to please as the fandom made her out to be. But I still had the tendency to blush and stammer around her (damn you, my weakness for pretty girls!), so it was probably better if she just let me have full run of the kitchen.

But it was really hard to say that when she was staring at me with that hopeful look on her face, pretty features arranged into a painful expression of potential helpfulness. My resolve crumbled away the minute I turned to tell her it was fine and to just let me take care of dessert, and I wheeled back toward my cake with an embarrassed cough.

"There are some plates in the cabinets, if you'll get those down." I gestured in their direction, though I kept my eyes fixed on the cake. "We used most of the others for lunch, but those should be fine."

She murmured an affirmative. I didn't look at her as she passed with the smallest of cool breezes to mark her presence, concentrating instead on covering the cake I'd made with snowy white frosting. From my periphery I saw her move toward the cabinets with the plates, and then I heard the hinges creak open—but don't stare, Yukimura. Don't you dare stare at her and make her uncomfortable.

"I found them," Yukina said after a moment. "Now if I can just…"

She grunted (though, like, delicately and shit, because this was Yukina we were talking about). I turned my head enough to see her gently lever herself atop the counter, where she knelt as she reached for the plates on the rather tall shelves. Well, shit; I'd forgotten she was short! But before I could tell her to never mind the plates, just let me get them, she turned her face over her shoulder to look at me. At once I tore my eyes away, fastening them back onto the half-frosted cake.

"Be careful," I said, mostly to the cake.

"Of course," Yukina replied. "Don't worry. This will only take a moment."

There came a small clink of china; seemed she was able to reach the plates just fine. I breathed a sigh of relief, not daring to look away from the frosting-covered spatula in my hand. The last thing I wanted was to make Yukina uncomfortable with any unwanted staring, or stammering, or whatever other embarrassing things I was capable of when in the presence of someone I considered very, very pretty. I just kept an ear on her as I continued to frost, counting the number of plates she'd fetched by the sounds they made against each other. One plate, then two, then three, then four—

The sound of nearing footsteps masked the telltale clatter of any further plates. Once more movement flickered in my periphery, and Kuwabara strode into view from the living room. Because any awkwardness I felt around him paled in comparison to what I felt around Yukina, I gratefully turned in his direction as he walked into the room with a big grin.

"Hey, do you guys need any—" But then his eyes popped wide open; he lunged past me with a harsh cry of, "Yukina, watch out!"

It was like moving underwater, turning around to face her, but turn I did. Yukina knelt on the countertop, soles of her wooden sandals scuffed and exposed thanks to her odd posture, one arm stretching high above her head to the topmost cabinet. Small plates sat next to her, and more sat on the very highest shelf—next to a heavy iron stockpot, which had shifted forward as Yukina dragged plates out from behind its bulk. She'd looked over her shoulder at the sound of her name, oblivious to the shadow falling over her face as the stockpot tilted forward, sliding toward the edge of the shelf and the freefall beyond.

I'd like to think I would've grabbed her and pulled her out of the way. I'd like to think I would've reacted quickly and calmly and gotten the situation under control.

Instead, I froze.

Lucky for Yukina, Kuwabara didn't. He was across the kitchen in half a second, speed utterly supernatural as he grabbed her arm and yanked her out from under the path of the pot. She fell off the cabinets with a cry, staggering against him as the pot fell like a stone through the air and hit the marble counter with a horrific clang. "Are you all right?" Kuwabara said, hand still locked around her arm. "Yukina, you almost—"

But over the sound of his question Yukina snarled, "Don't touch me!"

Kuwabara blinked. "Huh?"

"Let me go!" She shoved against his chest, arm still locked in his grip as he numbly stared at her (and as I numbly stared at them). "Don't touch me!"

"Hey, I didn't—"

"Get away!" Yukina shrieked. "Go!"

And Kuwabara, bless him—he listened. He let go of her arm as she wrenched it away, staring at her as she stumbled backward and into the counter, where she crouched with an arm thrown up over her head, trembling as she buried her face in her other hand and heaved a sob. Kuwabara just gaped down at her, his own hands coming up as if he wanted to comfort her or something, but the minute he stepped toward her, she loosed a shriek and scooted backward over the tile, curling in on herself when she hit a cabinet.

The glimpse I caught of her face, however brief, was unmistakable.

Fear—pure and unadulterated—caked her features like thick and heavy mud.

Shizuru and Botan and Atsuko appeared in the doorway a moment later, each of them asking what the hell was happening in comical unison. It would've been funny, the way they each looked at Yukina and Kuwabara and then back again as one, but there was absolutely nothing funny about the way Yukina was babbling her fear for the world to hear.

"Please!" she was saying, desperation catching like a thorn in her throat. "Please, no, no, I—"

The ice inside me thawed. I bounded across the room and snatched Kuwabara's wrist with a growl of, "Kuwabara, get out."

He looked at me in pure shock. "But I didn't—"

"I know you didn't do anything, but that doesn't matter. Just—"

I tugged him away from Yukina, passing Botan, Atsuko and Shizuru as they in turn surged forward, kneeling next to Yukina on the cold kitchen floor. Botan pulled Yukina to her and wrapped her arm's around the girl's shoulder, murmuring comforts I could barely hear as I shoved Kuwabara into the living room and told him to stay put and do not come back in there, promise me. He looked completely confused, heartbreakingly so, but I didn't have time to explain. I just gave him a Look before reentering the kitchen, where Yukina continued to shake in Botan's arms like a single flower in the arms of a gale.

Hard though it was to hear Botan's comforts beneath the sound of Yukina's sobs, I heard it loud and clear when something small and crystalline hit the floor. It was followed by a second, and then a third, and then three small objects rolled out from under Yukina and towards me feet.

I didn't need to look to know exactly what they were.

And I didn't need to think to know what I should do next.

Without a word, I lunged for the refrigerator and wrenched open the freezer. The ice-maker's catch bucket was only half full, but that was OK. I grabbed it and whirled. Atsuko and Shizuru darted out of the way, reading my intention before I slammed onto my knees next to Botan and Yukina so I could shove the bucket into Yukina's lap.

"Yukina," I said. "Yukina—here!"

And maybe she knew what to do without thinking, too, because the second the cold bucket touched her hands, she grabbed onto it tight. Yukina clutched it to her chest and buried her face in its open top, breathing ragged gulps of frosting air into her lungs. Every rise and fall of her chest shook, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she drank down the cold. Botan kept her hand moving in small circles across Yukina's back, still telling her it would be all right, to just breathe, to just breathe for just a minute more, and it would be all right, you'll see…

Somehow, against all odds—Botan was right.

It took time, and by then the ice at the bottom of the bucket had started to melt, but soon Yukina's breathing slowed. It grew deeper, steadier, and even. Soon her legs uncurled a little; the deathgrip she'd out on the ice bucket slackened just a tad. Her eyes opened, soon, and with a shuddering breath she raised her face to look at us.

"I'm—I'm so sorry," Yukina said with a gasp.

Words flew from my mouth like vomit: "It's not your fault."

"No, Yukina, it most certainly isn't." Botan smiled at her, kindly and warmly and with the softest of sympathy. "We're here for you. Can we do anything?"

Yukina took a deep breath. "I think—I think I'd like to take a bath," she said, voice quavering.

"Upstairs?" Botan shook her head, face pained, because it had been a premature question and she knew it. "Yes, of course upstairs." She took Yukina's hands in hers. "Let's get you a bath drawn up, hmm?"

I took the ice bucket. I put it back in the freezer as Shizuru, Atsuko and Botan helped Yukina to her feet. Above her very short head, the four of us shared a look—a look of understanding, of intention, and of communication we did not need to speak aloud to comprehend. But then a shadow fell over us, and Yukina's eyes went wide.

Kuwabara stood in the doorway, looking as heartbroken as I'd ever seen him. "Yukina—Yukina, are you—" he said, and he stretched out his hand.

It was a futile gesture.

Yukina shrank into Botan's side and shut her eyes tight, shaking her head firmly 'no.' Shizuru stepped forward in turn, backing Kuwabara out of the kitchen with one of her most fearsome glares.

It wasn't a glare made entirely of teeth, though. Her voice came softly when she spoke, telling Kuwabara under her breath, "Not now, kid."

"But what's happening?" he asked.

"We'll explain later. For now, just let us go. Kay?"

"OK." He didn't sound satisfied, but he scrubbed any notion of annoyance from his voice when he called, "I hope you feel better, Yukina."

Yukina didn't answer. She just clung to Botan and let both her and Atsuko to lead her out of the kitchen toward the suite's front door.

I didn't follow, though.

My eyes had caught on what lay glittering upon the floor.

Once again I found myself frozen neatly in place, staring with unconscious comprehension at the evidence of Yukina's agony—and then Shizuru called my name from the door. Just like that, the spell upon me broke. I shook my head and bent, swiping them up off the ground so I could shove them in my pocket, and without a word I followed the girls out of the hotel suite.

Atsuko led the charge, as she was wont to do. Botan and Yukina followed in her wake, and Shizuru brought up the rear, protecting the caravan as we made our slow way to the elevator at the end of the hall. I caught up quickly, and when I fell into step beside Shizuru, her eyes cut to me sidelong.

"What was with the ice?" she muttered.

"Just something I read somewhere, once." No sense telling her I'd had an informative therapist in a past life. "Cold can trigger the mammalian diving reflex. Helps regulate panic symptoms."

One brow rose. "How'd you get to know so much about panic attacks?"

I hesitated—but Shizuru's eyes were as penetrating as drill bits. "I've had a few," I admitted out of the corner of my mouth. I hesitated again, for different reasons, before whispering, "I also thought, for Yukina, ice might feel like home."

Shizuru considered this a moment.

But she said nothing, and continued marching on.

Once we boarded the elevator, Atsuko and Botan kept up a steady stream of cheerfully distracting chatter, but Yukina didn't appear to listen. Uncharacteristically withdrawn, face gaunt and slick with sweat, she leaned against the side of the elevator in silence, she didn't appear at all interested in what Botan and Atsuko had to say about the hotel, and dinner that night, and the possibility of watching a movie in the suite. Normally Yukina gobbled up any information about this world that she could, but not then.

Not that I blamed her. I knew damn well how tiring a panic attack could be. And even without knowing why she'd had one, what I needed to do remained exactly the same.

If Yukina was in pain, then Atsuko, Botan, Shizuru and I would be there for her. No "why" was needed. The look we'd shared back in the kitchen said we all felt the same way about that.

Atsuko and Botan kept up their chatter routine through the elevator ride and all the way to our suite, where Botan deposited Yukina on a couch and then ran off to the bathroom to fix Yukina's requested bath. Atsuko sat next to the Yukina without even a moment's awkwardness, taking up the solo chatter like she'd been born for it. I sat in a nearby chair, not sure what to do, but soon Botan appeared in the bedroom doorway over Yukina's shoulder. She caught my eye and beckoned me over, so with a quick look at Shizuru, I got up and stole over to Botan's side.

"What's up?"

She shifted from foot to foot, looking agitated. "I don't know what temperature to run the bath!"

"Uh—" Now that she mentioned it, what the heck temperature would an ice apparition prefer, anyway? I stared at her, mouth working around empty air, but I came up short. "Um—?"

"Hot, please."

Atsuko's chatter quieted. Botan and I both flinched. Yukina turned her head just enough to see us out of one crimson eye. She wore a tiny smile on her face, but it was bitter, distorted by the fatigue still haunting her ghostly features.

"Hot?" Botan repeated with a gulp. "You're sure?"

"I'm odd like that." Yukina's voice held steadier than before, but it remained whisper-quiet. "Most of my people prefer cold, but…"

Her voice broke. She turned her face away, hands over her eyes. Shizuru glared at us from across the room and shook her head. Atsuko started talking again, stammering at first, and I jumped into her random talk (about her favorite brand of beer) to give her a break. Botan gaped at Yukina for a minute, but soon she gave a resolute nod and disappeared into the bedroom once again. Soon there can a squeak and the sound of running water, and after a few agonizing minutes of Yukina's silence and my stilted conversation with Atsuko (faking a breezy attitude is not one of my strengths), Botan came back and knelt at Yukina's side.

"Yukina?" she said, peering anxiously at her covered face. "Come with me. Your bath is ready."

Yukina's eyes appeared between her cracked fingers. "Thank you."

Like a parade of ducklings, we followed Yukina and Botan into the bathroom, where the cavernous garden tub sat full of steaming water—water and copious bubbles, that is. Botan blushed when Shizuru raised her eyebrow at it.

"I, um. I hope you like bubbles!" she said with a nervous laugh. "I might have overdone it on the bubble bath."

"Just 'might?'" Shizuru muttered.

But Yukina only gave another of her barely there smiles. "I don't mind," she said. "Although I've never tried it."

Botan gave her an encouraging smile. Yukina smiled back, reaching behind herself to untie the obi keeping her yukata shut. As Botan helped her out of the heavy garment, I turned my face away and excused myself. Call me a prude if you want, but even though communal bathing was common in Japan (Botan certainly didn't see any problem with Yukina undressing in front of her), I felt it would be better to give Yukina her privacy. The Japanese population in general had a healthier view of nudity than Americans, not viewing it as inherently sexual (which it isn't), but sometimes I just couldn't shake the ingrained naked-is-bad American sensibility.

Did the Koorime have the same Japanese sensibility? Yukina certainly wasn't shy about undressing in front of us…

Atsuko followed my lead, heading back into the living room on my heels, and soon Shizuru joined us. Botan was the last to arrive, and when she did, she carried Yukina's yukata in a ball in her arms. On reflex I started to tell her to fold the garment nicely so it wouldn't crease, but she shook her head even as I opened my mouth.

"It's soaked," she said. "Yukina was sweating, I think. We'll need to have it washed."

An uneasy silence stole over the room. I couldn't take my eyes off the crumpled yukata. For that thick garment to get soaked with sweat, Yukina had to have been in a lot of psychological pain. And from the looks on everyone's faces, they had arrived at the same conclusion, too.

Atsuko was the first to acknowledge this aloud. "What do you think that was all about?" she said, voice pitched low so Yukina wouldn't overhear. "She was in a real bad way."

Botan's face paled. "I hate to say it," she said, voice quavering, "but I have a hunch."

My head turned sharply toward her. "You do?"

"Of course," said Botan. "Don't you?"

"No?"

Confusion filled her magenta eyes, but it drained away again just as quickly. "Right," she said. "You looked away."

"Looked away from what?"

"It's… it's not my place to say, I think." Botan grimaced. "She'll talk to us when she's ready. If she's ready."

But Atsuko just shrugged, leaning back against the couch as she crossed her legs and arms. "None of that matters, anyway," she declared. "I have no idea what her deal is, but I know a girl who's seen her fair share of hell. Whatever she needs, I'm there." She eyed the beer in her hand (when had she grabbed that?) and then set it gently on the coffee table, pushing it away and out of reach. "So look alive, and be ready." Her dark eyes traced our faces one by one. "Right, you three?"

Shizuru shrugged one shoulder. "Goes without saying, doesn't it?"

"Agreed," said Botan.

"Yeah." I nodded. "I'm in, too."

And that was it, really.

Nothing else needed to be said.

"What are you doing?"

Shizuru was staring at the clothes in my hands—a dress and a jacket, with leggings to wear under it—with confusion. I pointed at the bag we'd stashed Yukina's yukata inside of and smiled.

"I realized she doesn't have a pair of clothes to change into." I held up the clothes. "So I thought…"

"Right," Botan said. "She didn't bring any luggage with her, did she?"

Indeed, she had not. I'd tried to pick something I thought she might like from the clothes I'd brought with me, and this ensemble reminded me of what Yukina wore in the last episode of Yu Yu Hakusho, so… I just hoped it fit, and as I sent good-garment-fitting vibes out into the universe, I sat beside Botan on the couch.

Atsuko had shown an incredible amount of willpower in the last half hour; she hadn't taken a sip of her beer, keeping true to her decision to be there for Yukina, come what may. Botan, meanwhile, twiddled her thumbs and hummed under her breath, biting her lower lip as her eyes gazed into the distance. Shizuru stared out the window, smoking. Every now and again she'd sigh and rub her temples, but for the most part, we remained quiet as we waited for Yukina to come out of her bath.

Botan shifted uneasily after a little while. "Do you think we should check on her?"

Shizuru shook her head. "Give her space."

But Botan didn't look convinced. She glanced over her shoulder at the bedroom door, and then at Shizuru, and then at the clothes folded on my lap, one after the other after the other. "She's been in there for so long…" she said, eyes huge and swimmable, and Shizuru heaved a weary sigh.

"Keiko." She knocked some ashes into the tray she'd balanced on the windowsill. "Take her those clothes."

I jumped nearly out of my skin. "Why me?"

Shizuru glowered at my reflection in the window. "Why not you?"

"Uh." My face heated. "No reason."

Botan started to say something, but I had already gotten up and marched quite stiffly out of the room. I refused to look at Shizuru at all, because she was smirking, and that smirk was dangerous, and I really didn't want to hear what she was thinking just then. Instead I headed for the bathroom door, told myself not to think too hard about this because otherwise I'd probably end up in a panic spiral, after which I took a really deep breath and knocked three times upon the door.

"Yukina?" I called into the bathroom. "You OK in there?"

It took a moment, but soon her soft voice filtered through the wooden panel between us. "Yes," she said, the sounds of lapping water almost drowning her out. "I'm fine, Keiko."

"Good. Cool. Good." Another deep breath. "I brought you some clothes to change into. We're washing your yukata."

"Thank you," Yukina said.

I nodded. "Cool. Cool-cool-cool-cool-cool. So. Um." Kneeling, I placed the clothes carefully on the carpet. "I'll just leave these here for you."

And with that, I thought I was home free.

But then Yukina's soft voice once more carried through the quiet to ask, "Can you bring them in, please?"

Well, shit.

I wanted to make an excuse. I wanted to make any excuse in the world to not go in there, but none of them sounded natural. None wouldn't make me sound like a total and complete dork, so I steeled my resolve and slowly inched the door open bit by bit until moist steam buffeted my face like a gentle cloud. I edged inside with breath held, taking great care not to look toward the bathtub on the other side of the marble-tiled room as I set the clothes atop the towel Botan had left folded on the sink. And with that done, I turned swiftly on my heel and made for the door.

"Keiko—I'm sorry."

Her voice—small and plaintive—stopped me cold with my hand poised on the doorknob. Small splashes of water made the quiet almost hum; the water sounded nearly like voices, but it was not, and that made the lack of speaking all the more grating in my ears. I took a deep breath, willing myself to not grip the doorknob quite so hard.

"Don't be," I said. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"Thank you." More water-sounds echoed through the silence. Somehow I think I heard her take a breath before she whispered, "Can you stay?"

And I was back to gripping the doorknob really super hard again. "Yukina. Um."

"I—I don't want to be alone right now."

It was the heartbreak in her voice that stilled the anxiety in my chest. It was that desperate quietness, that air of hopeless hopefulness, that cast a shadow across my anxiety and rendered it invisible—because no one, Yukina's cracking voice informed me, felt as alone as she did in that quiet, wavestruck moment. I was being a child, despite my age. I was running from a person who needed support because… what? Because I was embarrassed that I got all blushy when she smiled? Because I didn't want her knowing that I thought she was cute? What was I, a twelve-year-old?

The shame of that gave me courage, or at least humbled me enough to provide some momentary bravery. I took an enormous breath and turned, marching stiffly toward the bathtub without looking at it—and when I finally dared to take a peek at the massive mound of crystalline bubbles from the corner of my eye, I learned that all my awkwardness had been an exercise in futility. The curtain edging the bathtub was pulled half-closed on the crescent moon of the rod suspended above it from the ceiling, and Yukina was hidden quite nearly from sight.

In fact, as I settled down onto the hard floor at the foot of the bathtub with my back against its porcelain wall (angling myself so the curtain would block as much of her as possible), it became apparent that seeing Yukina in a vulnerable position would actually be quite difficult. Even if the curtain hadn't been drawn, the slew of bubbles in the tub rose all the way to Yukina's chin. Her face was a single spot of flesh-tone in the middle of a diamond ocean, her mint-green hair piled atop her skull like a crowning knot of jade, and although her red eyes were red-rimmed and the skin beneath them puffy, she looked like a beautiful but beheaded statue balanced atop a mountain of luminescent pearls.

She also looked incredibly silly, because a blob of bubbles had somehow landed atop the peak of her hair—snow topping the zenith of some wobbly mountaintop.

But the expression on Yukina's face didn't inspire any laughter. She stared moodily into the bubbly maelstrom of her bath. Thin strands of stringy hair crawled down the sides of her glistening cheeks, matted there with steam and soap suds.

"My people bathe communally."

Her lips barely moved when she spoke. Her eyes didn't falter from their stare into the snowy bubbles below. If she hadn't spoken, I might have mistaken her for a statue indeed.

But it was impolite to not reply to people, no matter how much like a statue they looked. "So do ours, actually," I said. I suppressed an ironic smile. "Or at least in this country they do, anyway."

Her gaze at last shifted, if temporarily. It flickered to my face and then down again, and her lips pressed into a small purse.

"I didn't know that," she told me. "I was left alone so often, at the mansion. But now…" Her brow furrowed. "Now, bathing alone just hurts."

Even discounting her reference to the mansion where she had been tortured and detained, hers was a loaded statement, though she had no idea that I knew its truest weight—the weight of the fact that she hadn't asked permission to come to Human World. The fact that she might not be accepted back into her previous home. The fact that she might never bathe with her family again, and that the cost of finding her missing brother was the abandonment of the only other family she had ever known.

I couldn't tell her what I knew.

All I could tell her was, "I'm sorry."

Her eyes closed. "It's all right."

We said nothing for a few moments. Yukina kept her head bowed, eyes shut, bubbles threatening her nose as she breathed in the perfumed air. Botan had found bubble bath that smelled like freesia, or maybe lavender; it was hard to tell. I gave up trying to decide what the scent was after a little while. And besides: The cold tile under me sent chill into my tailbone, and the room's awkward quiet was too distracting to be put off for long by a single mysterious scent.

Eventually I couldn't take that silence anymore. "So. How've you been enjoying spending time in Human World?" I said with as much cheer as I could force.

Perhaps Yukina had been feeling the silence, too, because she answered me rather quickly. "It's… different," she said. Her eyes fluttered open so she could look at me, lips curling into the faintest of smiles. "Everything is so different here. It isn't like the mansion, or my home world, at all."

I hummed. "Adjusting OK?"

Her smile faded. "I'm not sure."

"It'll come in time. 90 days and you'll adjust." When Yukina looked slightly mystified, I clarified, "That's what they say about getting a new job. It takes 90 days to adjust and not feel like the newbie. Maybe it applies to interdimensional sightseeing, too."

"Maybe," Yukina said.

She didn't say more. I wasn't expecting her to not say more. I hadn't come up with anything else to say just yet, so for a second I just sat there in uncertain silence—but before I could find it in me to speak, the bubbles around her shifted. Her hand rose like an eldritch being rising from the deep, parting the bubble hills so she could swipe at the hair curling against her cheek. The motion scattered some of the bubbles under her chin and atop her chest, revealing the stripe of peach skin along her collarbone, and of course I tried to look away.

I tried, but I couldn't.

I couldn't, because the enormous line of warped purple flesh that ran along her collarbone and down her chest, disappearing into the bubbles, demanded my attention.

Yukina realized what I was so rudely staring at a second before I managed to wrench my eyes away from that deep, angry, gnarled scar. I cleared my throat and forced a smile and stared pointedly at the floor, but it was no use. She had caught me staring at that angry and gnarled and obvious blemish on her otherwise flawless skin, and a flash of hurt lanced through her bright eyes as she sank deeper into the bath with a tiny splash.

The silence that followed was so thick, a knife could've cut it—and it wouldn't take a knife anywhere near as sharp as the one that had no doubt caused Yukina such a grievous wound.

Guilt speared my heart with a spike at that comparison, but still the comparison remained.

"May I ask you something?"

I jumped when she spoke, curling my long bangs behind my ear to cover my surprise. She regarded me frankly, face composed as I fidgeted beneath her stare. It was all I could do to nod in affirmation, and in response, she nodded back.

"What is your relationship to Yusuke-san?" Yukina asked.

My eyebrows shot up. "Yusuke?"

"Yes." Her tone softened. "I've been curious."

"Well. Um." I fiddled with a rip in the knee of my jeans for a second, organizing my thoughts. "Well, he's… I guess he's basically my brother, more or less? We met when we were little kids and we've been looking out for each other ever since. His mother, Atsuko, is part of the family, too."

"I see." Yukina shut her eyes. "I, too, have a brother."

My heart leapt into my throat like a champion pole vaulter. "Really?" I said, and to my horror my voice came out in a tiny squeak.

"I came here to find him." She looked at me from beneath her lashes. "You know that already, though."

And then my champion-pole-vaulter heart was on top of my tongue and struggling to fall to the floor. "Uh. Yukina, I—"

She cut my panic off with the softest of intonations. "Botan told you, didn't she?" Yukina asked. "I explained why I came here when she spotted me in the crowds. I don't think she expected to see me at all."

Panic gave way to relief. For a second there, I thought she'd guessed that I knew the truth somehow; I'd quite forgotten she'd already spilled the beans to Botan about the search for her missing brother. "Right. Yeah, Botan, her, she did fill me in." I pasted on an expression of curiosity and helpfulness, which I hoped would hide any vestiges of lingering panic. "Do you have any idea how you'll find him? What he looks like, or…?"

"No." Again she smiled, with such fragility it was a wonder her features didn't crack. "But I have faith that when I see him, I will know."

Despite the fragility in her features, she appeared… serene, I guess. Like she believed what she was saying, despite having no clues to aid her search. Nothing in her eyes wavered, the expression in them as solid as a statue carved of stone… and I had to wonder if Yukina had already guessed the truth. If the sight of Hiei had been accompanied by a searing rush of undeniable recognition, a collision of entangled souls meeting at long last.

I'd felt precisely that the second I laid eyes on Yusuke, after all. And when I'd laid eyes on Kuwabara on the playground as a kid, and on Kurama in our classroom as teenagers, and on Hiei himself when he appeared to kidnap me. Recognition at first sight… it really wasn't all that unthinkable at all. Not in this world, anyway.

As if sensing my thoughts of him, Yukina asked, "What is having a brother like?"

"That's… huh." I scratched my nose. "Um."

She read my silence as reluctance, I think, because her head dipped in a penitent bow. "I apologize for the strange question," she said. "I asked Shizuru, but… my brother and I are twins. You and Yusuke are the same age. Shizuru is much older than Kuwabara. I'm interested to see if your perspective is different, and if it will be closer to that of mine and my brother's."

I just looked at her for a minute. It was a daunting question, even if on the surface it seemed simple. I'd been an only child in my past life. I was an only child in this one, too, my relationship with Yusuke notwithstanding—and as Yukina waited for me to speak, her eyes intent upon my face, I wondered if I'd be able to put my relationship with him into words to her satisfaction.

Wait.

'To her satisfaction?'

Yukina watched me with unmistakable intensity, face settled into an anticipatory constellation more befitting a probing scientist than a curious new friend. She'd asked me what my relationship with Yusuke was without seeming to know the answer, but she'd followed the question up so quickly with one about brothers… and the comment about Shizuru's age suggested that Yukina had given both my relationship to Yusuke and our ages quite a bit of thought. And that meant she'd already deduced that Yusuke and I had a sibling-like relationship, somehow, and she'd only seen us interact a handful of times, and while we were fighting.

Yukina… she was not what she seemed, now was she?

I had to fight to keep a grin off my face while I spoke, because the thought of Yukina not being exactly like I'd thought was, in a word, exciting.

"Having a brother is… it's like having a net," I explained as I threw caution to the wind and just let the words flow. "You know that if you fall, it'll be there to catch you no matter what. Sometimes the net trips around your feet and is super annoying, but it's worth having. It's more than worth having, actually." The grin broke through my defenses, but that was OK; it was not about Yukina anymore, but about the boy whose face had filled the eye of my mind to the brim. "Yusuke can predict what I'll do before I think about doing it. I can do the same with him. Having someone around who knows you better than you know yourself can be… humbling. But I sleep better at night knowing he's got my back."

Yukina studied my face.

"I see," she said.

Again, her eyes closed. Her head dipped low, nose nearly brushing the bubbles piled underneath it.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

She shook her head, but only barely. "The Koorime—my people—they…"

Her voice broke. I shifted onto my hip, knees curling as I lay my arm along the edge of the bath.

"It's OK," I said when she did not continue. "You don't have to tell me anything."

But again she shook her head. "We are all women," she said, and although her voice broke, she spoke with a pace both measured and confident. "We live on an island high above the ground, because men… they pose a danger to us." Another shake of her head, silken hair rippling. "My brother was cast out because of his sex. And I was taught, year after year, to fear men. But then I learned I had a brother." A bitter smile graced her lips. "And I had to wonder… how could my brother be a danger to me?"

Yukina paused. I said nothing, both because I sensed I shouldn't, and for fear of what I might give away of my knowledge of the Koorime if I broke the heavy silence.

Eventually Yukina continued on. "It felt fated, leaving to find him," she said, her voice a liquid whisper echoing in the cavernous bathroom. "But my ambitions soured when I was captured and sold to Tarukane." Pain flashed across her face, raw and undisguised. "I don't think I need to speak aloud the way in which I was treated."

She did not.

I remembered her scar just fine.

Yukina did not give me the chance to acknowledge this, though I doubt I would've had the courage to do so, anyway. Hand stealing to her chest, she whispered into the bubbles, "You saw what happened when Kuwabara touched me, even out of kindness. Kuwabara… he's kind. I know he'd never hurt me. He is a good man. But men…" She hesitated. But then her jaw set, delicate yet determined. "I'm trying to unlearn what I've been taught, by schooling and by experience, to fear, but it is difficult. I can only hope to overcome my feelings by the time I find my brother."

A long silence followed her declaration.

The first thought to cross my absent mind was: Good lord, that fucking sucks.

I mean, what else was there to say about her situation, really? It sucked, and that was all there was too it. Yukina had been taught to fear all her life, but then she'd questioned everything she knew and had taken a risk to see the world for herself, rather than take the teachings of her people at face value—and she was rewarded for that bravery and openness by having those fears completely reinforced by a deranged human businessman who tortured her to get rich. And even after being returned to the safety that was isolation on her floating island in Demon World, she'd once more risked everything she knew and in spite of what had to be major fucking PTSD to go find her brother and give him a chance to prove the Koorime wrong. She'd done all that for the sake of a brother she hadn't even met, and the sheer goodness that Yukina was apparently made of clamped my heart in a vice and squeezed it nearly into pulp.

Then again… Yukina wasn't nearly the shrinking violet that fandom sometimes made her out to be. Her insight into my relationship with Yukina proved she wasn't some one-note nice girl who liked to befriend fuzzy forest creatures. For Yukina to have shaken off the teachings of the Koorime spoke to a backbone of steal. Her survival of Tarukane's torture spoke to her iron willpower. And the fact that she'd left her village in the sky in defiance of her people said all those things and more about how cunning, how strategic, and how utterly unyielding she truly was.

And she had lied to us in the short time we'd known her, I reminded myself. Yukina claimed to have obtained her people's permission to search for her brother, but in the manga, she eventually revealed that this wasn't true. She'd run away without their permission, and to top it all off, in the manga Hiei had correctly guessed that half of the reason Yukina wanted to find her brother was to see if he hated the Koorime as much as she did. Her desire to find him was born at least partially of bloodlust. It was born of her wish to see her people punished for their culture of fear and isolation, but she knew she couldn't accomplish this on her own. That's why she'd sought out her twin, Hiei had guessed. Yukina wanted to see if her vicious, abandoned brother would kill their people for her.

Yukina hadn't bothered to deny his claims at all.

It was a conversation the anime hadn't quite managed to capture all of the nuances of, but it was one that had stuck with me the most. It was the single unveiled look the fandom had ever been granted of Yukina's cloistered heart, and it belied her kind, shy smiles like a riptide lurking beneath blue water.

I hadn't seen signs of that side of Yukina just yet, of course. Let me be clear that I didn't doubt her trauma for even a second, but all her sweet smiles and shy manner of speech… were they mere camouflage for her true personality? How much of her sweetness was artifice, like synthetic sweetener, and how much of it was simply her?

Yukina… she was more of an enigma than she let on.

A splash reverberated off the walls of the bathroom. Yukina had leaned forward, legs curling to her chest so she could pillow her forehead on her knees, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she feared she might fly apart at any moment. Multifaceted though I suspected she was, I didn't have it in me to even consider that this might be an act; her reaction to Kuwabara had been nothing but genuine, and the slump of her shoulders now looked likewise heartfelt—heartfelt and defeated. All at once the vice around my heart gripped tighter, mind racing as I shifted back onto my butt and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Well," I said, staring straight ahead at the wall. "There are a few things to fear about men, if we're being honest."

Yukina looked up at once. "Oh?" she breathed.

"Yup." I looked at her askance, keeping my face utterly straight. "They stink. Badly."

For a second, Yukina just looked at me in shock—but then she laughed. She threw back her head and laughed loudly enough to hurt my ears, a single ringing peal of mirth that sent bubbles flying.

"Hey, it's not funny!" I said with manufactured anguish. "Boys smell bad; they're the worst. And teenage boys? Holy crap, stay very far away because they will knock you out with that body odor alone. If you ever live with your brother, Yukina, you will also need to watch out for dirty socks left all over your house, because boys seem to lack the ability to clean up after themselves. Not that you can really blame them." I sighed and rolled my eyes and tried to look appropriately disgusted, yet mournful. "It's just in their DNA, but nevertheless, the stench of unwashed teenage boy is a truly frightful thing."

Yukina hadn't stopped laughing the entire time I spoke, though she tried to stifle her giggles with her fist. She shook and vibrated, head descending to her knees again as her shoulders shook, water sloshing in the tub as the bubbles danced a merry jig in time with Yukina's jollity. Right when I finished speaking and slumped against the tub, pretending to look defeated and distraught, she tossed back her head and loosed another tickled holler. She rocked forward again just as quickly, slapping her hand against the side of the tub as suds flew through the air—and then there came a little clattering sound, hollow and distinct.

The sound seemed to sober Yukina, though at first I knew not why. Her laughter (so loud, so exuberant, so unlike the usual, quiet Yukina's dainty giggles concealed behind the sleeve of her yukata) abated into giggles, and then into a few gasps, and then into a silent smile… but the smile faded as Yukina reached into the water, feeling around the bottom of the tub like she wanted to pull the tub's plug. Her hand soon emerged from the sudsy water, and between her fingers she did not hold a plug at all.

Instead, she held a tear-gem.

Only it wasn't like any tear-gem I had ever seen before.

This hiruiseki stone was pink. It was the pale pink of sakura blossoms in full bloom, surface lustrous and shiny, milky pale but slick with myriad colors that caught even the smallest shaft of light and burst it into the softest of swirling rainbows. Although its surface was perfectly smooth, it seemed to gleam with a thousand tiny facets of prismatic light, in utter defiance of its soft and uncut shape. I gasped at the sight of the opalescent pearl, watching with held breath as Yukina rolled it between her fingers. She contemplated the stone in silence, eyes clouded with trouble… and they grew even stormier when I reached into my pocket and fished out the three gems she had cried on the kitchen floor.

"Oh. Uh. I picked these up earlier. I thought you might—want them?" I handed them to her without making eye contact, uncertain of her silence. "Sorry if that's… weird. I wasn't sure what to do but it seemed strange to just leave them there.

Still Yukina did not speak. She simply took the gems and placed them on her palm, gently depositing the pink stone amid the three I had saved for her. Their rounded sides struck one another with musical chimes that sounded for all the world like crystal made audible.

But the three stones I handed her weren't pink. They were yellow. They had the same beautiful sheen possessed by the pink pearl, all rainbow hues and impossible facets, and their buttery tint was indeed gorgeous—but they had nothing on the pink gem. The pink one appeared to glow in the bathroom's dim light, like it housed an inner fire made of pure, incandescent springtime.

Eventually Yukina's fingers closed, obscuring the gems. Her other hand wandered to her throat. The bubbles around her had popped a bit, their bulk deflating as she splashed in the throes of humor, and I only noticed the brown leather cord around her neck when her fingers tugged at its length. She fished the cord out of the water with nimble fingers, lifting free of the bubbles a tiny bauble of a pendant. I had to fight hard against a gasp, fangirl heart thudding against my ribs as I wondered if this was indeed…?

And so it was.

Suds dripped off the pendant's rounded sides, eventually revealing a pale blue gem the color of the sky on only the sunniest of days. It was the heart of a periwinkle and the translucent water of a distant ocean, the blue of a vein seen under the thinnest skin, all awash in pearly sheen that no jeweler could possibly explain.

It was absolutely breathtaking.

And it was strange, too.

"Can I ask you something?" I said when I found my ability to speak. At Yukina's questioning glance, I pointed to her necklace. "That one is blue. The others are yellow and pink. Is there a reason they're not all the same?"

Yukina nodded, looking down at her pendant with a smile. "The color denotes their meaning," she said. "Pink is for happiness and humor. Yellow is for sadness and pain. Blue is for…" She trailed off, fingers curling around her necklace until it disappeared from view. "My mother gifted this one to me. She cried another for my brother." Her eyes rose to meet mine. "Blue is for the blood in our veins that binds us as a family." The gem slipped back into the water and out of sight. "I will know my brother by the gem he bears."

Suddenly, her certainty that she could find him made all the sense in the world.

As did the various colorations of her hiruiseki stones, come to think of it. Hadn't I read a paper once that said that tears cried as a result of different stimuli had different chemical structures when viewed under a microscope? Like human tears, the structural makeup of a Koorime's tears must be influenced by emotion if their differences were caused by humor, sadness or even chopping onions (one wondered what Yukina's gems would look like if she chopped onions, but I wasn't a monster who'd trick her into onion duty just to satisfy my curiosity). Makes sense the same should be said for tear gems—and oh. Oh shit. We never saw Yukina produce gems in the anime for any reasons other than physical pain or grief, and they had all been yellow. So the gems Tarukane got were all yellow, huh? Were maybe the pink ones worth more than the yellow? Were some tears worth more than others? Could Tarukane have even discovered the other gems considering how badly he tortured Yukina? What did all of this mean for Hiei, who was part Koorime, and—

A drop of water hit my wrist, drawing me out of my inner monologue. "Keiko," Yukina said, holding out her hand. "Here."

Hesitantly I opened my hand beneath her fist. When her fingers relaxed, three yellow and one pink gem fell softly into my palm, striking one another with the sound of tiny bells. I started to protest, to try and hand them back to her, but she shook her head. She closed my fingers around the gems, her damp fingers gentle but firm around my own.

"Keep them," she said, tone unbearably gentle. "Keep them, or throw them away. Along with the others, please. They are of no use to me, but if they can bring you even a little happiness…"

I shook my head. "Yukina, I can't."

"Why not?"

Voice strained, I asked, "Aren't these incredibly valuable?"

She lips parted. Her head tilted to the side a smidge. She started to speak—and stopped.

"Oh. Yes." Yukina looked down and away. "I'd forgotten."

At the sight of her dour expression (one full of sadness, pain, but the kind of bravery in the face of it that only made the pain more tragic), I wanted to punch myself in the face for being so utterly and completely stupid. As soon as the words had left my mouth, it had occurred to me that to Yukina, these weren't priceless gems. To Yukina these were nothing but tears, especially the yellow ones. The yellow tears were nothing more noteworthy than tiny, gorgeous monuments to pain—pain that hurt her and yet was so infinitely valuable to pigs like Tarukane. Was it any wonder, then, that Yukina would rather throw these away than keep them in her care?

I stuffed the gems in my pocket; Yukina flinched at the sudden movement, but I just forced a grin. "All right, Yukina," I said, showing her my empty hands. "I'll take care of them, OK?"

She smiled back, warm and small. "Thank you for that, Keiko. And thank you for your company." She reached for the edge of the bathtub. "I'm ready to get out of the bath, now."

I fetched her towel for her, and I helped wrap her in it.

I did not flinch from the sight of the scars that covered her skin like so much violent lace.

Yukina was more than those scars tried to make her out to be. I'd do well to remember that, in future.

"I'll take…" Kuwabara's fingers skimmed the line of playing cards in Atsuko's hand before settling on the one in the middle. "This one."

"Old Maid."

"Dammit, again?!"

Cards slapped the table as Kuwabara groaned and Atsuko cackled, counting out her paired cards with a gloating grin on her face. We'd been playing cards for the better part of the day, and in spite of Kuwabara's psychic senses, he was a shit player at Old Maid. He kept losing with almost belligerent consistency, drawing the joker again and again even when Yukina took pity on him and basically told him which card not to draw. Yusuke would've made a joke that Kuwabara's psychic powers must be broken or something.

But Yusuke wasn't there, now was he?

Well, he and all the rest of the guys (plus Genkai) weren't there, so I guess I couldn't be too mad. Yusuke was off with Genkai undergoing what I suspected was a certain test, and Kurama hadn't returned to the suite after his dramatic exit, and of course Hiei was gallivanting off in a forest somewhere or whatever. With just the girls and Kuwabara, it was a pretty subdued crowd—especially since Kuwabara had been trying his damndest to be nice to Yukina while still giving her space, with mixed results. She was as polite and cheerful as always, but more reserved in a way she normally was not, and Kuwabara was basically just confused and sad that he'd made her sad. It was one big awkward soup of people trying too hard to make nice, basically, and Atsuko had started slamming beers to cope with the situation shortly after our tenth game of Old Maid.

We were on game 27 or so when Kuwabara threw down his cards with a sigh. "Can we play something else?" he groused as he glared at the joker in his card pile. "I suck at Old Maid, apparently, which I didn't know people could even suck at since it's a game for literal babies."

Atsuko's eye lit up. "We could take a lap around the hotel. Maybe hit up the pool?"

"Sunbathing sounds nice to me!" Botan said.

But Kuwabara only slouched. "I didn't bring my trunks. And what time is it, anyway? Can we eat dinner yet?"

"It's 3:15," said Shizuru.

He did an impressively cartoonish double-take. "Seriously? I thought for sure it was, like, 7!"

Botan glanced toward the windows. "I suppose it doesn't help that we've been playing with the curtains drawn…"

"Maybe there's a movie on we could all watch," I suggested, because Kuwabara had started humming to himself and Shizuru had been chain-smoking for an hour, with each cigarette looking incrementally more murderous, and she was only looking a shade away from homicidal as her brother's humming of an off-key Megallica song continued.

Yukina perked up at the suggestion. "I like movies."

"You've seen one?" Botan asked, surprised.

"Yes. A few." She looked a little unsettled, shaking her head as if to ward off cobwebs. "But I'd like to see more, someday."

"Well, today seems as good as any to me." I hopped up and threw down my cards, stretching as I looked around for the TV remote. "Let's channel surf and see what we can find."

"I'll make popcorn!" Botan said.

"And I'll get the drinks!" said Atsuko.

Kuwabara grinned. "And I'll—"

Someone knocked on the door.

Kuwabara stopped talking. Botan said "I'll get it!" and trotted toward the front of the suite. Kuwabara opened his mouth to try again.

There came a trio of knocks. A quick little triplet, chipper and unmistakable.

Rather than keep heading for the door, though, Botan stopped walking. Slowly—very slowly, indeed—she pivoted on her heel, looking back toward the living room in confusion. Everyone else stared at her with the same expression on her face, myself included.

"Did… did you all hear that?" Botan said.

On cue, the knocking resumed—and this time it was loud enough for us to tell that it was not coming from the front door at all.

It was coming from the windows.

No one said anything for a second. We just turned like a gaggle of automatons toward the windows, covered as they were in thick blackout curtains. At them we stared in silence, until Botan cleared her throat.

"Is someone… is someone knocking on our window?" she asked.

"Maybe we were being too loud, and someone's telling us to shut it?" Kuwabara muttered under his breath.

Botan's head whipped toward him. "But Kuwabara—we're 14 stories up!"

A moment of silence followed.

As if to giggle at her point, someone knocked on our 14-story-window in a shave-and-a-haircut rhythm.

Everybody jumped. Yukina scooted behind the bored-as-hell-and-also-slightly-bloodthirsty Shizuru, who apparently didn't like having movie night interrupted and was busy cracking her knuckles at the curtains. Atsuko picked up one of her empty beer bottles and raised it high behind her head like she intended to chuck it at whatever was knocking on our window with suspiciously jaunty tempo. Botan looked a little green, and Kuwabara had picked up a pillow like it could serve as a replacement for his Spirit Sword.

I, meanwhile, had put my hands on my hips, my face screwed up in consternation.

"Wait a mo'." My eyes bugged out a bit. "Could that be…?"

Shizuru shot me a sharp look. "Keiko?"

I ignored her. I went to the windows, grabbed the curtains in both hands, and peeked through the place where they met—and my face paled. I wrenched the curtains shut again with a curse. "Oh my fucking god—"

"Keiko!" Kuwabara said. "What's wrong?!"

From the other side of the curtains, the knocker knocked. They knocked with a few different rhythms, each more cheerful than the last, and with each tattoo my face turned just a bit redder, ears quickly feeling like they'd just gotten turned out of a forge. I turned my back to the window, resolving to play this off as, um, a tree branch hitting the window pane (oh shit, we were way too high up for that to work, fuck fuck fuck—)… but everyone was staring at me, deadpan dead-fish glares brooking no room for obfuscation whatsoever. Shizuru's stare was particularly intimidating, so I wisely said nothing as she broke away from the pack and shooed me out of the way so she could peek past the curtains, too.

For a second, she just stared.

Then she pulled her face away from the gap and, with one brow arched quite high, informed me: "I think it's for you."

And with that, she wrenched the curtains open.

Most of us groaned or gasped as afternoon sun flooded the room with its bright glare, but I did my best not to shy away from that brilliant light. I cursed and peered through my fingers at the silhouette suspended beyond the glass, blinking as my eyes adjusted enough to make out the figure's face. He wore an enormous grin, gleam of his curved eyeteeth matched only by the sparkle in his bright blue eye and the fiery crown of hair upon his head. He carried a somewhat squashed bundle of flowers in the crook of an elbow, and when he spotted me, he lifted one hand and waved.

Even if he hadn't been floating on nothing but thin air, I knew who he was at once—and even though the three inches of thick glass separated the two of us, I heard him plain as day when he said, "'Ello, Keiko! Good t' see ya!" He winked. "Now how 'bout we go on that date you promised, eh?"

Notes:

People have been asking when the Jin date would pop up, and after Keiko's assurances to Kuwabara that she'd never date until she aged more, this might be the absolute worst time for it to come into play. WHOOPS.

And… ah, the Kuwabara Conundrum. He's gotten as close to a confession as he ever has; Keiko won't be able to willfully ignore the obvious any longer as a result. She's talked about this with both Kagome and Kurama in earlier chapters, acknowledging that Kuwabara had at the very least a big crush on her, but she had faith that canon would hold steady. Her faith was misplaced, and how she'll have to face those consequences, whatever they may be.

A word about Yukina: She was tortured for so long that I find it wildly unrealistic that she wouldn't bear some physical and psychological scars from her ordeal. YYH isn't a show about war wounds, necessarily, but it still feels like an unrealistic characterization. Also that YYH chapter I referenced in which she basically admits she wants the Koorime to get wiped out is pure manga canon, as is the fact that she's told the YYH crew a few lies, and it pains me that people often overlook that part of her character. She's tough and sneaky and I'm convinced is a great liar, and is still recovering from a variety of abuses. She's nuanced. Greatly enjoyed writing her this chapter.

Also: Finally some of the stuff I wrote during the New Year's Eve party arc is coming back around to bite us in the collective butt. A lot of loose plot threads were touched on in this chapter, overall. From Kuwabara's dad dating Kurama's mom (ohhhh boy, we'll see where that leads soon) to Kuwabara's crush on Keiko all the way to the date with Jin to more info on Yukina, we're seeing some big canon alterations bloom into being from seeds planted very long ago. What kind of plants those sees will someday grow into is anyone's guess…

I'm heading out to another convention (this one in the Midwest) this coming weekend. If you're attending a con that weekend, let me know, because maybe we're attending the same one!

Many thanks to all y'all who commented on the previous chapter. You're all rockstars and I loved hearing from you: MyMindIsTellingMeNo, Kuramag33, myvividreams, jumbyxjenkins, SarcasticallyDances, forever_kouhai, musiquemer, Nollyn, Momma, activelyapathetic, jlol, zoostitcher89, Gerbilfriend, DragonsTower, rosethornli, Ms_Liz, incrediblyincompetent, MageKing17, katsheswims, ChaosdreamingSiren, Xailany, Masked_Trickster, Elementicy, LyraGranite, EMMstAr!

Chapter 95: The Lucky Ones

Summary:

In which the author reappears to write about NQK going on a really awkward date. I am sorry for leaving Jin hovering outside that window for seven months.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Suffice it to say, when Jin showed up, I had no earthly idea what to do.

After Shizuru wrenched apart the curtains to reveal Jin in all his weightless glory, I just stood there in silence. Standing there in silence was all I could do. I had no idea what to say, and even more disconcertingly, I could feel eyes on me from all directions, witnessing me flounder. Jin's burned the brightest, of course, but it was a pair of eyes from somewhere to my left that I felt most perceptibly of all.

I refused to look at their owner, though.

Of all the things I didn't know how to say, I knew what to say to him the very least.

Eventually Jin's glittering and expectant smile couldn't be denied. Stiffly I walked toward the windows, hoping to open one and let him in, but they were sealed shut. Standard hotel safety windows, I guess. Jin frowned when I held up my hands in an 'uh oh, what now?' gesture, but soon his grin returned anew.

He lifted a finger. Pointed it upward.

"Meet me on the roof?" he called through the glass, and after I nodded, he gave a wink and shot upward, out of sight.

For a minute I held there, still. I took a deep breath. Steeled myself. Then, moving with the urgency of a statue carved of stone, I turned to face the room.

As I'd feared, Kuwabara's expression was full to the brim with hurt.

And I couldn't blame him. We'd just had a talk about how my aversion to exceptions, and along came Jin with his pretty blue eyes and flaming hair and his stupidly well-defined abs, and everything I'd promised Kuwabara got tossed out the damn window (pun intended). No wonder his jaw clenched tight as we stared at once another. No wonder his hands had buried themselves in his pockets, pillow-shield lying forgotten on the floor. No wonder his eyes radiated pure, unfiltered confusion and pain as insistently as the sun poured light into the room.

I started to speak—but what could I say? What could I do?

I tried to talk again.

"Oh dear, Keiko," Botan tittered before I could pull forth any words. "Maybe you took your playacting a little far."

My head swung in her direction. "Huh?"

Kuwabara's head swung in her direction. "Huh?"

Botan smiled at me in a pitying sort of way, caught halfway between scolding and wry humor. "I know you had to pretend to be one of Jin's fans to get his help yesterday," she said, hands alighting on her hips, "but he thinks you owe him a date!"

Hope broke through Kuwabara's pained expression like sunlight through clouds.

Hope bubbled in my chest like the beginnings of a burning geyser.

But what Botan said was not the truth, and before I could even think to let her misconception buoy me toward the shores of getting off scot-free, words burst out of my mouth.

"I… kind of do owe him a date, actually," I said, twisting the hem of my shirt between my fingertips until my nails threatened to peel away from my skin. Unable to look anywhere but the floor, I muttered, "I had a role to play, and the idea of a date came up, and saying yes was in character, so..."

"Wait." Kuwabara stepped toward me, catching my eye with a stare of unmitigated urgency. "A role to play? In character? What are you talking about?"

I gaped at him, lost for words—but Atsuko, of all people, came flying to my rescue.

"Botan ran off with all our tickets accidentally, and we couldn't get into the stadium to watch your match," she explained with a big, easy grin in my direction. "So Keiko here pretended to be one of Jin's fangirls to get him to help us. Lucky for us, she's a great actress, and he totally fell for it." Her grin got a bit more devious at that. "Quick thinking on her part, huh? She batted her eyelashes and he flew her into the stadium past the guards so she could get the tickets from Botan, easy as pie."

For a moment, Kuwabara looked elated.

"And apparently she promised him a date somewhere along the way," Shizuru intoned without emotion.

Kuwabara's elated bubble burst, hurt flooding back into his eyes in place of burgeoning hope.

"It was sort of payment for accepting his help, and I didn't think he'd come to collect!" I protested. I was too much of a softy to not at least try and make this better, so I aimed a smile at Kuwabara, though I suspect the expression came across as strained. "I'd kind of forgotten about him, actually, what with everything going on."

Kuwabara stared at me, nonplussed. "You forgot about him?"

"Yup!" A nervous laughed slipped past my lips. "This whole date thing was not part of the plan, OK? It was not supposed to happen but there was no other way to get into the stadium, and—"

"Keiko." He held up a hand; I fell silent at once. Kuwabara offered the smallest of smiles as he said, "It's OK. I think I get it."

"… you do?"

"Yeah." His hand slipped back into his pocket and out of sight. "You did what you had to so you could come see us fight." Sympathy tugged his mouth. "I bet it wasn't easy, either."

He looked sympathetic. He looked sympathetic, and I had never felt guiltier—because that was the catch. It had been easy to flirt with Jin. It had been infinitely easy, in fact. But there was no way I could say so to Kuwabara.

So what could I say?

What in the hell was I supposed to—?

He smiled as he stepped away from me and snagged his jacket off the back of the couch. "Well. You do what you need to, OK, Keiko?" he said without looking my way. He smiled at everyone else, instead. "I'm gonna hang out in my room for a while."

"Kuwabara—" I said.

He grinned. "It's OK. Because man, am I tired." He put his back to me. "Gotta rest up before tomorrow's big match…"

He left very quickly after that, wearing a brave face as he beat his retreat through the suite's front door. On instinct I started to follow him. I got as far as the kitchen when the door shut behind him, and when I got close to it, I stopped short. I stared at the door without blinking, listening as his hurried footsteps faded down the hall.

He'd said he understood that I was only going on a date with Jin because I'd had to.

He'd said he knew that I'd done what I had to do.

No matter what he said, the haunted look of pain in his eyes wouldn't leave my head.

I jumped when Shizuru put a hand on my shoulder and slipped past me toward the door. An unlit cigarette hung from the corner of her painted mouth; when she spoke, it bobbed up and down like the pulsing line of a cardiograph.

"I'll talk to him," she said. Her tone remained paradoxically bland when she snarked, "Can't have him falling apart before the semifinals."

I swallowed. "That wasn't what I wanted—"

"I know." She shrugged. "But we don't always get what we want."

"I just—I didn't think that stuff with Jin—" I looked between her and the empty window pane in the living room, pale blue sky stretching infinite into the distance. "I can just tell Jin to leave; I can just—"

"No. Don't," she said, words sharper this time. "You made a promise, right?" Her eyes pinned me like a bug under glass. "And you always mean what you say."

That was a loaded statement, I decided as Shizuru followed her brother into the hallway. It was a loaded statement, but for the life of me, I couldn't discern the subtext no matter how hard I tried. And I tried hard as I wandered back into the living room—but soon I had to abandon that line of inquiry, because the room's remaining occupants were all staring at me. I stopped short when I realized this, meeting the eyes of Botan, Atsuko and Yukina one by one.

"… what?" I asked when none of them spoke.

Atsuko rocked back and forth on her heels, a low whistle eking through her teeth. "Nothin'."

"We didn't say anything," Botan added in a hurry.

"Well. Good. I guess." I tucked a loose bit of hair behind my ear. "Um. I'm gonna go up to the roof now." Without further ado, I made a beeline for the door, but I stopped walking as quickly as I'd started. "Or, wait."

Hyperconscious of the three pairs of eyes still locked on me, I headed stiffly for the kitchen, where I packed a bag with some of the random foods we'd accumulated during our stay at Hotel Kubikukuri. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I took a deep breath and headed back into the living room. Botan, Atsuko and Yukina had remained precisely where I'd left them.

"Well. Now I'm going." I tried not to look as completely and ridiculously awkward as I felt as I gave them… a salute? For some reason I saluted them, and I felt like a goddamn dork the whole time. Stuffing my very awkward hand into my pocket, I said, "Anyway. I'll be back soon."

Atsuko grinned and gestured at the door like a waiter in a fancy restaurant. "Lead the way."

I frowned. "What do you—?" Then the penny dropped. "Oh, no. Nope." She just rolled her eyes when I shook my head. "Not happening.

"Well, we can't very well let you run off alone, can we?" Botan said as she planted her hands on her hips. "Now, let's see. Jin said the roof, right? I think I remember seeing a stairwell on our first night here…"

She trotted out the hotel room door, ignoring my sputtered protests and affording me not even the smallest of backward glances. Atsuko grinned like a cat from Cheshire and followed, dragging Yukina with her by the wrist. Yukina shot me a look of helpless confusion as they passed, and as she and Atsuko entered the hall, I heard her say, "Atsuko?"

"Yeah, hon?"

"What's a 'date?'"

My cheeks burned scarlet at the question, but Atsuko just laughed. The door had already shut behind them, but I heard her loud and clear in the hallway beyond.

"Man, you really don't get out much," she said with a giggle. "But that's all right. We'll tell ya on the way upstairs."

Yukina said something about being grateful for her friendship.

I just groaned and dogged their steps, trailing them down the hall and up to the roof above.

Jin was waiting for me on the roof, just as he'd promised.

I saw his fiery flag of red hair, first, gleaming like a fractured ruby in the midday sun. He spun when he heard the door open; he was already grinning, and the grin only grew as he flew over to us with a gust of wind. Jin stood with the tips of his toes only barely brushing the ground as he bent at the waist and bowed, presenting with a flourish a bouquet of tiny white flowers on the ends on long, green stems.

Dirt clung to the exposed roots at the bottom of the bouquet. He'd obviously picked them himself, and the effect was as charming as his delighted smile—a fact I noted guiltily indeed.

"Ello, love," he said, beaming. "What took ya so long? Thought for a minute there you'd stood me up."

"Sorry," I said, taking the flowers with an instinctive smile. "Botan got a little turned around looking for the stairs."

"Well, it's not like I expected to have to use them!" the aforementioned said from behind me. "Normally I just fly."

Jin's eyes glittered. "Aye, now there's an idea I can get behind!" He looked Botan over for a minute, curious. "But you don't look like a master o' the wind, if ya don't mind my sayin' so."

"Oh, I should think not." Botan laughed. "I am a—erk."

She looked like a cat caught with its paw in a pitcher of cream, like she wasn't sure what to say, or like perhaps she's said too much. But Jin only laughed, and he winked.

"No need to fret," he said. "I know you're guests of the human team."

Botan blinked at Jin as wind wafted off his body, continuing to keep him aloft. I suppose confusion showed on all of our faces, because Jin laughed again before he spoke.

"Well, aside from that one over there," he said with a nod at Yukina, "you're not demons. Pretty easy to put together that humans stick with humans, natch."

Yukina's lips turned up, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Jin-san is very clever."

But I wasn't so certain. "You sure Touya didn't just tell you that?" I said, unable to keep a teasing lilt out of my voice. "He guessed I was with the human team the first time we met, after all."

Seems I was right on the money, because a hectic blush suffused Jin's cheeks. He placed a hand behind his neck, nervous laughter falling like rain.

"Now, now," he said, still laughing. "I am many things, but a liar ranks least among the number."

Botan breathed a sigh. "Well, that's a relief."

And thus his attention swung back to her again. "So what are you then? Plain as the nose on my face, you're not a demon or a human. But that leaves…"

She bit her lip… but Jin's sky-blue gaze contained not an ounce of guile, and soon she sighed and told him, "To be honest, I'm a guide to the River Styx—a shinigami."

Jin reeled back as if struck, eyes wider than before. "By the skies above. Never thought I'd meet one o' you lot." He was grinning again in seconds. "But this tournament has been a banner time for firsts, that it has. From wherever you hail, I'm glad to have met you all." And so he turned to me, grinning his breezy grin as wind ruffled the hair atop my head. "So, Keiko. Are you ready? I have quite an outing planned, if I do say so meself."

Damn, but it was impossible not to return that smile of his. "By all means. Lead the way."

Jin (still grinning, always grinning) drifted backwards across the roof. The roof of Hotel Kubikukuri stretched long away from us, ground covered in loose gravel atop the shingles shielding the structure below from wind and rain. Jin's passing disturbed the smallest bits of loose material, sending it scattering with a burst of dust, and soon he neared the edge of the roof itself. A small ledge, maybe a meter tall, barred the way between the roof and a freefall to the ground many stories below; with a draught I felt even thirty, maybe forty feet away, Jin ascended through thin air to stand atop this ledge, toes gripping it while his heels hovered unsupported above the long drop to oblivion below. Even though I knew he could fly, seeing him there put a pit in my stomach and placed a cold fluttering on the sides of my hot neck.

Smiling still, silhouetted by endless, cloud-coated blue, Jin gestured over the edge of the roof.

'Lead the way,' I'd told him—and so he was, Pied-Pipering me to the edge and beyond.

The words "No freakin' way" came out of my mouth immediately.

His smile didn't falter; if anything, it grew wider yet. "Fear not!" Jin said with a laugh. "I promise t' catch ya, lamb."

Atsuko shouldered past me. "You'd better promise to catch her," she said, almost growling behind her teeth—and when she raised her fist, the Urameshi family resemblance could not be denied. "Bring her back in one piece or we'll bust your ass so badly, this tournament will look like a kindergarten."

"And I'll help!" Botan warbled, raising a fist of her own.

He pretended to look intimidated, but the omnipresent glitter in his eye gave the deception away. "I've seen what the rest your lot can do, and I want no part of the tricks up your deadly sleeves." He dipped a frilly little bow, jaunty and humorous. "I'll harm not a hair on her head. You have my honor as a Shinobi."

It was tough to argue with a face like that. To be honest, I was a bit skeptical that my friends would dare to let me go on this little outing—but one by one they nodded, against all odds and probably against their better judgement. It was just tough to say no to a smile as wide as Jin's, not to mention his bouncing ears and the excited way he rocked back and forth on his heels atop the roof's outermost barrier. Perhaps they, too, had forgotten he could fly, and feared him falling off of the roof in a fit of shock if they were to deny our date.

Perhaps I didn't want them to deny it, looking at that smile blazing as brightly as the pale blue sky overhead.

Perhaps I didn't want to examine that sudden, unexpected thought too closely, either.

Anyway. They didn't deny our date, and when he saw them nod, his ears gave an animated bounce. He zoomed back toward us with the greatest rush of wind yet, coming to a stop cross-legged on a cushion of air. He looked me over with yet another giddy smile, eyes coming to rest on the bag I'd slung over my shoulder.

"Och, and what's this?" he said, and when I showed him, he gave a delighted laugh. "Ah—luncheon! I knew I liked you."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, pretending to be unimpressed—but I couldn't stop the tiny little thrill that speared my gut at the declaration. "Let's just get this over with." As I walked away from the stairwell access door and across the roof, I waved a hand over my shoulder. "Bye, y'all."

"Bye!" said Botan.

"Be careful!" Yukina called after me.

"But not too careful!" Atsuko was swift to add. "Cut loose and have fun, for once in your damn life!"

And with that, my friends backed into the stairwell and shut the door behind them.

Jin watched without speaking as I wandered toward the edge of the roof. Beyond the edge lay the sprawling mass of Hanging Neck Island, treetops dark as they stretched toward the distant, glimmering ocean. The waves' song reached even the roof of the hotel, albeit faintly. Above all of it rose the enormous bulk of the Hanging Neck rock itself, the colossal monument of stone for which the island had been named. It looked like the pointer finger and thumb of some massive giant spearing through the earth and into the sky, grasping and ancient and huge, fingertips beckoning the dark clouds gathering to the north. I stared at the dark grey stone in silence before closing my eyes to listen to the ocean's far-off waves, and when I found myself centered, I opened them and leaned over the railing of the roof.

Cold flashed over me.

The dizzying drop to the ground below made adrenaline buzz in my palms and the soles of my feet, dread chilling the sides of my sweating neck. It was hard not to imagine pitching myself over that edge (l'appel du vide, my old friend), but when Jin appeared at my side, all smiles and beaming looks, I realized that he'd probably catch me long before I hit the ground.

I found the notion comforting.

And I suppose that's why I didn't have to hesitate for long before giving Jin a nod. Before allowing him to scoop me up and hold me close to his chest. Before allowing him to jump to the top of the railing and stand there, hovering over that drop into oblivion—

And then he fell like a stone, and stopped falling just as quickly, and soared instead—and away we went.

I was afraid, at first. It's difficult not to feel afraid when your stomach leaps into your throat and gravity drags you inexorably downward. But the fear faded when we rose back into the sky with a rush of breeze, and his arms were strong as we glided over trees of Hanging Neck Island, the tips of their branches just barely brushing the shoes covering my curled toes. Jin flew gently and didn't make fun of me for pressing my face into his chest, hardly daring to look at the world flashing past beneath us. Through glances stolen from between cracked lids I learned that he had angled our flight out toward the water to the south, but I only realized how fast we must have been flying when water flecked my bare arms and the tang of salt filled my nose. He'd taken us over the sea, skimming along its surface before angling sharply upward. With a burst of speed (one that left my stomach in the dust) he bulleted into the sky, island growing smaller and smaller behind us as he barreled headlong for the clouds gathering grey and white above. He moved so fast I was only barely able to wonder if we'd be able to breathe at a high altitude, but I was too distracted by my frantically pounding heart to think on it with any degree of clarity. I just held my breath as the air moving so quickly past us dried out my eyes and stung my cheeks, clinging to Jin as the roar of the wind grew to a howling frenzy; I only knew we burst through the clouds when moisture beaded on my hair and eyelashes, cold and clean and smelling of rain. I blinked, vision met with nothing by murky white—and then we punched through the clouds completely and into the sunsoaked world above them.

I'd seen the tops of the clouds from the belly of a plane before. None of the hundred plane rides I'd taken in my old life could've prepared me for Jin's version of the view. Those views had been from behind glass; these clouds were close enough to touch, wisps of them nearly tangling with Jin's feet as he bore us aloft on an unimaginably gentle wind. We were so high up that my fear of heights had vanished, dwarfed into the background by the sheer distance between myself and the sea below, which meant I could appreciate the soft, diaphanous dance of the clouds as they moved past. From the ground they seemed to drift as slowly as molasses, but up close they moved with shocking swiftness, casting spotted shadows over the surface of the bright blue ocean we'd left so far behind. Sea and sky almost merged in the distance, their union prevented by naught but by the clouds, and it was all I could do to stare, slack jawed, at the airborne world Jin had chosen to share with me.

Speaking of Jin. He leaned down close to my ear, strands of his cloud-dampened hair brushing my face as he murmured, voice impossibly loud in the silence, "Do you trust me?"

I swallowed. "I think I have to, at this height."

Jin laughed. The arm beneath my knees straightened, allowing me to slip partially free. I clung to his neck, pressing my face against it was a gasp, but he just laughed again and let the arm still clasped around my waist go slack. I clung to him even more, but he reached up and tugged one of my hands free, twining his fingers through mine until we were palm to palm, fingers interlaced. His thumb traced my knuckles in slow circles, soothing and warm.

"'S'all right," he said, voice as warm as his hand. "You've nothing t' fear. Promise."

And he pulled his arm away from my waist entirely—but I did not fall. As I reluctantly dragged my last remaining arm off of his neck, I found myself floating beside him on a cushion of air, wind circling tightly around my hips and legs, bearing me aloft.

Hand in hand, we were flying.

It was inconceivable, that this was happening. It was inconceivable, and it was amazing. It was so amazing I couldn't even wonder how we were breathing, why the wind around me felt so warm despite this height, or what it would be like to plummet down to the distant ocean. I could only give a delighted laugh, unable to contain the sheer joy of it. And Jin laughed, too, throwing back his head in chorus.

"Aye, there's that smile!" His eyes were fond as they skimmed my face—just as fond as the look he gave the clouds and sky and sea a moment later. "Favorite place in all the worlds, this is."

But he looked a little sad as he gazed over the blindingly brilliant white-on-blue of this land among the clouds. I could not help but notice he'd said "worlds," plural. I didn't know what he meant, but it felt foolish not to file that wording away for future study—and it felt foolish to pry, much though I wanted to. I merely grabbed his hand a little tighter. He tore his eyes from the scenery when he felt me squeeze, and soon he gave a laugh as bright as the unfiltered sun that had turned his hair to scarlet.

He didn't say anything else. Not then, anyway. He gave me a little time more to enjoy the view before scooping me up in his arms and flying us back down through the clouds. The sun faded as we flew beneath them, shadows cold against my face—and I had to wonder if I would ever have a chance to see that strange, silent, sunsoaked land again.

Jin took me to the top of Hanging Neck Rock, next.

We sat upon its highest point. It was even bigger up close. The top was nearly fifty feet across and almost completely flat—the perfect spot for a picnic and an exclusive view of the island, Jin claimed. He wasn't wrong. We had a bird's eye view of the forest and the coast, not to mention Hotel Kubikukuri and the stadium where the first rounds of the Dark Tournament had been fought. Jin chattered away about how this was where he'd been spending quite a bit of his time as he unpacked my bag of food; I wandered away from him, exploring the rock's smooth zenith and taking a good look at the surrounding landscape. Not to mention the dizzying drop to the trees surrounding the base of the rock, of course. At once adrenaline filled my palms, and I began to wonder what it would be like to pitch myself over the edge—

"I'd catch you, y'know."

Jin's hands had stilled atop the food. He looked at me frankly, meeting my eyes with a bold, if sad sort of smile. I wasn't sure I understood exactly what he was thinking. Regardless, I walked back toward him and sat at his side, reaching for the food to help him set up our picnic.

"I believe you," I murmured as I put out plates. "But it won't come to that."

Relief softened his eyes. "A declaration I am glad to hear." He tapped a knuckle against my forehead, touch soft. "An ill wind blows 'round your head, Keiko."

It's difficult to describe interacting with Jin without delving into the sheer physicality of him. The blue eyes, the red hair and that smile all make him seem young—young enough that the defined muscles of his arms and abdomen (not to mention his sheer, looming height) don't intimidate you nearly as much as they should. He's surefooted when he walks and purposeful with every other motion, flingers moving efficiently and with grace as he continued to set up our picnic. Despite his broad shoulders and muscular build, he somehow looked small as he waited for me to reply, not crowding me with his impressive frame or even pleading with me with his baby blues.

Somehow that restraint, paradoxically persuasive, made me start talking.

I considered him for a minute in silence before heaving a sigh and muttering, "You ever have a secret?"

His ears twitched. "A secret?"

"Yeah." Eyes trained on his face, I asked, "One you keep to protect the people around you, but one that hurts them the longer you keep it?"

Jin tutted. "Doesn't seem like a very good secret to me, if ya don't mind my sayin' so."

"It's a horrible secret."

"Well. Only cure for a secret is to make it not a secret anymore." He leaned toward me with a wink. "And I'm all ears."

His ears danced, wiggling and twitching in a jaunty rhythm. I laughed in spite of myself, looking away from his returned grin with a blush.

"I just…" My head shook. "I can't. Not today. It's not time yet. Thank you for the offer, though." This was a touch more revelation than I'd wanted to share with Jin, and thus I desperately changed the subject. I twisted toward him as I asked, "So tell me, Jin. Yesterday you quoted some poetry—some human poetry. Where did you learn that?"

I didn't think it was possible for his ears to perk up any more than they already had, but he proved me wrong. "Oh, here and there and everywhere, I should think. And you knew that poetry, too, much to my delight. Where did you learn it?"

"They teach it in school. Poetry, I mean. And my uncle loved Lord Byron."

Jin exclaimed, "A man of distinguished taste!"

"Definitely." Harris had been many things, and a man of taste most certainly fit the bill. "It's just that I was under the impression that human poetry would be sort of… scarce? In Demon World, at least. But I also just don't know much about the place at all, so…"

It wasn't a lie. Kurama had been somewhat tight-lipped on the subject, and Hiei wasn't the type to indulge my curiosity without a reason. I knew precious little about Demon World despite the many demons in my circle, but Jin did appear put-off by my curiosity. In fact, quite the opposite.

"Well, you aren't wrong, or at least you aren't entirely wrong," he said through a massive smile. "Demons don't have school like humans do, for one thing. Rather, we—"

The picture he painted was in turns surprising and predictable, though always fascinating at every revelation. True to all my presumptions and fandom theories, demons valued fighting above all else, and the deeper you got into the many layers of Demon World, the less and less society possessed any sort of structure—dog eat dog rules became the rule of law. Upper layers had something resembling school, where the weaker demons congregated and developed skills other than fighting to survive. Poetry, though, was rarely on the curriculum even in these institutes of learning. Art wasn't something demons prized—not in the upper levels, and certainly not in the depths of Demon World where the Shinobi dwelled. Upper levels had some television, for instance, and some technology of similar complexity, though in lower levels the infrastructure to support things like television shows and other entertainment didn't yet exist.

Jin didn't appeared thrilled to admit that, though. He held one knee to his chest, arms locked around it, and stared moodily at the forest's sprawl. Clouds passed over us, casting shadows over his hair and eyes until they turned nearly black.

"Ours is a dark existence," he said (more to himself than to me, I think). "We have purpose, but light…" He shook his head, scowl sitting unnaturally on his face. "That is reserved for those not of our ilk."

"So the shinobi really are a secret society, sort of?" I said, trying to understand.

"Power for hire," Jin replied. "Operating from the shadows, a name whispered on the wind, contracts forged in darkness' belly… we shape the tide of Demon World's warring powers. For better or for worse. That's the shinobi way, and such it shall remain."

Jin spoke those words like a brooding, reluctant prayer. The expression didn't sit naturally upon his face. I'd known that the Shinobi (especially Touya) craved the metaphorical 'light,' and that that desire had led them to seeking foothold in Human world—but I still wasn't sure what the light truly meant to Jin. And since he wasn't volunteering that information, it felt wrong to push.

He'd let me keep my secrets. He was allowed to keep his own, too.

"Say, Jin?" I ventured.

He startled, brooding expression melting back into an easy smile. "Hmm?"

"What's next for you? After the tournament, I mean."

Jin shrugged, smile slipping. "I'll head on back to Demon World, I suppose." He breathed a sigh that felt as unnatural as had his scowl. "All of the fighters have to go back."

"Do spectators not have to go, too?"

"Aye, return to Demon World they must. But being a nameless face in a big ol' crowd affords ya certain sneaking privileges. You can fly under the radar, pun very much intended." Jin huffed. "A shinobi I might be, but sneaking just isn't in my hand o' playing cards. Right ironic, that."

His meaning clicked. "You're too high profile of a competitor to sneak off and stay behind."

"Aye." He nodded." But even if I was… Touya. He's too duty-bound and honor-abiding to stay without a win under his icy belt. He'll return to the shinobi camp and start anew, if I know him, and I'd hazard that know him well enough, I do." A smile, fond in its sadness, crossed his lips. "I can't leave him behind."

"How long have you known each other?"

Jin's expression grew wistful. "Feels like forever and a day, that it does. We apprenticed to our shinobi masters at the same time. He'd sneak me food when I misbehaved and had to sleep out in the cold, and you'd be remiss if you think I only misbehaved on rare occasion." His ears wriggled as he grinned his sunniest grin, back to his cheerful self. "My good friend, he is, and he'll want to rebuild now that Risho and Bakken and Gama…"

Clouds passed over his face. The smile faded. Blue eyes dropped to the top of Hanging Neck Rock, brewing like the storm still gathering to the north. I patted his back without thinking, rubbing my palm in small circles between his shoulder blades. His skin burned hot against my own, like the grief churning in his eyes had given birth to a boiling fever.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, "for what it's worth."

But he gave a sharp nod at the apology. "No," he said, voice steady and firm as the stone beneath us. "We each knew the risks of fightin' in the tournament long afore we started. Their sacrifice was theirs to make, and I will respect it for their sake." Jin shook like a dog clearing water from its ears, and when he stilled, he was smiling again. "But it's not all a loss, and lady luck has smiled on ,e. Lost in the fights, sure, but I've got more than a few wins under my belt as a result o' this tournament, that I do."

"What do you mean?" I asked, shifting toward him in curiosity.

"Well." He shifted toward me, too. "Among other things… I met you, didn't I?"

When he leaned in, intention obvious, I dodged away with a hurried laugh, ears and cheeks suffused with heat. "Charmer."

He didn't look at all bothered that I'd pulled back; he just laughed. "You were fibbin' with me yesterday, actin' the part of a giddy little fangirl." A wink. "But I'll steal a kiss yet, dontcha worry."

"Charming and brazen," I said, somehow avoiding a stutter.

"Aye," he said, looking absurdly pleased with himself. "You'll hear no denial about that from me, honest."

Feeling like I'd explode if the subject didn't change, now, I cleared my throat. "So meeting me was a win. What else? You said there were other things."

"Many, in fact! Getting t' see Human World. Getting t' see the sky." He inhaled, eyes closing as his muscular chest rose, wind tossing his hair against his nape and shoulders. Light glinted off his pearlescent horn, dazzling in its purity. "The air here is so fresh. Nothing like Demon World. And the sky goes on forever—endless, burning blue."

His eyes blazed when he opened them again, burning blue themselves, and something in their starry nature brought to mind the poetry he'd quoted. For him to have memorized poetry was beyond my expectations, and it led me to a certain observation: "You've been wanting to visit Human World for a while, I take it?"

"Oh, ages, really," Jin agreed. "Ages and ages."

"Is it really so different from Demon World?"

"Aye. That it is." The statement sparked something in him, something that made him turn to me and sit cross-legged, hands braced on his knees, features set into a mask of almost comical determination. "And now that I have you here, I have questions that demand answers!" He leaned in so close, I thought he was trying to kiss me again, but he wasn't. He stared at me nose-to-nose to ask, "Tell me everythin'. Do your kin really not fight to stay alive? Do all children go to school? Tell me about machines that fly and poetry from far-flung places, and those little doo-dads that people wear on their fingers when they burn 'em on a stove—"

It took a few clarifying question to discern that he was talking about Band Aids.

In my defense, Jin talked a mile a minute like a giddy kid, rambling off questions about all manner of bizarre Human World stuff he'd been wanting to know about for a very, very long time (though how long, exactly, he did not say). He'd never really had anyone to talk to about it, aside from Touya, who wasn't actually all that interested in humanity to begin with; Jin was one of the few Human World-otakus around, was my understanding. Jin was hungry for intel, grilling me about all the rumors he'd heard regarding the kind of technology humans used to supplement their physical strength as well as their day-to-day lives. He knew precious little about the various cultures scattered across the Human World, and he paid rapt attention as I explained the differences between some of them—namely America and Japan, because those were the two places I'd lived during my collective lives.

From what I could gather, Jin didn't much about Human World apart from the scant poetry collections he'd accumulated ("Ruddy expensive, they were!") and the many rumors floating about that he'd painstakingly gathered ("Bloody hard to find, they are!"). He was basically an otaku before there was internet, satisfying his curiosity and obsession on little more than scraps. It's no wonder he'd been fascinated by the TV in his team's hotel suite, changing channels ad infinitum until Risho took away the remote and locked it in a block of stone out of sheer annoyance. Jin made me recite all the poetry to him that I could and he begged for tales of human achievement and art, drinking the knowledge in like a wide-eyed kid inhaling candy on Christmas morning.

As I spoke, regaling him with every last scrap of information I thought he'd find interesting, I found myself wishing I had pictures of things to show him. I wished we had a library to browse or a museum to stroll, or at the very least a smartphone so I could Google things on his behalf. I even caught myself thinking that perhaps Kagome was right and that we should indeed invent Google, if only so that if another moment like this arose at the side of a curious demon brimming full of questions, I wouldn't be so woefully unprepared.

Not that any of that mattered to Jin. His eyes widened and then grew wider still, huge and blue and bright against his warm copper skin as I told him all about my daily life and family. He seemed particularly interested in my school life, hanging on my every word as I described the process of choosing a college or a vocation and (hopefully one day) pursuing your life's work.

"Och, to have such choices set before you!" he groaned when I stopped for breath. He threaded his fingers through his hair and kicked out his feet as he flopped down onto the stone. "Oh, how I envy you, dear Keiko. The whole wide world spread long and broad 'neath your reaching hands, and all you have to do is stretch out and grasp it." His hands slapped the rock, spread-eagle. "What a life!"

"Yeah," I said, gathering my knees to my chest. His fascination with all that I considered ordinary was oddly humbling. "I guess that is pretty cool."

"Not like the Shinobi life at all," he continued with a sigh. "My lot was cast when I was but a little demon no higher than your knee, given to the Shinobi as payment for a job well done. But you—" (here he sat up, eyes gleaming as he leaned in toward me, grin enormous and full of very sharp teeth as well as cheer) "—you can be anything, do anything, go anywhere. That's why we wanted this island for our own, to hold that freedom in our hands, but you were born right into that realm of possibility. And you—hm?"

Jin paused, head whipping westward; he was on his feet a moment later, shielding his eyes against the sun as he peered into the distance.

"By the wind n' rain," Jin murmured, "I swear I could sense…"

Although he had just said something quite fascinating about being given to the Shinobi as a child, I put my questions aside (for the moment) and looked west. The pale blue sky had started to turn pink as the sun began its descent, clouds streaked with gold and rose above the dark green bulk of the forest. For a moment I thought one of the trees rose taller than the others, but when the dark shape billowing against the horizon rose higher and higher still, I realized it was no tree. It was a column of dust, dark grey and undulating, staining the pale colors of the infant sunset with chalk as it rose from the forest and into the late afternoon sky.

"Urameshi?" Jin said in disbelief, still staring at the dust cloud. "That felt like Urameshi's energy! I'd know the feel of that breeze anywhere, and—"

The trees near the cloud shook, so distantly my eyes at first thought the movement a trick or a mirage. But then another cloud burst from the trees, billowing upward like a rocket soaring into flight. This cloud dwarfed the first, rising with unnatural speed to dance with the wind beside its smaller brother. Jin gasped, hand dropping limp to his side as he stared in wide-eyed amazement at the dust.

"That wasn't Urameshi," Jin muttered in disbelief. "But who—?"

I knew who. I knew exactly who it was, even without Jin's ability to sense the energies of other fighters. Those clouds were no doubt the product of Yusuke and Genkai getting into a pissing match over blowing up gigantic rocks—and Genkai was no doubt winning. Which meant my prediction about the day's events, at least as far as Yusuke was concerned, was coming true.

Thank my lucky stars…

Uncurling, I stretched my legs across the rock and leaned back on my hands, face tilted upward to inhale the warm wind as it breezed past. Jin looked down when he heard my contented sigh, one red brow arching high beneath the curtain of his hair.

"Yusuke," I said, gesturing at the dust clouds, "is about to undergo a test."

Jin blinked at me. "A test?"

"Yes," I said, grin lazy and relaxed. "And he'll be stronger if he passes."

Jin looked more than a little bewildered by this proclamation, although his crystalline gaze didn't hold any trace of doubt. "As strong as that second fighter?" he said, sinking to the stone beside me. "The one I sensed just now?"

"Stronger," I said, and at his stunned silence, I told him: "Strong enough to win the whole Tournament."

Jin is something of an open book, shock morphing to excitement and then to joy in an handful of instants—and then he just looked peeved, crossing his arms with a huff and a slouch.

"Pity, that," he grumbled, lower lip thrust outward. "Pity that I won't be able to stay for a rematch, I mean!" Jin grumbled and thrashed in place, sharp eyeteeth showing like porcelain needles. "Blast this bloody tournament! It gives you but a taste of what this world can offer and then rips it away like so much shoddy tailoring!"

My instinct was to apologize, but something told me that would only depress (or rile) Jin more. Instead I nudged him with my elbow and grinned, saying, "I guess that's what you get for being so strong, huh? No flying under the radar for you and all that."

"Oh, to be a nameless face in a crowd full of them!" he agreed, grinning again himself. "Alas, such is not to be. Tis all I can do to make the most of what time in the light remains here in the Human Realm." His look turned sly, mood shifting like the wind. "Despite it all, I do count myself among the lucky ones, that I do."

My heart leapt into my mouth. "Oh?"

"Aye." He winked. "I have you to spend that time with, after all."

He leaned toward me again—but before I could decide to pull away and or let him lean closer still, the decision was made for me. A strange sound, a whup-whup-whup that sounded like a drumbeat of thunder, ensnared my attention with a start. Jin and I looked up and southward as the sound drew near to find a dozen dark dots against the sky, small but getting bigger by the second. In a moment they grew big enough to make out, and Jin gave a delighted laugh.

"Helicopters!" he said. "And t'hear I thought this day couldn't get any better!"

Jin watched them closely as they neared, flying only a little higher than our vantage point from south to north, into the storm clouds gathering there that lit up from within with pale blue lightning. These were mean-looking helicopters, with twin sets of rotaries and shiny black fuselages resembling carapaces of flying beetles. Although Jin laughed as they passed us, my heart thudded heavily against my ribs, worry buzzing in the back of my head as insistently as the copters' engines. The tournament backers heading to the new stadium across the island, if I had to guess. All of the next fights would be held in that new, more sinister-looking stadium, the final fights looming like the helicopters passing overhead.

I turned back toward Jin to tell him that, and I found him right where I left him—and he kissed me before I could say a word.

We got back to the hotel perhaps later than I'd intended. The sun had gone down by the time Jin deposited me on the hotel roof, anyway, where he kissed my hand and vanished into the velvety night sky with the promise to see me again quite soon. We'd lingered on the Hanging Neck Rock for a lot longer than I'd planned, but as I descended the stairs into the interior of Hotel Kubikukuri, I found I didn't much mind.

I'd had a nice time, after all.

A very nice time.

But there was no way in hell I wanted to talk about a single aspect of it with anyone, because there was no doubt in my mind that Botan would ask a million awkward questions and Atsuko would make fun of me and since I was a bad liar and they'd probably figure out that I was hiding something when my face inevitably turned the color of a tomato—which it no doubt would, because I'd had a very nice time, and I blushed every time I thought about it.

And that would no doubt break a certain heart waiting for me in our hotel suite.

Or was he waiting in the boys' hotel suite?

Aw, crap…

Upon reaching the top floor of the hotel, I boarded the elevator—and, not knowing where to go, I pressed both the button to the boys' floor as well as the girls', but I disembarked at neither option. I just sat there in the elevator car once the doors closed, staring at my reflection in the polished wooden panels adorning the walls until someone else called for a car and it began to descend. It lowered all the way to the ground floor lobby, where the doors slid open with a soothing chime.

Standing there, waiting for the elevator, I found Kurama.

We spotted one another in unison, and we stared at each other in twin states of silent surprise until the elevators doors swung shut. Kurama thrust out an arm and held them open, though, so we could stare at one another some more.

"And where have you been?" we said at the same time.

Kurama cleared his throat. "I… took a walk."

"For—" I checked my watch; my brows shot up. "—for ten hours?"

Kurama glared like a displeased schoolteacher. "And may I inquire as to how you spent said hours, Kei?"

I made a face. Kurama made a face. He got onto the elevator and pressed the button for his floor without a word, disembarking in equal silence to head for his hotel suite. I followed on reflex, but as the elevator doors closed behind me, I hesitated. Kurama stopped walking at once, lines of a frown marring his forehead. When I fidgeted beneath his stare, he turned with a shrug down the hallway again.

"Is anyone in there?" I blurted, and he stopped walking again to look my way. "In your suite, I mean."

"No." He spoke without an ounce of hesitation. "They're in your suite."

Kurama headed down the hall again, not bothering to wait for me. I watched his retreating back in silence, piecing things together before I followed. Judging by his immediate answers (not to mention his earlier evasive one), he'd already determined that his suite was empty—which meant, perhaps, that he was avoiding people just like I was. Perhaps he was even avoiding the same people, albeit for very different reasons. In spite of my suspicions, however, I knew better than to pry. Even though I was dying to know his thoughts about his mom and Kuwabara's dad dating one another, Kurama did not take to prying kindly.

I found him standing by his suite's windows, moodily overlooking the glimmering aquamarine pool in the courtyard several stories below. Or at least I think he was moody; he didn't greet me or anything, which seemed moody, but I could see nothing beyond the barest reflection of his face against the glass as I sat on the couch in the middle of the room. His expression was impossible to read on the best of days, let alone in the reflection of dark glass…

"Hey. Can I ask you something?" I said, lifting a knee so I could curl my arms around it. Kurama gave me the barest of nods, not bothering to turn around. "How do demons age?"

That got him to turn, if only his head so that he could point one green eye at me. "What brought this on?"

I shrugged. "I hung out with Jin today for a little bit."

"Define 'a little bit.'"

I made a face.

"Because the past ten hours," he said after pointedly checking his watch, "hardly qualifies as 'a little bit.'"

My eyes rolled. "Shut up and tell me how old you think he is, and don't say something snarky about how you can't do both at the same time."

That finally got a smile out of him, even if it was absolutely tiny. "Fine," Kurama said, turning back to the window. "He's older than he looks, at least by human standards. If I had to guess, he's likely less than 100 years old, but older than 60. He has the physical and emotional development of a particularly mature seventeen-year-old human, however." Kurama's shoulders rose, shrug elegant and subtle. "But given that demons age at a variety of rates, that is merely conjecture on my part."

My arms relaxed a bit, knee separating from my chest. Keiko was fifteen, and this age difference wasn't the worst—if you looked at it in terms of equivalent development, at least. I'd dated a seventeen-year-old when I was fifteen in my first life, and so long as I didn't think too much about Jin's literal age, making out with him didn't strike me as too squicky… or maybe I was just trying to rationalize the fact that I'd made out with a demon. Wow, shit like dating sure got weird when slow-aging wind demons flew, quite literally, into the mix…

Kurama cleared his throat. He'd lifted his head, a shaft of light reflecting off the window and onto his upturned face. He stared at my reflection in the glass, our eyes meeting indirectly, and in his I could read no emotion whatsoever. Typical for Kurama, but still. The sight put a slight tremor in my stomach, little winged things flitting up my throat.

"Did anything happen between the two of you?" Kurama said.

It was not an accusation. His voice held no particular tone. Sphinxlike, inexplicable, indifferent—Kurama's internal workings were as mysterious to me as demonic aging, his mask as impenetrable as stone.

I had to wonder what he was trying to hide.

But instead of asking about that, I tried to look casual, and I said, "Why do you ask?"

"Am I not allowed to show concern for a friend?" Kurama said.

I sighed—and because it was Kurama, I decided to tell him the truth. Better talk about this to someone than to have the facts spill out to someone else… though I spared him the gory details. There are things even close friends sometimes would rather not know.

"Nothing happened that I wouldn't hesitate to tell my mother about, if that's what you're asking," I said. "Does that answer your question?"

Perhaps it did. Perhaps it didn't. It was hard to say, although his face did flicker, mask slipping just enough to reveal—something. Relief, maybe? Approval? Or was it disappointment? I really wasn't sure. But the frown he sported a moment after was recognizable enough.

"Perhaps I'm being presumptuous," Kurama said, "but a date with a demon isn't the smartest stunt you've ever pulled."

"Ouch," I said, wincing. "But whoever said it was a date?"

"I should think the subtext is rather obvious," he said, voice monotone—but his inflection changed to amusement when he added, "And Jin said a few choice things to Yusuke during their tournament bout."

I say up very straight. "He what?"

"He alluded to not being able to lose the fight because 'lady luck' was on his side." Kurama shrugged again—an unusual sight in the normally articulate fox. "His wording was somewhat obvious even before he said that he had a date with the aforementioned 'lady luck' and was hoping to win to impress her."

This was, of course, news to me. Carefully I told Kurama about what had led to going on my date with Jin, watching his too-neutral face as he considered what I had to say. Eventually his face lowered, swimming in shadow once again.

"Still," he said. "I'm surprised you agreed to his terms, given your convictions to remain romantically unfettered." Kurama paused. "Why did you agree to it, while we're on the subject?"

I shrugged. "I'm not one to break a promise. 'I mean what I say' and all that."

Green glittered out of darkness. "Is that truly the only reason?"

It wasn't.

But I didn't know how to say that.

Luckily Kurama allowed me time to reflect. He didn't push. He probably knew he didn't need to. He only stood there, face in shadow, and waited for me to gather my thoughts and speak. The process took longer than I'd like to admit—but it was complicated, putting my subconscious into words.

Complicated, and cathartic, and soon the words flowed free.

"Jin… is an easy person to get along with. Very easy," I said, holding my leg a little tighter. "Jin is a sunny day. No clouds. All sunshine. I could use some of that in my life. Especially now."

Kurama didn't react.

"But, more than that… He has absolutely zero expectations of who I'm supposed to be, or even of who I am," I said, finding the words one by eventual one. "And I have very few expectations for him in return."

Kurama shifted on his feet. "Can you elaborate?"

I told Kurama: "Keiko and Jin never met in the legend. Not properly, anyway."

Kurama's face lifted again. Surprise registered in the depths of his green eyes, but I kept speaking before he could ask more questions. He didn't need to ask. I knew what he'd want me to explain.

"Keiko and Jin had one single interaction, in a group setting, and their paths diverged forever," I said, watching the wheels turn behind Kurama's gaze. This was likely the most I'd ever talked about the events in the 'legend' of Yu Yu Hakusho, and I could see him processing it like a supercomputer crunching numbers. "They met only once, and unless I fight for it, after the Tournament ends, Keiko will never see him again." I smiled a bit sadly, a bit wistfully. "With Jin, there's no pressure, no expectation, no threat of derailing everything thanks to one unscheduled date. There's freedom."

Kurama processed this, as he had processed so much else. I leaned back into the couch's fluffy cushions, sinking deeper into them as I sighed.

"So… one date." I lifted a hand, index finger raised. "One afternoon with no strings, no pressure, no worries. Just a fun person who wants me to have a nice time and maybe steal a kiss here and there." I cracked a smile like some people crack jokes. "I think I'm allowed that much every now and again. Right?"

Kurama did not reply. For once that evening, he hesitated. But soon he pivoted away from the window, perching beside me on the very edge of the couch so he could place a hand—lightly, gingerly, so softly I barely felt it—atop my knee. Patted it once. Nodded twice.

"I agree," he said at long last. "You are allowed that much." And then he stood, and he headed for the door to his bedroom. "And if you'll excuse me, we have an early match tomorrow. Good night."

I was on my feet just as his hand touched the doorknob. "Wait—Kurama?"

He held still, but he didn't look at me. "Yes?"

"If you want to talk about what happened with you today…"

Kurama shook his head before I could even finish asking.

He said, "Not yet."

He told me, "Goodnight, Kei."

And he went into his room and shut the door behind him.

That night, I waited in the stairwell until I heard Kuwabara go back to his suite, and I waited outside my suite door until I heard my friends bid one another goodnight. I waited another hour, still, before crawling into my bed in the dark, lying with eyes wide open as the grip of sleep closed its fingers softly around my dreams.

As I fell asleep, I wondered if Yusuke was all right. He was out there absorbing the Orb, getting stronger at the cost of Genkai's power.

I just hoped that it would be enough for him to weather the storms approaching.

I just hoped he would be strong enough to absorb the Orb as he was meant to.

And I just hoped my own strength would be enough, too—because although my time with Jin had been good for my mental health, tomorrow the fights would begin anew.

That thought normally would've scared me.

But that night, I wasn't scared at all—and for that, I was a lucky one, indeed.

Notes:

Merry Christmas Eve-Eve, and happy third birthday to LC as of 12/23!

Well… THAT hiatus took longer than I wanted. But I haven't had a legit weekend since August (yes, really) so I didn't have much of a choice, TBH. Between traveling at least once a month to buying a house (!) to moving to having my plumbing basically explode (IT WAS HORRIBLE) I have been SWAMPED. But I'm very glad to be back and want to get back on a posting schedule ASAP. Details about that next time.

I know what Kurama wanted to say but didn't say. I'll tell y'all eventually. ALSO I think Yusuke mentioned liking Jin a lot to the others and that's why they didn't stop Kei from going on her date. Yusuke approves so they approve, basically… although I don't think Yusuke understood that Keiko was who Jin was talking about during their match…

There are two omakes for this chapter; keep an eye on "Children of Misfortune" in the coming weeks to read 'em.

While I was gone, I posted more Daughters of Destiny content and wrote an entire, 31-chapter LC-centric drabble series (Written in Ink). I encourage y'all to check both out. Daughters of Destiny in particular is getting to its climax.

Let's hope the next chapter takes just a week or two, and thanks so much to these cool cats for dropping by with a review, which kept me motivated while I was gone (seriously, this is for y'all, because I probably wouldn't be here without you): theNewDesire, forever_kouhai, Nollyn, stabmesenpai, SarcasticallyDances, shini_tenshi, Unctuous, RosesUniverse, Kuramag33, jlol, Ms_Liz, Sanguinary_Tide, NotQuiteAnonymous, Gerbilfriend, zoostitcher89, ShaBam, Konkubus, scallionite, KittyWillCutYou, DragonsTower, TokiMirage, IridescentStars, MyMindIsTellingMeNo, MageKing17, Masked_Trickster, artimusdin, DJGirl, allyallyonthewall, Redfennec, wynnebat, RescueWombat, Arianrhod (SpookyScarySkeleRyn), Paddygirl, ShiaraM, WhitneyWonton. You are AWESOME! YOU'RE ALL AWESOME AND I LOVE YOU SO STINKIN' MUCH!

Chapter 96: Secret Doors, Demons & Disguises

Summary:

In which NQK does her best impression of Scooby Doo.

Notes:

Warnings: Some, like… implied torture off-screen? No details whatsoever beyond what your mind can conjure in the absence of detail.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

As Botan's soft snores filled our shared room in the early morning dark, I crept from my bed and padded on quiet feet into the living room. No one else was awake, judging by the drawn curtains and the sound of Atsuko's log-sawing filtering from under her door—and while normally I'd relish a bit of alone time, that morning the concept of sitting alone in the dark filled me with anxiety. Not that that's abnormal, but...

Today was the day of the semifinals against Team Uraotogi, and if today was to go to plan, my party needed to be very, very late to the match.

Waking up early was, therefore, disadvantageous. If we were on time (or even, heaven forbid, early) we'd risk not finding Yusuke's sleeping body outside the stadium after Genkai dropped him off, and that was something I did not want to fuck up. Plus, if I showed up early and the Beautiful Suzuka spotted my ass in the stands, I didn't want him to start flapping his gob about the breakfast we'd shared earlier in the week. And flapping his gob was well within his character to do.

It also didn't hurt that I was supposed to have a scheduled meet-cute with Jin during the "protect Yusuke's sleeping body" incident.

Anyway…

Standing in the dim living room, I weighed my options. Cooking breakfast might be good, but I didn't want the clatter of pans and plates to wake my friends too soon. I'd like some tea, but the whistle of the kettle was a BIG no-no. And watching TV was right out, of course, as was doing homework; any light creeping under their doors could give the game away, waking them before they needed to. But if I couldn't watch TV or cook or do homework, what was I supposed—

A knock at the door stopped my wondering in its tracks.

My feet moved before I could consider the merits of looking through the damn peephole; I skidded toward the door, ripped it open, and shoved my way into the hall entirely because I didn't want the knocker to knock again and chance waking up my friends. The maid in the hall leapt back with a start as I shut the door on my foot to keep it from slamming, and when I shot her a look of silent urgency, she smoothed down the edges of her frilly apron and bowed in my direction.

"I'm looking for Yukimura-san," she said.

Should I admit that that was me? Too bad; no time to think; she needed to go away, stat, and in a rush of forced cheer I chirped, "That's me. Can I help you?"

"You have a message at the front desk."

"Oh. From whom?"

She smiled demurely. "I'm afraid that is confidential, Yukimura-san."

With that, the maid (a woman I had only just clocked was a demon, given the scales on her cheeks and the webbing between her fingers) gave me a polite smile and… waited for me to reply. She probably expected me to follow her, but that probably wasn't a good idea. And yet, the front desk was a super public place, so it couldn't be too dubious to go with her… right?

Apparently I took too long to overthink it, because she was bowing again before I could make a choice.

"You may collect the measure at your leisure. Thank you very much for choosing Hotel Kubikukuri," she said, and with that she took off toward the elevators. "Good day, Yukimura-san."

Well, that was certainly a no-pressure tactic if I'd ever seen one. I waited for her to board the elevator before slipping back into my hotel suite, and after a few seconds of consideration, I grabbed my key, put on my shoes, and headed downstairs to the lobby. The woman at the front desk barely glanced at me when I said my name, handing me a white envelope without looking up from her computer screen. That suited me just fine, though, because it allowed me some modicum of privacy as I slipped my thumb underneath the envelope's flap and tore it open.

The note inside read: "Hidden door in phone vestibule leads to staff's quarters. Left-hand side between third and fourth booths. Press the divot in the molding with your shoe. See you soon."

The note was signed, "Sincerely yours… Ears."

Cryptic, yes, but the mention of staff and the signature told me precisely who the note was from. Stuffing it into my pocket, I headed for the phone vestibule, where I'd placed a call to Minato and Kagome a few nights prior. The series of phone booths inside the vestibule were all empty at that hour, so I didn't bother sneaking to the spot between the third and fourth booths. Took me a minute to find a subtle indentation in the baseboard against the wall between them, granted, but soon I located it and gave it a sharp nudge with my toe.

The wall slid to the side at once, revealing a large room behind that hidden door—not to mention the sight of Otoha sitting atop an overturned bucket.

She shot to her feet, the scales on her neck and cheeks gleaming the color of sakura blossoms. "There you are! About time you found me!"

"Very cloak and dagger, Otoha," I said, smiling. The wall slid shut behind me after I stepped through the secret door. "I'm impressed."

"Secret doors are cool," she said, pleased with herself. "And secret doors to places the tournament backers can't eavesdrop are even cooler. But we'll discuss that later. There's someone else you need to see."

I frowned. "Who—?"

"No time to explain!" She grabbed my wrist and tugged me after her. "Follow me!"

Otoha's secret door had led us into a gigantic industrial laundry where huge vats of linens swirled behind thick plate glass, machine motors humming and clanging as the tang of detergent hung thick on the humid air. She led me between the towering stacks of laundry machines to a big set of double doors, which opened onto a large storage room where a slew of chattering demons in maid uniforms (including the one who had delivered the message to my room that morning) sat polishing silverware and cutlery. They gave Otoha a nod as we passed, but none of them paid us much mind as we breezed through that room and into an enormous kitchen, and then into a big room full of cots and bunks where I presumed the staff must sleep each night. Twisting corridors lined with many, uncountable doors flashed by as Otoha dragged me deep into the mazelike bowels of Hotel Kubikukuri, and by the time she stopped to knock on a nondescript wooden door, I was lost enough to not know where the hell we were, nor how I'd ever hope to find my way back out again.

Not that I had an intention of leaving when the door opened and revealed the person inside. She looked totally out of place within what was basically a broom closet, sitting on a metal folding chair with a silk scarf tied over her hair and a pair of black sunglasses covering half of her face. Still, she was instantly recognizable, and my jaw dropped when she eyed me over the top of her sunglasses.

"Hey," said Koto, Dark Tournament referee extraordinaire. She wore the same trench coat she'd worn at the pool the other day, plus her signature pair of pink ankle boots, which she used to kick an overturned paint can my way. "Have a seat."

Otoha squeezed my wrist, let it go, and tucked herself into a corner of the room between two mops and a metal stanchion draped with red velvet rope. Gingerly I sat on the can, scooting close to Koto's stockinged knees as she reached and shut the door behind us.

So this was to be a closed-door conversation, was it? That didn't bode well…

Our privacy secured, Koto finally took off her sunglasses and tucked them into her coat's breast pocket. "Long time, no see. Keiko, right?" she said.

"Yeah."

"Bout time I memorized your name, considering it's the third time we've met." She winked, tapping the side of her nose with one manicured finger. "That's right. Don't think I didn't recognize you when you showed up during Urameshi's match with Jin. There wasn't time to chat, but I remembered you, not to mention what you did for me at the pool. And then Urameshi stood up for me against those committee morons—and that's why I'm here. One good turn deserves another, as they say. And your team's done me at least two good turns." She rolled her eyes and huffed. "Being in debt to a human is so out of style, y'know?"

"Uh. All right." The can I sat on had a weird ridge around the edges, digging into the backs of my thighs like rough fingertips; I fidgeted, both unnerved and uncomfortable. "So what's this all about?"

Koto's easy smile faded. "I'm here to warn you." She rolled her eyes again. "Well, I'm here to warn your team that the committee is gunning for you in a way that's unprecedented for this tournament's history, that is."

I tried to look appropriately grateful even as I said, "Yes—we suspected as much. They stacked the deck pretty clearly against us when we were up against Team Masho."

"Sure, but you don't know the extent of what's coming." Her hands (clad in black leather gloves like a true film noir femme fatale) flew skyward. "They're so eager to see you dead, they're even willing to demote me—me, the most popular referee this tournament has ever had!"

I tried to look surprised by that. "They demoted you?"

"Can you believe it?" she said with incredulous relish. "The committee is pissed that I threw the rulebook at them during Urameshi's match with Team Masho and helped Shizuru become your team alternate—so pissed, in fact, they're demoting me to an announcer. Although even they know that fans would riot if they retaliated more than that." Her fingers tapped her cheek as she breathed a weary sigh. "And to think my fan club made all that Pretty Referee Koto merch this year…"

I didn't have to try to sound sympathetic: "Koto, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," she said with a dismissive wave. "It's not even your human team's fault. Humans have entered this tournament more than a few times over the years, but even those teams didn't get treated like this. There's something about you that's pissed the backers off like no one else before, and you're going to need to play by their rules if you stand a chance at staying alive." She leaned toward me, deadly serious as she stared me in the eye. "Since I've been demoted, I won't be able to help you out again. That's what I came here to say: To not count on help from anyone, and to do your best to stack the deck against the committee, instead."

"Any idea how I could do that?"

Just as she had the committee, Koto threw the rulebook at me—but literally. She'd been hiding the thick paperback tome in her coat, and she tossed it on my lap with an efficient flick of her dainty wrist. It didn't have anything on the cover aside from the year, but the inside had been filled with tiny writing describing the tournament's many rules. Flipping through it revealed that there were far more of them than I'd anticipated… which in turn implied that Koto's role as referee had a lot more to it than just looking pretty and starting a 10-count on time.

Koto indicated the book with a finger. "Memorize that, if you can. Might help you avoid some of their trickier calls next time."

I nodded, distracted by the book. Koto watched me in silence, eventually sighing and leaning backward in her chair. Her long legs crossed at the thigh, pink boot bobbing up and down with bottled energy.

"To tell you the truth," she said, disgruntled, "I just don't get it." She gave another vague wave at my look of confusion. "They've fudged the rules for other teams before, but to play as dirty as they did with you? It's weird, and I can't help but think that the match against Team Masho is just the start of their campaign to undermine your team. And no matter how I feel about humans, I love this tournament too much to see those dirty, rotten—sorry." Her cheeks pinked. "No offense."

"None taken." I shut the book with a clap. "They're pigs."

She grinned. "A girl after my own heart. Just be sure to watch what you say if you want to talk strategy. The backers have all of the contestants' hotel rooms bugged."

A cold weight dropped into my stomach. "Bugged?"

"Oh, for sure." Koto saw the look on my face and backtracked, pronto. "Your room is probably safe, though. Otoha told me you aren't rooming with Team Urameshi, but better safe than sorry. Definitely let them know to watch what they say, etc."

"Got it." I swallowed, palms sweaty. "I'll try and… sweep for bugs."

"Good call." She winked again. "And trust me. I make calls for a living." With that, she stood up and put her sunglasses back on, popping the collar of her trench coat with a snap. "Ciao, Keiko. Gotta run. A referee is never late, even if she's been demoted to mere announcer." She sashayed past me and, with hand on the doorknob, said, "Tell your boys to bring their a-game. Team Uraotogi is a force to be reckoned with."

Koto didn't spare any more time for pleasantries. She left in a cloud of perfume and the click of heels against the floor, ones that faded down the hallway and into obscurity in only a few seconds. I got the sense that she'd come here for one thing, and one thing only: to pay her debt to me and Yusuke, even though we'd never asked for such a thing, nor had we offered our aid for any kind of price. Still, Koto seemed the principled sort—the kind that adhered to her own code, even if it was a little hard to understand.

I rather liked Koto, I decided. Her bloodlust notwithstanding, she seemed cool.

Otoha, like Koto, didn't spare time for silence, either, not giving me a chance to really dig into the things Koto had said. She shut the door in Koto's wake and plopped down into her abandoned chair, rapping her knuckles on the side of my bucket-seat to get my attention again.

"And now for my bit," she said, dark eyes liquid against the gold of her skin. "I did that recon you were after."

I sat up straighter on reflex. "You have?"

"Uh-huh." She scooted her chair closer to me, looking urgent and excitable, color flooding the scales on her face nearly crimson. "So here's what I learned: nobody by the names of Hiruko or Ebisu is staying at this hotel, or at any of the hotels on the island."

"Wait, what?!"

"I know, it sucks, but hold your reactions until the end because I'm not here empty handed." Otoha held up a single mollifying finger when I opened my mouth to ask questions, saying, "I looked into who gave you your hotel suite, and it turns out the one of the tournament backers named Sakyo is responsible for that reservation—and get this." She cupped her hands around her mouth to whisper-scream, "He's the owner of Team Toguro!"

Otoha looked both impressed and horrified by this revelation, staring at me with expectation written all over her face. When I only sighed, however, rubbing my temples with my fingertips, her mouth turns down into a frown.

"You don't seem surprised to hear that," she said.

"I'm not," I said. I leaned my elbows on my knees, fingers digging harder into my skin. "Toguro and Yusuke have history, and I ran into Sakyo a few days ago. He confirmed he got the room for us, but as a favor to Hiruko." My eyes squeezed tightly shut, stars shooting off behind my lids. "But if Hiruko isn't listed here, how can I find him?"

"Just because his name isn't in the books doesn't mean he isn't locatable," Otoha said. When I looked up at her sharply, she grinned and scooted closer still, chair legs squeaking against the tile floor. "I talked to some of the hotel wait staff, specifically the ones who service the upper floors and the clubs and VIP places, and apparently a guy with pink hair and bright blue eyes is just about always hanging out in the committee's private club. It's on the fourteenth floor and you have to be a committee member or a guest of one to get inside. Very exclusive. It's where most of the black market betting takes place, too—wait. Déjà vu." She blinked a few times, lips pursing. "Have we talked about the club before?"

"Yeah, we have," after thinking back for a minute. "I saw somebody who looked like Hiruko heading up that way, and I asked you about it. That's what made me ask you to do recon." The reality of what she was saying sank in, then, and a grin fought its way across my face. "And it looks like your friends have seen someone like Hiruko up there, too, so…"

"Yeah." She nodded rapidly, dark hair undulating in silken waves. "Yeah, they have."

My heart beat a little faster. "Could he be there right now?"

"Possibly, but most of the backers aren't there right now. They all flew to the stadium this morning to watch the fights—oh, wait a minute!" She cursed and looked at her wristwatch, hopping up so fast it startled me. "You should head out if you want to make it to the new stadium on time! It's a lot farther than the first stadium, hence Koto not sticking around."

The fact that I had no intention of getting there wasn't worth mentioning; I said, "Thanks, Otoha." I grabbed her hand, tugging her back into her chair. "So can you tell me how to get up to the club?"

She seemed a bit perplexed by the question, staring at me for a second before saying, "You need a special key to get the elevator up that high. The staircases are locked and guarded, too. If you try to get past the guards, they'll see you coming a mile away."

"Right." I let go of her, leaning back with a frown. "Of course they would."

Otoha patted my knee with sympathy. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."

"No, you were a huge help." I shook my head. "Just knowing he's here…"

Just knowing he was here—and knowing how to get to him, if the time came—was more than enough.

Otoha didn't have any more information for me that morning. She led me back the way we'd come, through the secret door and back into the phone vestibule, which housed a few people making phone calls to the mainland. As I headed back to my suite, I wondered what would happen if I somehow got ahold of one of the keys to the 14th floor and marched into the VIP area Otoha had mentioned. I wondered what would happen if the guards caught me trying to bust in, and I wondered what I would do if I came face to face with Hiruko for more than a half-second span on an elevator.

I wondered if going after him was worth the cost of what it could do to canon.

And as I settled down near the windows in my suite to read the rulebook Koto had given me, I realized I had made my choice—because if there was one thing canon-Keiko was good at, it was studying, especially for the sake of her friends.

"I still can't believe you didn't wake us up, Keiko!"

The woods near the stadium were mostly quiet, but the sound of Botan's incensed voice caused a flock of birds to take flight from a nearby tree, startled into soaring. I barely heard her, though. I trailed behind the rest of my group, nose buried in the rulebook, and I responded to her with little more than a shrug and a grunt.

Botan didn't like that very much. "So absorbed in that book you can't even wake us up on time!" she remarked, glaring at me when I glanced up from the pages to look at her. "Tut, tut! Shame on you!"

I shrugged. "Not my fault you all got drunk and overslept."

"Ididn't get drunk!" Botan squawked.

"Nah, you got smashed!" Atsuko crowed.

Shizuru, walking just a few steps ahead of me, asked, "Where did you get that book, anyway?"

"Gift shop."

That was a joke, of course. I had no reason to hide the fact the Koto had sent for me, but I didn't want to lose precious study-time by explaining the reason for her visit, either. My time was best spent reading, because boy howdy, was that stupid rulebook a monstrosity of scholarly organization! Rules referenced sections that were hidden within unlisted other sections, Russian-nesting-doll style, looping through sub-rulings and historic precedent in results that were almost too self-referential to follow. It took all of my concentration not to get lost within the dense and esoteric text, and that said wild things about Koto's level of intelligence. The fact that she had the damn thing memorized and could recite rulings on the fly was, in a word, unbelievable.

If Shizuru suspected I wasn't saying everything, she didn't have the time to express as much. Yukina, who had been walking abreast of Botan, slowed down until she came to a stop at Shizuru's side.

"Shizuru-san, I'm actually more surprised that you did not set an alarm," she said, eyes troubled. "They're such amazing devices, after all."

Shizuru took a puff of her cigarette and frowned. "True, but why me?"

"As the team's alternate, I thought…"

Without looking up, I muttered a quote from the rulebook: "Team alternates may only step in if a member of their team has died or has been deemed sufficiently incapacitated by the tournament's governing body or regulators."

"Right," said Shizuru, "and since nobody's dead…"

("Yet," Botan muttered, whipping around to glare at me.)

"… I got put on guard duty for all of you." Shizuru tossed her cigarette to the ground, stamped it out, and lit up another. "Ran it by Kuwabara last night. Seemed like the best thing to do, considering the circumstances."

Atsuko's brow lifted. "You ran it by Kuwabara? Not Yusuke?"

Shizuru took another drag. "Kuwabara is acting captain since Yusuke and the Masked Fighter went AWOL," she said with a plume of exhaled smoke, "and since our resident tactician went MIA all yesterday and Hiei hates dealing with crap like that…"

"Uh, girls?" Botan stopped walking, her heel cracking a twig she'd happened to step on. Her voice had lost its combative quality, all quaver out of nowhere. "Is it just me, or is this place kind of a ghost town?"

I closed my book and looked up, tracing the path before us as it wound through the woods to the stadium. Botan pointed forward, teeth worrying the curve of her rosy lower lip. The stadium had just risen into view above the trees, but unlike the days before, the roar of the crowd didn't accompany the sight. No announcer voices boomed above the trees, and no stench of unwashed demons and roasting meat perfumed the air, either. Before there had been the smell of fire pits and campgrounds, but as I looked around the path, all I saw were heaps of garbage and piles of dead leaves. It had rained in the night, but the muddy path bore the indentations of barely any footsteps. The wind in the trees sighed thinly, like the breath exhaled after a long time spent held.

Suffice it to say, we all noticed the absence of what should have been. We walked in uneasy silence down the remainder of the path until the heft of the stadium came fully into view. A few groups of demons stood or sat scattered around the stadium grounds, but the gates inside lay open—open and unguarded. Shizuru led the charge toward them, mean-mugging a few of the loitering demons who dared glance in our direction. Not that many of them did. They were too busy playing games of dice or cards, muttering amongst themselves too intently to pay our crew much mind. The ones who did look up at us spotted Shizuru and looked away very fast. News of her prowess had spread, I suspected, and we entered the stadium at the ground floor without any trouble at all.

But the real trouble lay within, I suppose, insofar that the entire stadium was empty.

Atsuko gawked openly at the deserted stands. Yukina covered her mouth with the sleeve of her yukata, confused crimson eyes trailing over the dim television screens above the ring and the lack of spectators all around. Botan ran past Shizuru with a cry of dismay and headed for the ring itself, running over the grassy space between it and the stands and then onto the surface of the ring itself. There she rotated on a foot, spinning in place to take in the bare seats and desolate structure in shock. Only Shizuru looked unaffected, keeping calm in the face of crisis the way only the truly spine-steeled were capable.

Me, though? I just followed them with my nose in my book, trying not to look conspicuous—because I knew this was going to happen, and I didn't want anyone catching on.

We stood in a knot in the center of the ring for a few seconds in silence. To our left, a group of about a dozen demons sparred near the ring's edge, two of them tussling while the rest jeered insults and encouragements. But these were far from the fights my friends were expecting to witness, and soon Botan threw up her hands and cried, "What in the world?!"

Yukina gasped. "Oh! That's right! Today is the semifinals. Aren't the semifinal matches being held in a different stadium?"

"Botan, why did you bring us to this place?" Shizuru said. "You said you knew the way."

"I was too worried about being late to remember that we were supposed to go to the other stadium!" She stood there wringing her hands, hopping from foot to foot. "Oh, this is terrible. We'll miss the entire first match at this rate!" She broke into a swift jog, pulling Yukina along as she headed back toward the gates we'd only just come through. "C'mon, girls, let's hustle—"

No one protested, following Botan's lead without complaint. And I trailed along after with a small, secretive smile—because if this start was anything to go by, we were going to be very late, indeed.

Another flock of birds took flight when Botan bellowed, "We ended up back here again?!"

The demons playing a game of dice beside the stadium gates leapt from their seats, startled by the sound of Botan's roar. Shizuru, meanwhile, hung her head; Yukina twittered in dismay; Atsuko laughed, and Botan shot her a toothy glare in response. We had been walking in circles for a while before Botan claimed to know where we were and how to get to the new stadium, but her little "shortcut" had only brought us back to precisely where we'd started (just like in canon, I had privately celebrated). Dejectedly Botan trudged into the stadium, looking through forlorn eyes at the abandoned halls and the quiet ring in the stadium's deserted center. We all followed in silence, mostly because her woeful demeanor was just too pitiable to tease.

Well… almost. At the back of our little squad, I suppressed a smirk and muttered, "I knew we should've taken that left turn at Albuquerque."

"Hmm?" Yukina, beside me, touched my arm and frowned. "Keiko, what did you say?"

"Nothing, Yukina. Just a terrible joke." I forced a smile, and when our group once again came to stand in the middle of the ring, I said, "Hey, Botan?"

She sniffled loudly. "Yes, Keiko?"

"Maybe we should ask someone for directions?"

She just shook her head. "These demons probably don't even have tickets to the fights, much less directions on how to get to them!"

"Still worth a shot," Atsuko said, breaking into a jog toward a band of demons fighting near the edge of the ring. "I'll go ask."

"I think I may have seen an information packet near the front desk near the stadium entrance," Yukina offered. "But no one was there…"

Botan's face lit up. "Good, thinking Yukina! That's still a fine place to start!"

The pair headed back the way we'd come; Atsuko had already made it over to the demons brawling nearby, joining their group and cheering them on as they tussled. As Botan and Yukina walked away, steps slow thanks to the restriction of Yukina's yukata, I lifted my book and buried my nose in it again. We were very late, just as I'd hoped, but I figured I shouldn't volunteer to hunt for information about the new stadium. The longer it took us to get there, the better. After all, the girls hadn't made it back to the stadium until the second-to-last match, and—

"Call me crazy," Shizuru said, "but you don't seem terribly concerned about all of this."

I flinched, because for a minute there, I'd forgotten that she was standing just a few feet away, lazily flicking ash off the tip of her cigarette. She regarded me with a blank stare, face as inscrutable as the nigh indecipherable text of the tournament rulebook.

I just shrugged, though, trying to play it cool. "We'll get where we're going eventually. No sense getting worked up."

"And here I thought you were the high-strung sort," she said, barest hint of a laugh creeping into her voice. The laugh disappeared when she asked, "Tell me, Keiko. Is my brother all right?"

"How should I know?" I started to say—but the look on her face stopped me cold.

Shizuru was many things: calm, cool, collected, and smart, just to name a few. Not the kind of person to underestimate, nor the kind of person you could easily lead astray when they asked you a direct question. My usual prevarication wouldn't work on her; I'd known that since the day we met on that playground so many years prior, and the conversation we'd had after my little chat with Sakyo had served as a painful reminder of that fact. Shizuru had not minced words when she said she knew I was anything but normal, and that she'd be watching me because of it. She didn't know the details of my abnormality, but much like how Yusuke had instinctually guessed something about me was off, so too had Shizuru. That meant that getting defensive wasn't going to win me any brownie points here—especially not after Shizuru had literally watched me break her brother's heart the day before. If she was sore at me, she was entirely justified in that feeling, and there was no need for me to make it any worse by dodging her questions.

Slowly, I closed my book, though I kept a finger between the pages to mark my place. "Your brother is fighting like he always does, I suspect," I said. I had to work up the courage to ask, "Did he seem OK last night?"

She blew out a plume of blue smoke. "Heartbroken, to put it mildly."

I winced. "Great."

But Shizuru just shrugged. "It's the truth, not a judgement call. But it's a good thing he isn't the type to let a little heartache stand between him and putting up a fight." She took another drag, lips curling just a little around her cigarette, "If anything, his punches might fly a little straighter. Hit a little harder. Who knows?"

"Well," I said, unsure if I was allowed to feel comforted, "I hope they do."

She nodded absently. "So any idea if he'll come out of these fights OK?"

"You'll just have to wait and see." A beat. "And you might not have to wait as long as you think."

Shizuru lifted a single brow quite high. "What, you call us a taxi or something?"

"No." I tried very hard not to laugh at my own joke. "But I get the feeling an update will be dropping in soon enough."

Shizuru frowned. "What the heck does that mean?"

Before she could finish, Atsuko yelled our names; she had trotted back in our direction and was waving what appeared to be a paper napkin in her fist. "Hey! The demons over there drew me a map!" She held it toward us when she skidded to a stop. "It's not that far, but if we want to get there soon, we should probably—"

"Girls!" Botan trilled from our right. She was running pell-mell across the lawn toward the ring, Yukina following more sedately behind her. "We found a map!"

"Hey, that's great!" Atsuko said, beaming. "Two maps are better than one."

"And with five heads between us," Botan said, "we should be able to deduce how best to—"

Botan bit back her words with a cry when a red bright light flashed over us, sending our shadows long and dark across the ring's hard floor. A wind kicked up, too, rattling the map in Atsuko's hand with the sound of rustling, then tearing, paper. I looked up as the flash repeated, only to find—a line? A twenty-foot line like a crack through a mirror, rending the sky overhead in two. It was like someone had taken a sharpie to the sky, but the line radiated an awful scarlet luminescence that hurt to look at straight on—nothing like the portal I had expected to see in the sky above us.

No. This didn't look anything like that expected portal whatsoever.

The demons who had drawn Atsuko's map didn't waste any time in getting lost. They yelled and shrieked and scattered for the exits, their feet pounding the grass like a herd of rampaging buffalo, and Shizuru hissed between her teeth as the line expanded, flaring outward into a pitch-colored circle, dark as death against the sky's bright blue. It looked like a solar eclipse, black with edges that radiated red, but just as I vaguely thought that the darkness didn't look anything like Shishiwakamaru's dimension shawl in the anime, the darkness rippled like a lake disturbed by a stone. It rippled and buckled and expanded outward, shapes rising from the deep before breaking through the inky surface with a roar that placed a ringing in my ears.

Five demons emerged from the darkness. They fell like stones to the ground not ten feet away, and as they rose to their full heights, Shizuru stepped between them and the rest of our group, a set of green spirit-knives flaring to life around her knuckles.

"Stay behind me, all of you," Shizuru said.

She didn't have to tell us twice. We gathered behind her, staring warily at the demons as the rift above shrank back down to a line, and then to nothing at all. The red light faded away bit by bit until naught but sunshine remained, but even so, the demons were still intimidating. One had a pair of enormous bat wings streaming from its shoulders, face whiskered like a cats and arms scaled like an alligator. Another looked like an enormous ogre, loincloth covering its hips, claws hands clasped around a massive club. Two were identical, with grey skin and horn down their spines and the lengths of their lashing tails.

It was the last demon who broke the silence. Although he had the beak of a bird and stood hunched like the keeper of Notre Dame, muscle corded his purple arms, and in his five orange eyes gleamed intelligence undeniable. He lifted a hand and pointed it at us, curved claws dirty with a dark brown substance I hoped like hell wasn't blood.

Only, when my friends all turned to look at me in shock, I realized he hadn't been pointing at 'us' at all.

"You. Girl," he rasped in a voice like enraged hornets, staring straight at me. "Come with us, and we might let your friends get away with most of their limbs intact."

I gasped on reflex, dropping into a defensive stance without even thinking. The girls around me at once surged forward, putting me at the back of the line with Yukina—but that wasn't right. This demon (whoever he was) wanted me, not them, and it wasn't right for them to stand on the front lines and put themselves in danger when I was the one who—

"Bud," Shizuru scoffed, not at all phased, "if you're trying to be intimidating, you need to try harder."

"Keiko?" Atsuko looked between me and the demon and back again. "What the hell do you want with Keiko?"

"None of your business," the demon hissed, but rather than back down, Botan just took a step forward and tossed her hair.

"Yeah… not on our watch!" she said, raising her fists before her. In a quieter voice she told us, "They look like they mean business, but judging from their energy, this is nothing we can't handle."

"I'll say." Atsuko punched a fist into her opposite hand, grinning ear to ear. "Save some for me, Shizuru. I like to start a day with some light exercise."

"All of you, be smart about this," I snapped, heart hammering in the roof of my mouth. "We're outnumbered, and—"

"You be smart," Atsuko retorted. "We're tough and they're assholes. We can take 'em."

"Keep an eye on Yukina, kid," Shizuru agreed, "and let us take out the trash."

I didn't move. I wanted to join in and kick those demons' asses. I wanted to tell my friends to back down and run. I wanted to kick demon ass by myself and figure out what the heck was happening all alone. I wanted my friends with me to face the truth, because it was sure to be ugly. I wanted to lead the demons away from my friends so they wouldn't figure out what was happening. I wanted—

I wanted—

The girls were all looking at me expectantly, and I realized that it didn't matter a hill of beans what I wanted—especially not when Yukina grabbed my arm and gasped, her enormous eyes pleading with me to just go.

My heart softened at once.

How annoying.

"Ugh, fine!" I grabbed Yukina's hand and pulled. "Yukina, this way. C'mon!"

She had trouble running in her yukata, but we still made good time as we headed for the edge of the ring and jumped over it, hunkering in its shadow on the grass beside the towering concrete platform. Even so, by the time we reached our spot, the rest of our troupe had already leapt into action. I huddled with Yukina, an arm around her shoulders, listening as punches connected with flesh and one of the demons made a garbled yelp of pain—

Atsuko gave a warning shout. A thump and a scratching sound ripped along the concrete above, and then a shadow passed over our hiding spot. The winged demon with the cat face stood before us on the grass, only a few feet away with claws outstretched. Yukina yelped and shrank back, hand on my arm gripping tight. He was so close I could see the striations of black around his slit pupil, deep as the portal that had birthed him.

"No use running, girl." The demon leered, its wings beating small buffets of air at us. "Hand yourself over and I might leave the ice apparition—"

The mention of Yukina sent a spike of rage through my chest; I slammed my back against the side of the fighting ring and grabbed its edge above my head with my hands, performing a quick walk-up using the demon's smug face for purchase, delivering a series of kicks to his groin, stomach, chest, chin and forehead as I sent my body flying upward and back. He staggered with a yowl as the force of the kicks sent me flying, landing on my heels on the edge of the ring a few feet up, and I had barely even landed when I grabbed knives from the bandolier around my thigh and threw them right as his stupid, furry chest. He yowled again, but before he could so much as fall down, I leapt from the ring and delivered a swift, downward heel-kick to the top of his skull. He crumpled underneath me, going still and quiet in the time it takes to say, "You done fucked up."

I guess Yukina wasn't expecting that, because she looked quite shocked by the demon's unconscious form lying prone upon the grasp. "Yukina, are you all right?" I said, taking her arm, and she came back to me with a start.

"I'm fine," she said. "That—that was amazing."

I tried to tell the pride ballooning in my chest to shut the hell up, but I couldn't quite keep a smile off my face. "It's nothing compared to Shizuru and Botan," I said, trying to sound modest. "And Atsuko kicks ass, herself."

To illustrate, Atsuko's roar of triumph echoed through the abandoned stadium. Yukina cocked her head, hand slipping around my wrist with cool fingers.

"I wish…" She swallowed, eyes distant. "I wish I could…"

I knew how she must feel. I'd spent too much time around people with superpowers not to know how she must feel. "We all have our talents. Your healing, for instance, has been a huge blessing," I said, hoping to distract her. "So don't sweat it, OK?"

Yukina nodded, although she didn't look convinced. I pointed above us at the edge of the ring.

"Sounds like they're done up there," I said. "Why don't we…?"

Yukina nodded again. After making sure the coast was clear, I helped her get back into the ring, and together we crossed the platform to rejoin our friends. No one looked any worse for wear, I saw as we approached; relief instantly filled my gut to the brim. Atsuko stood with a foot on the chest of one of the twin demons, her own chest puffed as she preened.

"Pretty cool, huh?" she said. "We kick ass!"

"Yeah," I said, eyeing the demons. One of them looked quite dead, considering his head lay a few feet from his body (Shizuru's handiwork, no doubt). "You do."

"You were all wonderful," Yukina concurred.

Botan laughed, rubbing the back of her neck with delight. "Oh, it was nothing, really!" she said, still chortling. "Just standing up for a friend, that's all. Nothing heroic about it!"

"No one said anything about heroic…" Shizuru muttered, and Botan stuck out her tongue.

Just then, the demon Atsuko stood upon gave a weak cough, groaning as its eyes fluttered in its face. Atsuko cracked her knuckles, hopping off of him—but only so she could deliver a swift kick to his ribcage.

"Well, looks like we left at least one or two of them alive," she said, kicking his ribs again and again. "Hey. Wake up! We have an interrogation to perform!"

"That's right." Shizuru turned to me with a grimace. "They were after you, Keiko. What do you suppose they wanted?

"Beats me," I said, which was by no means a lie. "I don't know what they—"

From above us came another flash. Internally I groaned, and Yukina cried out about more demons coming, but the sky above us did not look anything like the black line and red glare from earlier. Instead the sky had been covered in a diaphanous white mist, one that swirled around and around on itself in an undulating maelstrom, thick as pea soup and as opaque as a brick wall.

But while my friends groaned and griped at the sight of it, I just grinned—because this portal was what I'd been waiting for, and it was right on schedule.

"What now?!" Atsuko shouted as the wind rose, sending dust scattering around us in a dervish.

"Not another demonic kidnapping, I hope!" said Botan.

"No," Shizuru yelled. "This feels different than before. It feels like—" She did a double-take, comical in her surprise. "Kazuma?!"

Botan did a double-take, too. "Kazuma?!"

"What do you mean, it feels like your brother?" Atsuko yodeled.

No time to explain; the portal was opening, the mists parting to reveal a white void from which the form of Kuwabara Kazuma came plummeting to earth like a stone. It had been hard to tell how far up the mists had been when they had first appeared, but Kuwabara had at least a hundred and fifty feet to fall, and Yukina gave a horrified gasp as his arms and legs pin-wheeled around him during his descent and a bellow escaped his wide-stretched mouth.

Not that Kuwabara was a stranger to being dropped from high places, especially over this particular fighting ring. But rather than rest on the laurels of past achievements, he instead twisted in the air to face upward, extending one hand toward the mists—mists that had rapidly begun to fade now that they had delivered their cargo to its destination. The glowing heft of the Spirit Sword shot out of his hand toward it, glowing bright gold against the paleness above.

"Don't count me out yet, Shishiwaka-whatever!" Kuwabara bellowed, rage making his voice both shriek and boom at once. "That was a dirty trick you pulled and I'm gonna make you sorry, you sorry son of a—"

The Sword shot further into the sky, and for a moment I wasn't sure what he was trying to achieve—but even my mundane eyes could tell that his Sword didn't look like its usual self. No, instead it was longer and thinner than I was used to seeing it, snaking like a whip through the sky as its point sharpened into a needlelike skewer—and then the sword pierced the veil above like an icepick through taffeta, disappearing completely into the mist. Kuwabara's descent slowed, sword stretching until his body came to a stop in the air, and then the sword retracted, yanking Kuwabara upward once again. He gave another ferocious scream as it dragged him toward the sky, but the scream cut off when Kuwabara disappeared into the mists and out of sight.

A moment later, the mists faded from view, leaving behind nothing but blue sky.

We stood there, blinking at the sky in silence, for at least a minute. Maybe more.

Shizuru said, "Well." She puffed a bit quickly on her cigarette. "Looks like baby bro learned how to bungee jump, I guess?"

Botan's open mouth snapped shut. "What was that?" she said, rounding on us. "A portal? A gateway? I'm flummoxed, I tell you, flummoxed!" She looked at the sky again, awed. "And when did he learn to do that with the Spirit Sword?"

"Kazuma always has been full of surprises," Shizuru remarked. "And speaking of surprises." She jerked a thumb at the demons on the ground, and one of them gave a low groan. "What's say we wake these demons up and get some answers, huh?"

Atsuko's hand shot into the air. "I call dibs on torture!"

"Atsuko, you can't torture—wait." Botan's scolding cut off. "Do all of you see that?"

We all followed her gaze, and we found the demons on the ground… unraveling.

There isn't another word for it (at least not one I know of). The bodies of the demons were solid enough, but at the edges—fingertips and toes, tops of their heads and the soles of their feet—they had begun to… come apart. It wasn't gory. They weren't falling into bloody chunks or dissolving as if they'd been placed in acid. They were simply fuzzy, unraveling like a sweater with a fraying edge, the heft and weight of their physical forms disincorporating into matter not quite discernable to the naked eye. Eventually they blurred and came apart enough to collapse in on themselves, chests and faces and limbs caving in and disappearing with a flurry of—

My chest tightened. I took three sharp steps forward and bent, swiping my fingers through a demon's unraveling hand just before it disappeared.

Around my fingertips tangled red thread—thinner even than spider web, than silk, than the space between the whorls of my fingerprints—which blew away on the breeze and disappeared.

The demons' bodies followed suit. The wind picked up their remnant threads and tossed them across the ring, a scarlet tumbleweed with strands almost too thin to see, which soon dissolved on the air and out of sight. Shizuru grabbed at the thread, too, rubbing it between her fingertips until it vanished.

I knew, without even looking, that the demon I had defeated had suffered a similar fate.

And despite how inconceivable their deaths had been, I knew with equal certainty exactly what was happening—or, more importantly, who was to blame for it.

Oblivious to my thoughts, Shizuru said, "That is the weirdest thing I've ever seen. And I've seen my brother try to shave."

Botan shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as she stared at the spaces where demons once lay. "What do you think those were?" she said, voice low with uncertain urgency. "Surely they weren't really demons, were they?"

"And if they weren't demons," said Atsuko, flabbergasted, "what were they, exactly?"

Yukina put her hand on my arm. "And why were they after you, Keiko?"

Silence reigned for a few moment, broken only by the whisper of the wind and the sound of some far-off demons yelling. The weight of eyes on my skin caused my breath to quicken, the hair on my arms to rise. But I didn't turn to face anyone, and I forced my breathing back to rights as best I could.

Botan, disliking my silence, came forward to stand beside Yukina. "Do you think this could be Sakyo? He sent for you once before," she said, searching my face. "Or was it Team Toguro? The Tournament Committee?"

I latched onto that like a fish on a line. "Yeah—I'll bet you it was the committee."

She looked surprised that I'd agreed. "You do?"

"Yeah. Think about it." I tapped my temple, looking as sly as I could. "Kidnap the childhood friend of the team captain? I'll bet they were trying to rattle the boys, but they won't succeed." Trying to look serious, like I really believed what I was saying, I strode away from my friends toward the exit, gesturing for them to follow. "C'mon, everyone. Let's go. We need to get going, now, and cheer them on."

"Keiko," Botan called after me, "but that thread—"

I cut her off, tossing words over my shoulder like breadcrumbs. "I'll bet they don't want us there, you know! That whole stadium will be against the team. We're their only supporters, and that committee knows it. Maybe they're even trying to psych the boys out right now, asking them where we are." I started to run, voice rising high and reedy. "We need to get there, fast, and prove that their little plan has failed!"

Feet slapped the pavement. "Hell yeah! I agree!" Atsuko said. "Let's rub their faces in this!"

"That does sound nice, I'll admit." Botan started running, too, and soon Yukina and Shizuru followed—chasing the breadcrumbs I had thrown them. "So what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

We ran, and we ran, and we ran. Shizuru eventually took point, grabbing the map from Botan so she could navigate our way to the next stadium. Atsuko whipped us into a frenzy with encouragements and jibes at the committee, screaming at the sky that we were coming and that they better hold on, tight, and that we'd kick their asses just like we'd kicked those demons'. I didn't speak but to agree with them when I could, adding my voice to the chorus so they wouldn't notice when I dropped to the middle of the pack, and then to the very back of it.

So they wouldn't notice that when they plunged into the forest, I dropped into a walk, and then I stopped completely.

So they wouldn't notice when I turned around and ran—fast as my legs could carry me—back to the hotel.

Otoha eyed me up and down, hands gripping the drink cart a little tighter. Voice so low I could barely hear it over the hum of the elevator, she whispered, "Are you sure about this?"

I didn't reply—because I wasn't.

Otoha's key to the 14th floor of Hotel Kubikukuri had perfectly fit the elevator lock, just as the spare maid uniform she'd filched from the laundry had fit like a glove when I tried it on. We were dressed identically, with ruffled headpieces and frilly aprons, bearing a cart of champagne and crystal glasses up to the VIP lounge. The champagne had been requested an hour prior, and I had run panting through the secret door into the hotel staff HQ just as Otoha started to take it upstairs.

Good timing, I'd thought at the time.

But as the elevator doors swung open, I had to wonder if this was really such a fortuitous coincidence, after all.

We arrived as a quartet of other maids (instantly recognizable by their uniforms) were leaving, standing and waiting for the elevator at the end of a long hallway. At the other end of the hallway stood a small set of double doors, flanked on either side by burly demons clad in stark black suits. I tried not to stare at them (and I tried not to look conspicuous) as Otoha and I left the elevator, our cart rattling as we passed through the troupe of waiting maids.

Otoha paused to whisper something in one of their ears. I wasn't sure what. She came back to the cart to push it forward in seconds, a pleasant smile on her pretty face.

"Act natural," she murmured without moving her lips. "He's in private room #4."

"Ominous."

"You're telling me." Her smile widened into a grin as we neared the security guards. "Hello, boys."

The pair guarding the door was a sight to behold. One had the breadth of a barn, more or less, with biceps like hams and the face of a yak. The other was rangier, with a long snout and silver eyes, hands clawed and body furry like a wolf. Despite their appearances, they both smiled as Otoha appeared; the yak had a mouth of serrated shark teeth, but even so, it was clear they liked her as she and I rolled the cart their way.

"Otoha!" said the shark-toothed yak. "Any goodies for us?"

She grinned and produced a bundle tied in cloth from underneath the cart. "Of course!" she said, handing it over, and the yak-man dug into the load of bread within with gusto. He broke off a piece for the wolf-guy, but the wolf didn't dig in right away. He turned his face to the side to look at me out of one grey eye, taking in my face and uniform with a huff through the snout.

"Who's the new girl?" he said.

"From the cleaning crew, but it was a waste of a pretty face." Otoha pushed the cart forward; the yak pushed the door open for her, grinning around a mouthful of bread. "See you boys later."

"Bye, Otoha."

The wolf man bowed. "See ya next time."

She giggled and batted her lashes at them, but as soon as we were past the doors, she turned her back on them and made a gagging face. It was cute, but I couldn't feel it within myself to laugh—and when we came upon another plain door set in a plain wall, and Otoha pushed it open, I quite forgot about laughing entirely.

The VIP club was like a Vegas casino at first glance: card tables, a craps table, three sparkling bars and a huge line of slot machines arranged in a crescent around a seating area. There were mirrors on the ceiling and crystal chandeliers, demons wearing skimpy cocktail dresses skipping around on high heels to serve drinks to the patrons at the poker table. There was even a dancefloor and a string quartet off to one side, though you could hardly hear the music over the sound of people talking, laughing and carrying on. But when you got past that first impression, the club revealed itself as something else, something other than any mere casino. The people were too well-dressed, men and women alike dripping with jewels and furs and dresses and suits that must've each cost and individual fortune. Casinos had their fair share of high rollers, sure, but this many in one place? That felt unusual, and watching the glitzy shimmer of the room, I felt completely out of place.

Not that anyone paid us any mind. We had exited a small door hidden behind a large potted plant, and no one seemed to notice as we wheeled the champagne cart through the lounge toward the nearest bar. The bar was all covered in mirrors, velvet-covered chairs surrounding it, and the demon serving drinks behind it wore a tuxedo of impeccable tailoring—a real feat considering he had six arms, but anyway.

This six-armed bartender greeted Otoha with a nod and helped us unload a few crates of champagne (behind the bar where no one could see) before telling us to fill glasses. Otoha poured us each a tray's worth of champagne flutes before bidding me to stand near her by the slot machines, where we passed out drinks to anyone who walked by. No one gave us a second look, and despite feeling out of place, it appeared that our uniforms were enough of a disguise to keep us from being noticed. The rich never really noticed their waitstaff, after all…

After a few minutes, Otoha caught my eye and gave a subtle nod to the left-hand side of the room. "See the doors over there?" she said. "Try not to stare."

I did as asked. About a dozen doors sat against the far wall, each of them guarded by a demon in a suit and dark sunglasses. Each door was crafted from polished wood embossed with golden symbols that made them resemble playing cards of various suits and numbers. Three of hearts, king of clubs, ten of diamonds—they appeared to be a random selection of numbers and suits, but soon my eyes caught sight of a door with a familiar number of diamonds emblazed upon it.

"Room four is the four of diamonds door, I presume?" I muttered to Otoha under my breath.

She smiled as a patron took a glass from her, then muttered back, "Smart girl, but there's a catch."

"Always is," I said after the patron walked away.

"There are actually quite a few rooms behind each door. A suite, really." She paused as a few more patrons walked up, waiting for them to leave before saying, "My friend only saw him go into the four of diamonds, but where he went from there…"

"Gotta play detective."

"Yeah." She jerked her head toward the bar. "But someone will call for refreshments soon. When that happens…"

"… we head in, and I sneak off to snoop," I guessed.

"You got it." Otoha's tray had emptied; she gestured for me to follow her and get more glasses. "Now we gotta play it cool, so just pass out that champagne with a smile."

"Got it!"

I did my best not to stare at the four of diamonds door while we refreshed our trays, but it was difficult. Knowing that Otoha had it on good authority that he was back there had my stomach in knots. Aside from our brief almost-contact by the elevators, I had never been so close to the man (boy? god?) before. Now that I was within spitting distance, the reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on me. Sure, I had fantasized a million times or more about giving Hiruko a good verbal smackdown, and I sure as hell was goddamn livid enough to seek him out to deliver one… but to have a shot at actually doing it? What should I say? Would I freeze up at a crucial moment, or…?

Cheers erupted from one of the nearby tables. One man held up a fist in triumph while others clapped, and soon the dealer at that table (a demon, judging by his green skin) handed over a big gold coin—far larger than any currency I had ever seen. As people cheered him on, the winner of the coin swaggered over to the wall of card-suit doors, where he walked through the queen of hearts door with another fist-pump.

Behind him, the demon blackjack dealer's face had gone… stony?

"I should warn you, Keiko."

Startled, I turned to find Otoha staring at me, expression serious. She hadn't let her smile slip since we walked into the room, and the contrast between this expression and her previous couldn't have been more striking.

"There are… rumors," Otoha said. "Rumors about what goes on back there. It's for the richest of the rich, and they… indulge in things they can't on the mainland." She shook her head, slow, a clear warning if I'd ever seen one. "Look for Hiruko, but don't get nosey."

I nodded. Otoha watched me for a moment, and—satisfied that I had listened—pasted her smile back on. She returned to serving drinks, cheerily thanking the humans hungry for alcohol.

I had to wonder what else these rich, indulgent assholes were hungry for.

I had to wonder what lay behind those doors.

I had to wonder, but I had no intention of finding out. I knew what the Black Black Club was capable of, after all. I was there for one thing, and one thing only, and I didn't need to get scarred, Sensui-style, in the process of obtaining it.

Now to wait on pins and needles to finally get what I'd come for.

Luckily, I didn't have to wait for long. Soon enough, a light illuminated above the bar, symbols swimming into view behind the mirror that sat along its back—and the light depicted four diamonds. The bartender loaded up another tray at once, whiskeys and wine and a plate of cocktail onions speared with tiny golden swords, which he gave to Otoha to carry. She placed it on our cart from earlier, gave him a nod, and nodded at me to help her push the cart.

My hands, around its push-bar, slipped and slid, slick with sweat.

"Maids on this level only ever traveled in pairs," she'd told me while I dressed in a uniform. "No one will question it, if we're together."

And indeed, no one did. The walk over to the four of diamonds door felt like it took a millennia, and at any moment I expected a guard to appear and scream at us to stop in our tracks, or to just strike us down on the spot. But that never happened, and when we finally reached the four of diamonds, the guards only looked over at the bar to confirm which light had lit up before gesturing for us to go inside. Otoha didn't say a word to them, and together we stepped over the threshold and into the unknown.

The minute the door shut behind us with an ominous click, a hush fell, noise muffled so much that the sounds of music and laughter had faded completely away. It was eerie, how entirely the former raucous revelry had faded, and I couldn't help it when a shiver coursed its way up my back.

The scenery didn't help, either. We stood at the end of a long corridor, one lined on each side with about a dozen doors. Another set of doors—double-doors made of heavy wood—sat on the corridor's far end. Above a door to our left, a tiny red light gleamed in the dark. It was the only light in the space aside from a single golden bulb behind a frosted glass fixture overhead, shadows as deep as the color of Otoha's dark hair. Immediately Otoha pushed the drink cart toward the door below the red light, giving me a nod as the cart's wheels whispered quietly across the polished hardwood floor.

"Get to work," that nod commanded.

I obeyed.

As walking straight into the mysterious rooms seemed the opposite of wise, I performed the age-old, Scooby-Doo style investigative tactic of pressing my ear to each door I passed (there were no keyholes to peer through, to my disappointment). The first few doors revealed nothing, the space beyond them utterly silent. One door kept a trio of talking people from sight; none of them sounded like Hiruko, so I moved on, pressing my ear to a door that contained a group of people laughing uproariously at—who's to say? Again, none sounded like Hiruko, so I kept walking toward another door.

Behind the next door, I heard a low scraping sound. Like a handsaw through wood, echoing rhythmically on the air.

I moved on quickly.

Behind the next door, someone was screaming.

I moved on even more quickly than before.

The next-to-last door seemed empty at first, but as I pressed my ear to it, a single sob broke the silence. A quiet laugh followed, and then silence reigned again.

That door, somehow, was the worst of all—and so I came to stand, knees shaking, before the final door. The one at the end of the hall. The one that, somehow, I had a hunch would be the one I sought.

And it was the one I sought, because the minute I neared it, a voice from within called: "It's unlocked."

For a moment, I hesitated.

But hesitation would not serve me well in what was sure to come, so I refused to overthink it, and I pushed the doors wide open.

The room beyond them was huge—huge, and almost empty. A gigantic lounge with an unoccupied bar and multiple seating areas comprising many plush couches and chairs, the space immediately revealed itself as expensively appointed but thoroughly unappreciated. The back wall was all windows, floor-to-ceiling and sparkling, providing any would-be occupant with a gorgeous view of the island (but not as pretty as the one Jin had shown me, I couldn't help but think). Rather than these things, however, my eyes were drawn to the vase of flowers sitting on a table in the lounge's exact center, and to the man silhouetted at their side. The tall vase reached nearly to his head, and from it extended even taller flowers, their petals nearly brushing the chandelier dripping crystal from above.

They were sunflowers, of course. Dozens of them hanging on long stems, their faces pointed in my direction, as sunny and as cheerful as the pink-haired man who stood beside them.

Our eyes met, soon enough—and Hiruko grinned when he said, "Hello, my lucky child. It's about time you showed up."

Softly, the doors fell shut behind me.

Notes:

WHEW. This collection of scenes has been living in my head since I first started this fic three years ago, and I was so glad to get these mental images onto paper (screen?) at long last—particularly the one of the demons collapsing into red thread and the image of Hiruko beside an enormous vase of sunflowers, not to mention the image of NQK sneaking into the club in a friggin' maid uniform. Because this wouldn't be a proper sneaking mission without a disguise and Scooby-Doo-style eavesdropping, says I!

It isn't like NQK to be quite this reckless, but the rubber truly has met the road, and desperate times now call for desperate measures. Will her recklessness bite her in the ass? Probably. But there wouldn't be much excitement if she always made the 100% perfect decision every time, so I'm content with her running off like this. She's at her mental breaking point, after all, and some less-than-responsible decision-making on her part is, frankly, realistic.

Both of the shorts I promised last chapter HAVE BEEN POSTED! So go check out Children of Misfortune if you haven't yet.

Many thanks to all those who were there for LC's return from hiatus. I value your words and kindness so much. Coming back after hiatus was honestly the most nerve-racking experience I've had to date regarding this fic, and you made the return so much easier. Thanks to all of you, from the bottom of my heart: ShiaraM, WhitneyWonton, Sanguinary Tide, rosesandlion, NellaHex, allyallyonthewall, SapphireStream, NotQuiteAnonymous, I Am IronMaiden, Nollyn, Ms Liz, Sdelacruz, willowfire, Niyuu Trickster Kat, Gerbilfriend, rosethornli, shini tenshi, musiquemer, DJGirl, WitchofWriting, JestWine, DragonsTower, Unctuous, Not Quite a Morning Person!

This update means I've tentatively returned to a biweekly update schedule, and unless something unexpected happens, I aim to update again two weeks from now—Sunday, January 19, 2020. See you then!

Chapter 97: Clap if You Believe in Fairies

Summary:

In which NQK remembers.

Notes:

Warnings: Brief descriptions of violence.

Heavy references to chapter 80 of this fanfic lie ahead.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

I took a deep breath, and I turned around.

They stared at me with confusion in their eyes: Yusuke, Kuwabara, Botan, Shizuru, Atsuko, and even Yukina. Hiei, Kurama and Genkai were there, too, of course. The entire gang was there, although the latter three looked more suspicious than confused. But that was to be expected. They knew my secret already. They had to suspect that that was why I had called everyone together before standing at the front of the room, nervous, twisting my fingers like a length of gnarled rope. As dragonflies bit at the lining of my belly, I shifted from foot to foot and tried my hardest not to barf.

"So." I swallowed. "You must be wondering why I called you here today."

Yusuke slouched in his seat upon the couch. "Yeah, no foolin'."

"What gives, Keiko?" said Kuwabara, who sat beside him on the edge of his seat. Imploring eyes searched my face. "Are you OK?"

"Yes, I'm fine." A deep breath. A shaky smile. "I just have something I really need to tell all of you."

I told them the truth, then. The speaking of it wasn't difficult. I'd rehearsed every word ten thousand times. It was keeping my composure that was hard, that filled my veins with buzzing bees and thrumming heat. It was their eyes that put fire in my cheeks and a chill on my neck. It was their looks of dawning comprehension—she's serious!—that dropped my eyes to the floor in shame and made me fall quiet when I was done.

I waited in silence for them to react.

A beat passed.

Yusuke's voice cut the silence like a knife when he snarled: "Are you serious?"

And Botan bolted from her chair and said, "You can't really expect us to believe that you—"

Kuwabara was on his feet, too. "What the hell, Keiko?!" he said, hurt and fury waging war behind his eyes. "You kept that from us the whole time?"

"I knew you were strange, but this is just sad." Hiei, meanwhile, hardly moved a muscle, but the roll of his eyes cut worse than any blade. "You're delusional."

Kuwabara's hands came up, almost reaching for me. "How could you not tell me this before now, Keiko?" he said, looking every inch a kicked dog. "I told you about how I was psychic, but you couldn't tell me the truth about you? Are we not friends?"

Panic rose hot and heady in my chest. "No, I—"

"Oh, Keiko," Kurama said, soft and pitying. "You chose the worst time to do this."

"And your delivery left quite a bit to be desired," Genkai added in a rasping grumble.

Botan turned on her heel, blue hair flying. "I'm going to have to report this to Lord Koenma at once, of course," she said, heading for the door. "It's a shame, but…"

"This is what you were hiding for all those years?" Yusuke said. "That's crazy!"

"Keiko, how could you?!" Kuwabara warbled.

At the back of the room, Shizuru whirled, giving a short, harsh bark of anger as her fist punctured the wall with the sound of thunder—a sound that set a frown to the corners of my mouth and brought my finger up to point at her furious face.

"No—no," I said. "Shizuru would not punch a wall. That's completely OOC! She would say something quiet but devastating, and—" My hand came down like a guillotine. "Oh, fuck it."

The scene around me froze, but no one stood still. They literally froze like a video on pause, cosmic remote locking time in place around me. Kurama and his pitying eyes, Genkai and her scowl, Hiei's derision, Botan's sadness, Yukina's silent shock, Yusuke's anger, Kuwabara's hurt—their emotions continued to bore into me despite their frozen faces, and with a groan I sank into Kuwabara's empty seat beside Yusuke and put my head in my hands.

This exercise had not gone well. But then again, these lucid-dream simulations of mine never did. From the first time I had managed to conjure the likeness of a person, it had been exceedingly difficult to craft a likeness that could mimic the intended subject as well as resemble them physically. At first I had simply crafted a likeness of Tom that could sit at a computer in silence, clicking the mouse as video games played across the screen in the darkness of his office, while I sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and staring at the cowlick on the back of his head. Eventually I tried to get him to talk to me, but like so many things in my life, it hadn't ended well.

I'd tried to make speaking likenesses of other people after that. It had gone better with characters from Yu Yu Hakusho than it had people from my old life—probably because I'd spent a good chunk of my first life trying to mimic the personalities of the YYH crew through fanfic. It also helped that the YYH crew was literally all around me to use as a reference point, unlike Tom.

I hadn't actually heard Tom's voice in 15 years, after all. But I digress.

Trying to get a dream-person to accurately act like Tom just didn't work. He came out exaggerated. Overblown. OOC, to use a phrase from the world of fanfic. The YYH characters were much easier, and it didn't take long to create speaking simulacrum of the friends in my new life. For the most part, they acted just like their real-life counterparts, although sometimes they veered into OOC territory—mostly when I tried to create more than one of them at a time. It was easier when I interacted with them one-on-one. Like crafting a one-shot character study of a single character, as opposed to a big group scene where personalities got lost and diluted. Perhaps it was because I couldn't devote enough mental focus to a big group of characters at once, attention spread too thin? I wasn't sure. But the fact remained that I was just plain better at summoning one likeness at a time.

So to summon all the YYH characters at once? No wonder my dream-simulations about telling my friends my secret had never gone any better than poorly. This must've been my tenth attempt to dream-reveal my secret to them, and it had gone as not-well as all past attempts. I ran this scenario to prepare myself for their worst possible reactions, but when I couldn't even keep them in character, what was the goddamn point?

Frustrated, I waved a hand to banish the scene. The room vanished along with its occupants, leaving me sitting on the couch in the middle of… nothing. The vast black expanse of my mind's eye stretched long and dark around me, and with a shiver I waved again to fill the void. At once the room changed to a stark white office, a wingback sitting across from a large desk.

In the chair behind the desk sat the other person I'd learned to conjure over the past few months: a boy with pink hair and blue eyes, smiling from ear to ear with cryptic good cheer.

I stared at my simulacrum of Hiruko for a moment in silence. He stared back without speaking. I opened my mouth to talk, to tell him off and demand answers. Like all the times I'd practiced a predicted social interaction in the shower in my past life (staple tactic of anxiety-sufferers everywhere), I wanted to practice what I'd say to him here so I wouldn't freeze in the moment. To practice the verbal massacre I'd unleash upon him whenever I saw him next, which I'd deliver without a single stutter or misstep.

But as I looked into his smiling little face, nothing came out of my mouth but air.

I banished that simulation and let myself fall into deep, dreamless sleep before the production could even begin. I knew it wouldn't go well. I'd tried to practice telling Hiruko off before, after all—and Hiruko was a thousand times harder to mimic and predict than my friends and fellow characters could ever be.

For a long time, Hiruko and I just stood there.

I needed the moment to adjust, truth be told. Seeing him for longer than a glimpse was a lesson in becoming thunderstruck. I had only glimpsed his adult face once before, and to see it now… it felt unreal. He looked just like himself, but his face had lengthened, cheekbones high and lacking in their usual baby fat. His hair, too, had lengthened into a braid that hung over his shoulder and trailed along the front of his surprisingly broad chest. He wore a traditional red garment just as he had in his child form, hands tucked into the trailing sleeves of his crimson robe, standing in a pair of wooden sandals that creaked when his weight shifted. Sunlight filtered through the window at his back, turning his sakura-petal hair the color of dyed-bright bubblegum. Something told me he'd laugh at the comparison, even if I informed him that I hated the taste of gum, in general.

Rather than insult him, I just said his name. Once, low, dark and full of warning.

But he only smiled. "Not-Quite-Keiko." His eyes gleamed; his eyes that hadn't changed even a little bit. "It's good to see you."

I glowered. "The feeling is not mutual."

"Pity." His smile grew sad, but it didn't disappear. "And we could be such good friends."

"I highly doubt that."

"Another pity." He shook his head as if to clear cobwebs from his hair. "Well. You're here now, and that is all that matters." He gestured at the table beside him, up at the blossoming sunflowers suspended above his head. "Do you like the arrangement? I procured it for you, you know."

"… why?"

Hiruko tittered. "Because they're your favorite flowers, darling. Why else?"

"No, not the flowers." I stepped toward him, heels sinking into the plush carpet. "Why am I here? Why did you send those demons after me?"

"How do you know it was me who sent the demons after you?" he said, coyly.

"Oh, save it." My eyes rolled hard enough to give me a concussion. "You weren't exactly subtle."

"Oh?"

The way he tried to sound innocent had me gritting my teeth, spitting from between them, "Red thread. The demons collapsed into it." Instead of gritting my teeth, I bared them. "You love a motif, drama queen."

"I suppose I do love a dramatic calling card," he admitted. "But I'm surprised you could even see it." He wagged a finger as if to scold. "Those eyes of yours have grown quite sharp!"

"Save the compliments. They won't work."

"Spoilsport." He heaved a sigh. "Yes, I sent the demons after you. You caught me red handed, pun most definitely intended."

So that was one theory confirmed. He'd attacked Cleo with thread once, and the wall of red thread that had blocked memories of my death had been his unmistakable handiwork. Of course the thread-demons had been sent by him—but even though I'd solved the mystery of 'who,' that left 'why' maddeningly unresolved.

So I took another step in his direction and said, "But why? Why did you send them?"

He shrugged, fishhook in his ear catching the light like a gem. "Quite a number of reasons, I should think." Hiruko ticked off the reasons on long, pale fingers. "Delay you, upset your friends, cause a rift between you and your aforementioned companions… any number of outcomes would suit my purposes." His hands disappeared into his sleeves again, expression on his face pensive. "I didn't foresee this, however. You, coming to find me."

"So you're not omnipotent," I muttered.

"Why, Keiko. I've never made that claim." Hiruko laughed. "What an imagination you have!"

I bristled at his patronizing tone of voice, but when he took a sharp step forward, I shrank back against the lounge's tall wooden door. His eyes glittered—but he didn't come for me. Instead he walked with confident steps beneath the crystal chandelier toward the huge bar to my left, all mirrors and polished gold railings and black slate countertops… only he didn't 'walk' so much as he 'swanned,' dancer-graceful with swagger and panache. He paid me no attention as he started rummaging behind the bar, and in spite of how dangerous I knew this man (deity, creature) was, I found myself following him over. Gingerly I sat upon one of the barstools as he took a set of lowball glasses and placed them before me, lifting a metal scoop from beneath the counter to fill both glasses with crystalline ice cubes.

I scowled at him. "I don't have time for drinks."

He didn't look at me, rummaging beneath the bar again. "Of course you have time."

"No, I don't. I need—"

Blue eyes flickered. "The window, dear."

He didn't say anything more. He just kept searching. Suspicious he might be playing a joke, I looked over my shoulder out of the corner of my eye, but nothing seemed amiss near the floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite side of the long room—but then I spotted the bird. I got to my feet in a flash, darting over to press my hands against thick window panes.

A bird hovered outside the window, wings motionless, suspended in midair—paused like a video game.

The forest below didn't sway in the wind. The clouds did not move, either. More birds taking flight from a trees many stories below us looked like pale dots against the greenery, unmoving and still. I stared with my jaw dropped for an untold length of time (untold because time, it seemed, had ceased to be) until Hiruko chuckled, tearing my attention from the frozen bird to his smiling face.

"I assure you," Hiruko said, "that we have all the time in the world."

"I—" I swallowed down the taste of impossibility. "How?"

He looked at me with pity again—an expression I was beginning to despise. "I'm the god of this adorable little world, child. I can do whatever I please."

I swallowed again. "Except I'm not sure that's true."

Hiruko leaned his elbow on the bar, pillowing chin on hand. "Oh?"

"You keep telling me to break the rules. If you could do whatever you pleased, you could make me. You wouldn't be asking nicely."

He leaned his other elbow on the bar, cupping his face. "Perhaps forcing you to do anything would be counterproductive," Hiruko hummed.

"Counterproductive to what?"

"To why I created this world, and to why I placed you in it."

"And why was that?"

Hiruko tutted. "Now, now, child. I can't go telling you all my secrets." Elbows slid off the bar with the whisper of silk on stone. "That, too, would be counterproductive."

From below the bar appeared a bottle with a label I didn't recognize, but the dark liquid Hiruko splashed into his glass was at least familiar. The scent of peat was a dead giveaway. I could smell it even before I returned to the bar and sat again, placing a hand over the remaining empty glass with a shake of my head. Cold air buffeted my palm, ice sending chilly vapors against my skin.

But Hiruko just laughed. "Only juice for you, dear." Another bottle appeared, this one with the picture of a cranberry on the side. "I'd offer you a proper drink, but I'm afraid you're a shade too young."

Another scowl as I moved my hand, allowing him to fill my glass. "So are you. I've seen your real face."

He didn't look up from my cup, concentrating on pouring deep red over clear ice. "Have you, now?"

"Yes." I leaned toward him. "Why do you look like this?"

"I took a leaf out of my dear nephew's book." He put the bottle away, lifted his glass, and toasted. "No one takes you seriously when you look like you're barely out of diapers, after all."

"Your nephew," I repeated—and then I leaned even closer, eyes wide. "Koenma?"

He took a sip of whiskey and grimaced. "Nephew might be too formal of a word for it, but… in a sense, yes."

"That's… oh." I settled back a bit, blinking at him. "Wow."

It made sense, after all. Hiruko, otherwise known as Ebisu, was a figure from Japanese mythology, firstborn son of Izanami and Izanagi, the god and goddess of creation. Koenma was the son of another figure from Japanese myth, which logically meant there had to be some connection between them. Their exact relationship depended on the parentage of King Enma, of course, but…

The ice in Hiruko's glass clinked when he lifted it to his lips. "You have questions, naturally," he said, smiling over the brim. "Feel free to voice them."

My hand tightened around my glass of juice. "And will you give me answers?"

"Perhaps." He took a sip, eyes glittering. "Perhaps not."

I opened my mouth to snap at him. Something biting, something clever.

Nothing came out but air.

Hiruko watched in silence as I tried to speak. Too bad for him, he had to watch for quite a while, because I had no clue what to say. Well. The opposite. I had plenty of clues regarding what to say. More accurately, I had too much to say, each of my myriad questions warring for attention inside my head like a thousand gusts of wind fighting for space in a too-small sky. The storm raged so loudly, I couldn't hear any individual breeze—so I said nothing, sipping my juice as I tried to pick a single line of inquiry out of the screaming crowd. The taste of berries filled my throat and palate with sourness, perfuming every shallow breath I took through my parted lips.

Eventually Hiruko lost patience, glass descending to the bar with a clatter. "Well, you're uncharacteristically quiet," he said. "You usually pepper me with a million and one questions in under five minutes, and now you're just sitting there like a particularly shy statue." His head cocked, fishhook earring nearly brushing his red-clad shoulder. "What gives, lucky child?"

It was my turn to shrug. "You've never given me a straight answer before. Wondering if asking questions is even worth my time."

"It never hurts to try," he said, bright as a sunny day.

I traced the lip of my glass with a fingertip. "I think I'd like to try something else, honestly."

"Oh?"

I nodded absently—but then I pinned him with my most withering glare. "You took me, Kagome, Minato, and placed us in this world, in the bodies of characters from various anime series," I said, hand tightening around my glass again. "As far as I can tell, you made this world, and you did it by stealing something from the Fates—something like the thread of fate, which seems likely given the red thread on those demons, the red thread blocking my memories, and the time you used threads to fight off Cleo."

Hiruko's smile faded, although it did not disappear. "Why are you telling me this?" he said, hiding his mouth with his cup of whiskey.

"Rubber duck theory."

Pink brows knit. "Rubber what?"

"Rubber duck theory. It's a coding trick. Look it up." Carefully, I set my drink aside. "Anyway. You've told me that you wanted a place to belong. I know that your parents threw you away as a baby." (Here he looked dangerously close to dropping his smile, face spasming like he'd bitten into a lemon.) "I know that you've never felt wanted, and making your own world has to be a result of that."

"And what is your point, pray tell?" he said, tone uncomfortably dry.

"I mean, it has to, right?" I said, ignoring the question. "But that can't be the whole story, because there's more to it. There has to be." I tapped my nail against the counter, sound tiny in the huge, still room. "I don't know why you want me to break the rules so badly. Why you wanted characters from shows to appear in this world. I don't know how the pieces of this puzzle combine to form a legible image."

He waved my concerns away. "I'm afraid that is simply the name of the game."

"How can you be so blasé about this?" I asked. "You, the person who should be able to empathize the most?"

One of his eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"I don't fit anywhere in this world." I couldn't keep the gravel from my voice, the throb of pain and regret and accusation from my face. "It isn't mine, and I took someone else's place inside it." I mopped a hand over my face, trying to keep calm. "I belong nowhere, just like you."

"What's your point?" Hiruko snapped.

"How could you?"

The words were a plea, a prayer, a call for mercy. Hiruko's head came up when I said them. He looked at me in bewilderment, staring with a mix of confusion and horror that almost (almost) wiped the smile from his mouth. I suppose I'd never really used that tone with him. I'd yelled at him, cajoled, appealed to his better character—but I'd never begged.

Time to try a new approach, much though it scalded my pride.

"How could you do this to me? To us?" I said, voice breaking when I thought of the others—the souls just as lost as mine whom I had learned to call my friends. "To me and Minato and Kagome alike? How could you put us somewhere foreign, unlike anything we've ever known, and leave us to flounder in the dark?"

"How could I?" Hiruko repeated, face the portrait of disbelief.

"Yes. How could you?" I said. "And that's why I deserve clarity, why I deserve answers." Palms flat on the bar, nearly rising from my seat to meet his gaze, I implored, "Don't you see that? You owe that to me after what you did!"

But Hiruko's eyes remained cool. "Do I?"

"Yes," I said, unmoved. "Yes, you do."

"Even when you're asking the wrong questions, lucky child?" said Hiruko.

I stared. "The wrong…?"

Hiruko moved. The space behind the bar must not have been carpeted, because his sandals clacked with every step he took. Slow pace by slow pace, he walked out from behind the bar and, without looking at me, approached the windows and their view of the frozen world beyond.

To that view he murmured, "I was alone for so long. So I do empathize, Not-Quite-Keiko." When I got up to follow him, dogging his steps, his eyes and bitter smile found my reflection in the glass. "I'm sure you've experienced much fear. Much uncertainty. It comes with the territory of forging one's own path." He looked away again, back toward the unmoving earth. "I know those feelings very well."

"So I was right," I said, coming to stand only a few steps away from his red-clad back.

Blue eyes—unyielding as diamond, as hot as flame—found mine again. "You're right about that," he said, "but to blame me for doing this to you, and to blame me alone?" A cruel laugh escaped his lips, ever-present smile as rough as sandpaper and scales. "I know you don't remember, but I thought you would at least have realized by now that I did not act alone."

A chill filled my mouth, descending into my stomach with a punch. "What?"

But Hiruko did not reply. At least, not right away. He stood regarding me with those flame-hot, diamond-hard eyes for the longest time—time immeasurable, because time continued to stand still. The chill in my stomach moved lower, filling my hips and legs until my knees threatened to turn to water underneath me. Somehow, against all odds, they held steady even as Hiruko's eyes fell shut. Soon he breathed a long, tired sigh into the room's oppressive silence.

"I don't what learning the truth would do to you," he whispered. "If it would hurt you or heal you. I'm not used to not knowing, nor am I accustomed to hesitating. But that look of panic in your eye…"

His eyes opened. The smile he wore held pity, and sadness—and an undeniable flicker of interest that turned the chill in my blood to solid ice.

"For all that I control here," Hiruko told me, "I do not know if the truth would send you spiraling or give you strength."

He let me process that, or perhaps he simply had no more to say. Either way, he stayed quiet as I backed up, only stopping when my calves nudged the edge of one of the many couches that filled the lounge's floor. I sat heavily, springs creaking under my weight, plush cushions so soft they hurt as they glided beneath the planes of my sweating palms.

"Tell me," I said.

Hiruko huffed, perhaps amused; it was hard to say. "I don't think that's wise."

"It's not for you to decide." Unexpected stone lay beneath that statement, and Hiruko looked up in surprise. My pulse beat an assault in my temples, punctuating every syllable I spoke with the sound of drums. "You can't make decisions for me. I'll decide if I should hear whatever truth you're hiding, and I will make the choice to—"

Hiruko laughed.

Hiruko laughed, and he didn't stop. The laugh started as a chuckle and grew into a loud guffaw, one hand covering half his face, the other braced on the window to keep his shaking frame upright. He chuckled, and he howled, and he laughed until his head bowed, pink braid writhing like a snake in the air. Every sound felt like acid in my ears, nails on my skin, forcing a flinch from me like an unexpected gunshot.

"What's so funny?" I demanded when I couldn't take it anymore. "What's so funny, Hiruko?"

He giggled, peering at me from between splayed fingers. His smile was a gaping wound, teeth peeking from it like the bones in a catastrophic break.

"You ask me for the truth," he said between giggles, "and somehow, you speak it in the same breath."

I stared at him, not comprehending. His words did not make any sense.

… until, suddenly, they did.

And the sense they made was so horrible—so unspeakable, so unexpected—I could not believe a word.

"No. No!" My feet wanted to move, to run, to take me away from this place, but when my legs moved of their own accord, they merely pushed me deeper into the couch. "I would never have—!"

"But you did," said Hiruko with unexpected gentleness.

"I don't believe you."

He wheeled in place and took a single, quick step in my direction. "But will you believe you?"

"What the hell do you—!?"

He held up his hands before I could get the words out. With their ascent came a flash of brilliant, blinding red light, reflecting off a thousand, a million, a billion strands of bright red thread that filled the room to bursting like the webs of some unknowably gigantic spider. They held me in place, lashed around my arms and legs and body, stretching off into infinity and out the window and through the walls as if those barriers mattered not a bit to the path they trekked. I couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't budge an inch—couldn't even scream when I saw the threads and the way they wrapped around Hiruko's fingers, controlled by him as certainly as he controlled the flow of time.

But when I saw the threads coming out of me, a scream found its way outside of my chest at last.

They sprung from my chest. From my heart, or where it lay beneath my ribs. The threads blossomed from my body, a scarlet flower with straight lines for petals, to trail away to parts unknown, pulled in taut strands of inscrutable geometry to… somewhere. Or someone.

One of the threads blooming from my heart ended in the same spot above Hiruko's. And more flowered from his heart, too, winding away into the infinite and out of sight.

"Don't be afraid, Keiko," Hiruko said, as though he could sense the throbbing of my heart and the horror in my head. His fingers twitched; he held them aloft, studying the cat's cradle of thread around his hand. "Now, let's see. I believe it's… ah, yes." He lifted his other hand. "This one."

He took one of the strings between his fingers.

"Your link to the past," he said—and he winked. "We're taking a little trip. Hold on tight."

He plucked the string, and the world went black. I turned to darkness, too. It felt like being made into water and sucked down a drain, my body losing its corporeal structure and turning to flowing ribbons of me. I think I tried to scream, but I couldn't—but just as soon as I thought I'd die, or come apart, or lose myself forever, the disparate parts of myself locked together once again. I found myself standing, hale and whole, upon white. Not a white floor or white snow, but pure, endless lack of color. Upon white, infinite and strange, but no stranger than the walls and ceiling rising high above. These were covered in rippling threads of brilliant scarlet, millions of them overlapping and undulating as they throbbed, swirled together in a tangle so thick they looked impenetrable—impenetrable, but familiar. Very familiar.

I knew where Hiruko had brought taken us long before that blowhard opened his mouth to mansplain the inside of my own head to me.

"You've been here before, of course." Arms outstretched, he spun in place, grinning at the red walls and the thread that made them. "That fire demon with the pesky eye showed you this place after it unexpectedly wormed past the barrier I'd installed in your mind. I didn't think anything from this world would be able to accomplish such a feat, but I know better now. They're stronger than I realized… no doubt thanks to your influence." He winked again, conspiratorial in a way I didn't understand. "I underestimated the impact you'd have on them."

I started to ask him what the hell he was talking about, but when I tried, I found I still couldn't move. The red threads that bound me in the physical world bound me in my internal landscape, too. It was all I could do to stand there in silent impotence, glaring at Hiruko as he looked with pride upon his handiwork—handiwork I now had confirmation was his, the red strings blocking my memory another of his creations.

Eventually he laughed and sighed, looking at me with fondness. "I suppose it doesn't really matter if it found the way into this place," he said. "I've made adjustments since then that it can't overcome." His smile dimmed a few watts; one hand came up, red threads around his fingers gleaming. "But then again, so has she."

Hiruko clenched his fists. The threads went taut, and the sound of creaking rope filled the air. The red-threaded walls buckled and rippled like a lake under a stone, and then there came a sound like glaciers cracking. The red thread fell in a heap, and when it hit the infinite white floor, it vanished like it had never existed in the first place.

In its place, a wall of pitch black stone remained. This, too, I recognized from my venture into my subconscious with Hiei—and my suspicions about this, also, Hiruko soon confirmed.

"She was clever; I'll give her that." He hummed in appreciation, placing his hand upon the wall of inky stone to pat it like a beloved pet. "I placed a barrier, but she placed one of her own just inside mine, just in case. If I took mine down, hers would remain. Insurance in case I decided to show you the whole truth and she deemed the action undesirable."

Somehow I managed to fight the binding threads enough to grind out, "Cleo?"

Hiruko rolled his eyes. "Who else?" He walked forward, fingers skimming the wall with every step. "What's that word from your world and time? She's 'salty' about what I took from her?" He stopped walking. Smiled a smile full of teeth. "But whether forged of salt or stone, every wall has its cracks."

I only realized I could finally move again when my knees gave out, pitching me to the featureless white floor. At once I bolted back upright, pride smarting as Hiruko chortled. He stifled the laugh quickly, jerking his head toward the wall, murmuring that I should come and see what he had found. For a minute I hesitated, but I'm ashamed to admit that curiosity got the better of me. Trying to give Hiruko a wide berth, I joined him beside the wall, squinting at its dark heft until I saw it.

A crack. A jagged, hairline crack no longer than my forearm, a silver wound amid dark stone.

"That demon with the eye," Hiruko said. "When it looked into your mind—"

"His name is Hiei."

Hiruko paused, looking at me in confusion—but the expression turned to humor soon enough. "Fine. Hiei, then," Hiruko said with a musical laugh. I got the sense he was somehow humoring me, though I didn't understand why. "When Hiei battered through my defenses, he must have chipped through Cleo's barrier as well. We each shored up our barriers like workers on a leaking levee, but the damage had already been done." He smirked. "And she never was one for detail… well, go on." He reached for me, but I danced backward and away. Hiruko scolded, "Oh, don't be like that. Just take a look."

"A look at what?"

"The crack, dear," he said with the most patronizing patience imaginable. "The truth is on the other side." But when I didn't move any closer, the patience turned to irritation. "What, are you scared?" Hiruko said like some mocking playground bully. "We've come all this way, and you're chickening out now?"

It was exceedingly obvious that he was baiting me into doing what he wanted—appealing to my pride to coax what he wanted out of me.

I'm ashamed to admit it worked—because I took a deep breath, and I pressed my face to the crack in the wine-dark stone.

For a moment, I saw nothing.

Then a light erupted from the crevice, and the past exploded to life around me.

Music.

Music blares from the speakers of my car, bright synthetic pop keeping me awake on the long drive home. I sing along and try not to glance at the bouquet of white flowers bound with blue ribbon sitting in the passenger seat.

I'd caught the bouquet at Denise's wedding.

Tom will laugh when I tell him, I think. Tom will laugh and kiss me and say well, of course you caught it. Because we just talked about the future last night, and marriage, and how neither of us wants kids, and how we're perfect together, and how the future looks so bright when viewed side by loving side. The bouquet is too perfect, too perfectly timed to be anything but a sign from fate.

A car with its brights on roars up the highway behind me. I adjust the rearview mirror. My face reflects back at me for just a moment. I see blue eyes, champagne-colored glasses, and loose brown curls falling against my red dress, cheeks flushed pink from a night of dancing. The moon reflects in the mirror, too, full to bursting next to my flushed face. Denise had gotten married on the night of the supermoon, and I'd caught the bouquet she'd thrown.

I thought of calling Tom, to tell him.

The impact came before I could pick up the phone.

My spine undulates; my head snaps atop my neck. Soprano screech of metal on metal drowns out even my blasting music. A quick flash of dashboard illumination, sparks on the pavement lighting up my hands, and the world turns over and over again. I catch the barest glimpse of my terrified face in the rearview mirror again, features pale and glowing like that bloated moon—

Next comes darkness.

Then a blinding light.

A velvet couch, black and plush, cushions my body like a cloud. Blinking in the light of the warm lamp on the table to my left, I stare straight ahead. The pale grey wall in front of me is bare, except for three words painted in cheerful yellow letters.

Everything is fine, they say.

"Ah. Good. You're here."

I look to my left. There is a door. It is open. Standing in it is a little boy. He wears a red kimono, and his hair is pink. Who would let a child dye their hair that color? Eyes the same color as the ribbon in Denise's bouquet twinkle like living oceans.

"Hello," says the little boy. "My name is Hiruko." He gestures behind him, through the door. "Everything is fine. Now won't you come with me?"

I look at him, wondering.

I get up, because everything is fine, and walk toward the boy named Hiruko.

And then I snapped back into myself, and I was no longer reliving those moments. Rather, I was watching them, which is a different experience entirely.

I recognized all of what I'd seen, of course. I'd lived it once, and I'd relived it many times the night Hiei helped me discover the red-threaded room that housed my missing memories. I recognized my past self with her grey eyes and the mole on her forehead, right arm misshapen and scarred, long brown hair and square jaw inherited from her father. I recognized the red dress, belted at the waist, and the black boots on her feet. It was the dress I'd worn to Denise's wedding.

She walked in those boots after Hiruko, through that door to the left—and with heart heavy, full of dread, I followed my old self through the path of our memory, through the door and into the room (into the memory) beyond.

I didn't relive the memory from the perspective I'd possessed when I first lived the events that formed the memory itself. I watched myself in third person, standing in a corner of a small, brightly lit room as my old self sat in a wingback chair the color of sawdust across from Hiruko, who had taken up residence behind a large wooden desk in a chair the color of dandelion down. She—the old me who looked almost like a strange after seeing Keiko's face in the mirror for so many years—fidgeted in her seat. She had no idea why she there, obviously. Her eyes cast about the room in broad sweeps, lingering in confused curiosity on the little, pink-haired boy across from her.

In our first meeting, Hiruko hadn't bothered to age himself up. To put me at ease? So I'd underestimate him? It was hard to say, but judging by the look on her (my) face, the old me had been fooled enough to not be scared.

I wasn't fooled.

But the old me didn't know the truth yet, and thus, she fell for it. It was with curiosity mild that she asked him, "Where am I?"

Hiruko smiled, chipper and adorable. "You're dead, sweetheart."

"I'm—what?"

"Dead. But you don't have to stay that way." He leaned forward, bracing both hands on the desk and rising to his feet, eagerness shining from every pore. "You see, I'm making—"

"Uh. Hold up." My old self shook her head a few times, mouth open, eyes incredulous. "I'm dead?"

"Very dead." Hiruko gave a solemn nod. "Doorknob dead, in fact."

She stared at him in silence—and I remembered that in that moment, I felt like I should have been having a panic attack. The lack of panic was disquieting, but nothing more. I remembered wondering if it was because, being dead, I no longer had a body and the associated capacity for physiological sensations. But there was probably no getting an answer, so I (she) just stared a Hiruko for a time, wondering. And Hiruko seemed hesitant to say anything and break that silence, for whatever reason.

I couldn't recall if I'd recognized it then, but now, watching the memory, I could see gears turning behind his bright blue eyes. What was he thinking? Planning? And was there any use in wondering?

The old me eventually decided enough was enough. "Who are you, if you don't mind my asking?" she said—politely. In the voice that had let her get special treatment on phone help lines when the internet was acting up. The 'customer service' voice. It had served her (me, us) well many times, and she put faith in it again that day.

Hiruko only smiled. "I'm a friend."

"You're not, like…" She waved vaguely at nothing and gave a nervous laugh, probably hoping that he'd laugh, too. Another tactic for getting what we wanted. "You're not the true form of death, or whatever?"

Hiruko giggled. "No. Not quite"

Something gelled behind her gaze. A certainty, like stone. She said, "This is a hallucination, isn't it." And it was not a question.

Hiruko gave her an answer anyway, head shaking. "No. Not a hallucination."

But she shrugged him off. "Nah. Gotta be." Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her legs at the thigh and nodded. The customer service voice vanished as she swirled her fingers around her temples, clenching and unclenching her fist like popping fireworks. "I'm in my death throes, synapses are firing, I'm oxygen deprived… that's what the light at the end of the tunnel is, you know. It's the brain hallucinating as it dies." Her eyes cast about in another curious sweep. "This is one weird hallucination, though."

Hiruko's smile had faded, if only slightly. "I am not a hallucination," he said, tone firm.

"Funny." My old self grinned. "That's exactly what a hallucination would say."

Hiruko looked at her in silence. Slowly he placed his elbows on the table, but only so he could cradle his head in his hands and mutter, "Why, oh why, did I choose an atheist…?"

She perked up. "Choose?"

"Yes. Choose." He looked more frustrated than anything, gesticulating with no apparent purpose, rattling off facts like rain on a tin roof. "I chose you. Brought you here instead of letting your slip away on the tide of the universe. Drew you from the ether to give you another shot." Hiruko huffed, slouching with a pout. "Fat load of good that did me, though."

Whether or not he'd meant to, her interest had been thoroughly piqued. "What are you talking about?" she asked, sitting up a little straighter.

"Oh, you want to listen to me now?" Hiruko looked at her askance, smug. "Even though I'm a hallucination?"

"Sure. Why not." Again she slouched into her seat, foot bobbing with impatience and the restless jitters that had so plagued my old self. "Better than just sitting here in silence and waiting for the end to come."

"I don't know if this flippancy is better or worse than the disbelief."

"I think you should prefer the flippancy, dude. Disbelief is how fairies die."

"I beg your pardon?" Hiruko said, bewildered.

She pasted on a happy face and started clapping in big, exaggerated swings of her hands. "Clap if you believe in fairies!" said my old self in a voice of obnoxious cheer. "I do believe in fairies! I do, I do!" But when Hiruko only continued to look mystified, she let her hands drop. "Peter Pan? Tinker Bell?"

"I don't know who that is." Hiruko gave a derisive sniff. "And that name is patently ridiculous."

"Good grief, you're a tough critic," she muttered before giving an irritated toss of her hair. "Just tell me what you meant by choosing me before I disappear or whatever."

Hiruko sat there quietly.

He opened his mouth and said, "I'm making a—"

It was like static, or a bad cable line, or a radio with imperfect signal. His voice distorted, the image of his face blurred and pixelated, colors dragging and mixing and cracking in a disorienting burst. The room disappeared under the chaos, bedlam spreading from Hiruko's form to cover my old self, the entire office, and my vision entirely. It was horrible to hear and see, a maelstrom of light and sound that immediately translated to pain—but some words drifted through the chaos, Hiruko's face swimming to clarity as he said, "Power."

And then, "Create."

"Fiction."

"Source."

"Reality."

"Canons."

"Stories."

"Prove."

A scream cutting through the din. I recognized it as my own.

"Fate," Hiruko continued.

"Yu Yu Hakusho."

"World."

"Real."

"Appeal."

"Makers."

"Worthy."

"Belong."

Another scream (my other's scream) cut the chaos. The adult Hiruko appeared beside me, colors distressingly solid and immutable, scowling—an expression more chilling than any of his incongruous smiles.

"Her doing, no doubt," he muttered; I suspected he meant Cleo. "She doesn't think you can handle the whole truth." His head inclined, smile emerging once again. "No matter. This isn't why we're here, anyway."

He waved. The overwhelming lights and sounds sped up like a tape under the thrall of the fast forward button, colors blending with nauseating speed, sound rising to a thunder that made my head feel like a grape under the heel of a giant. But soon the torment ended, colors snapping into place as the clamor quieted back into coherency.

Hiruko, I saw, still sat behind his desk.

My old self lay on the floor in a ball, arms around her knees, face an agonized mask of pain.

"Oh, dear." Hiruko twittered as tears poured down my old self's face, her (my, our) sobs the soft soundtrack to his monologue. "I knew it would difficult to hear, but… take your time and orient yourself." He reached for the box of tissues (had that been there before?) on the corner of the desk, plucking one so he could offer it to her. He said, voice soothing: "Everything is fine."

The me of the past uncurled as the tissue's shadow fell across her face. Her button nose was puffy, voice a rasping hornet's nest when she said, "I don't—I don't feel fine."

Hiruko shrugged. "You're mortal. Of course the great universal truth is hard to bear." He shook the tissue until I (she, we) took it from him with shaking fingers. As she sat up, Hiruko instructed, "Take it slowly. Let it adjust inside you and find its place. Relax."

"That sounds…" She grunted, levering herself back into her chair. "…pervy."

Hiruko threw back his head and laughed, delighted. "I see you haven't lost your sense of humor!"

"Yeah. Well." Her red-rimmed eyes were as swollen as her nose; she dabbed at them with the tissue, grimacing. "Humor is how I deal with trauma, I guess."

"Yes, I see that." Hiruko offered her another tissue, which she accepted (so she could loudly blow her nose, manners be damned). "How are you feeling?"

It took her a minute to answer. "Better. I think?" She swallowed, pulling at the neck of her dress. "Everything you said. It's…"

Hiruko broke into a broad grin. "Now do you believe I'm not a hallucination?"

"No." She grinned—and her grin widened when his dropped away completely. "Now I just think my body must be dying really painfully or something, to make me feel like that."

The thunder on his face belied Hiruko's apparent age. "Do you really mean that?" he said, voice somehow rumbling despite his size. "Do you really?"

She grinned some more, reveling in it. "I always mean what I say."

"I knew you were stubborn," he said through gritted teeth, "but this is beyond the pale."

"Hey, can you really blame me for not believing?" she said, joking (but not really joking at all). "None of that—none of what you said… it doesn't make sense." She shook her head. "It's just… how can any of that be true?"

Hiruko's chin rose, and despite his height, he managed to look down his nose at her. "Whether or not you believe in facts doesn't impact their validity. The good thing about facts is that they're true whether or not you believe in them."

She rolled her eyes. "Facts are not fairies. I got it. No need to misquote Neil deGrasse Tyson at me. But—" Her hands dropped like stones into her lap. "But Yu Yu Hakusho?"

"That's the part you want to discuss?" he said with undisguised disdain.

"It's the most bonkers part of the whole thing!" Her voice rose, high and reedy and impassioned. "You want me to take the place of a character in the canon of Yu Yu Hakusho? I mean, what the fuck, man? What the hell kind of afterlife is that, anyway?"

"It would not be the afterlife," Hiruko said, impatient. "I told you that."

"Oh, whatever," she said, spreading her soggy tissue across the dome of her knee. She picked at the edges, laughing to herself, lips curling more at one corner than the other. The smile I (she, we) had inherited from our father. "I just—all the rest of it makes sense and whatnot, but that… that's just insane." She looked at him with concern that might or might not have been genuine. "You understand it's insane, yeah? And don't give me that line about being a genius again; it's pretentious bullshit and you know it." Anger crossed her features, chin tucking until she had nearly six of them. "You're not a genius. You're a motherfucking Cartesian egocentrist on a goddamn power trip, and I'm—"

"Sticks and stones, dear," Hiruko said, not at all offended. "The only question I have for you now is if you'll do as I ask."

She didn't look at him, too busy smoothing the creases in her tissue. "Take a character's place in your sandbox?" she grunted.

"Yes."

"And be the—what was it you said?" Here she looked up, brow raised beneath the mole on her forehead and the curve of her uneven hairline. "The source?"

"Yes," said Hiruko.

She crumped the tissue in her fist. "God, this really is a case of 'clap if you believe in fairies,'" she growled. "And why the heck do you think I would agree to this?"

He wore the smile of Buddha when he said, "Because if you don't, you'll have to consider the alternative."

"Meaning, oh vague and mysterious one?"

"Well." He steepled his fingers, expression cherubic. "Clearly there's more waiting for humans after life than slipping quietly into oblivion. Which is what you've always considered death to be, atheist that you are." He sighed, obviously for dramatic effect given the way his eyes twinkled with overt mischief. "It begs the question of what else lies after death. If I were to let go of your soul, where would it go? You didn't believe in any of the deities you'd heard of where you're from. Who's to say you'd go somewhere…" A teeth-baring grin, menacing in its cheer. "…pleasant?"

But she was unimpressed. "Are you trying to scare me with hellfire and brimstone?" she said, words measured and slow.

"Is it working?" he asked through his tombstone grin.

"Not really, actually. Because I don't believe in any of that, you absolute goon." She rolled her eyes in disgust. "It's like threatening me with Santa's disapproval. I can't feel threatened by something I don't believe is real."

Hiruko's grin dissipated. "And this experience after death hasn't changed your mind at all?"

"Not remotely, no." Again she waved her hand, vaguely and at nothing at all. "Hallucinations and whatnot, remember?"

Anger had Hiruko baring his teeth. "You are the most stubborn, pigheaded, obstinate little—"

"Sticks and stones, dear," she sweetly quoted at him. Her syrupy act dropped like lead balloon when she snapped, "Like I haven't heard that line about hell before. If you know so much about me, shouldn't you know that I got threatened with hell, torture and damnation every day of my life until I was fifteen, and I still came out gay as hell and an atheist? I've barely known you for fifteen minutes, and you think you stand a chance of doing what those preachers never could in fifteen years?" She harrumphed, legs uncrossing and re-crossing with a smack of boot against floor. "Get real, Hiruko."

Something about her rant had soothed him, apparently, rather than rile him up (as I knew her intention had been; we were nothing if not a pair contrarians, my past self and I). Hiruko looked at her for a few moments in silence, small fingers drumming against the desk in a rhythmic series of taps.

"Seeing is believing for you, isn't it?" he murmured eventually.

"Yes." She looked proud of that. "Yes, it is."

"So you're not going to believe any of what I told you until you see it for yourself."

"Probably not."

"Fairies die in droves when you're around, I take it."

Here she looked even prouder. "Pretty much."

Hiruko spread his hands, helpless in defeat. "Then we're at an impasse."

"Seems that way," she said, grinning a hyena's grin. "We are indeed at an impasse, mister hallucination, sir."

I wanted to jump in and shake her. Tell her to stop being so flippant, to take this seriously—but I couldn't. I could only stand in the corner of the room and watch as my memory's version of the childlike Hiruko sized my past self up, looking her (me, us) over with quiet consideration that didn't rattle her in the least. Soon, Hiruko cocked his head, baby-pink hair shining under the overhead light.

"Would a second chance at life not be preferable to endless oblivion?" he said with curiosity that sounded genuine.

She shrugged. "Depends on the life."

"You know how many of their lives would go," Hiruko said. "You know the fates of the characters in Yu Yu Hakusho."

She thought about it for a minute before admitting, "True." A rueful laugh. "But that's only if my personality, hypothetically speaking, didn't fuck with things and mess stuff up for whoever's body you stick me in."

"Perhaps." He remained maddeningly demure about that possibility—maddening because that was the subject of so much angst in the future, and here he hinted at none of it. "Most of their lives are not bad ones."

My past self shrugged. "No. They aren't."

He nodded sagely. Suggested all too casually: "You could meet many characters you're fond of, if you were to accept my offer."

She frowned. "What's your point?"

"Well. If you think this is a hallucination, and that facts remain facts whether or not you believe in them…" He shrugged, smile coy and secretive. "What's the harm of agreeing to what I'm asking you to do?"

My past self opened her mouth to reply. Closed it again. Sat back in her seat with a frown.

"... huh," she said.

And Hiruko grinned anew. "I have a point, don't I?" he said, eagerness leaking into his cultivated detachment. "Agree to do what I've asked, and if it turns out I'm telling the truth, you'll live again. In a world you love. With characters you love. And if I'm not telling the truth, and you're right about the nature of death, you'll slip away into oblivion with no regrets." A peaceful smile, hands brushing the air as though to shoo a sheep through a flowering field. "Just peaceful darkness, forevermore."

Her teeth worried her lower lip; her nose wrinkled. She pulled her long hair over her left shoulder, twisting it around and around until it lay in a single, long ringlet over her breast. Fingers continued to comb through it, shaping and reshaping the ringlet again and again. An old nervous habit. One I had no need of in Keiko's life.

"So…" Her wrists curved, twisting and twisting. "I make this agreement with you, and it's basically no-harm, no-foul either way?"

He nodded vigorously. "It seems that way to me."

But she did not appear convinced. "That all seems to me like when people convert to a religion on their deathbed to cover their bases just in case they're going to hell," she said, staring at him. "Hardly feels sincere."

"Well, that's the beauty of it!" Hiruko said with a laugh. "You don't have to be sincere. You just have to say yes!"

But she didn't accept this easy answer, her track record as a skeptic holding strong. "So my options are oblivion, become a character in Yu Yu Hakusho so you can fulfill this weird plan of yours… or perhaps there's a third option." Her head rocked from side to side, considering. "Hell, maybe. Heaven, maybe. Maybe something unlike either." She curled in on herself, speaking to her lap. "I always did think that if there was a supreme being out there, humans wouldn't be able to understand it." Hands twisted her hair again. "Maybe…"

"Maybe…?" Hiruko ventured.

She brushed her hair back behind her shoulder. "To be honest, they all seem equally likely to me. And that means they're equally unlikely, too." A long, weary sigh, her face tinged with regret. "I feel for you, Hiruko. Truly, I have empathy for your situation. You don't deserve what happened to you, and I hope like hell you get what you want someday. I hope like hell this plan of your works as you intend it to." Her spine lengthened, another of her nervous, placating laughs slipping past her lips. "But I'm afraid I've always prided myself on being a foxhole atheist, Hiruko. No sense changing that now. And that means my answer is no."

He didn't get angry. He just deflated. "I see," he said, more to the table than to her.

She waited a beat before asking in a very small voice, "You're not going to browbeat me some more?"

"I know a lost cause when I see one," he said—and although his smile turned wry, it was tinged with the unexpected light of hope. "But don't feel sorry for me. You see, you aren't my only option."

For a second, she didn't react—but then the proverbial penny dropped. She did the smallest of double-takes, hands fisting atop her knees.

"… what?" she asked, confused.

"I'll find someone else to play your part." Hiruko sighed, but he continued to smile. "It's not like you're the only Yu Yu Hakusho fan who will die at a convenient time, after all."

"I…" she shifted in her chair, uncomfortable "…suppose not?"

He sighed again. "Pity, though. It's unlikely someone as knowledgeable and as fond of that world will die when I need them to—not in the way you did, I mean. Someone who knows the series, certainly, but loves it? Wants what's best for it? That will be a touch harder to find. You were an aberration, to be sure." He stood up, giving her a matter-of-fact nod and another of his cheerful grins. "No matter. I'll keep looking. Try, try again, as they say!"

She stood, too. "Wait, wait—what do you mean by 'wants what's best for it'?"

Hiruko blinked a few times, lashes fluttering against his cheek. "Why, I mean just what I said, of course," he said. "You would have been taking the place of a canon character. And like you said before, your personality could change things." Pink hair swayed when he shook his head, brushing against his rosy cheeks. "Imagine someone who doesn't love the story of Yu Yu Hakusho taking the place of main character. Can you comprehend the chaos? Perhaps Yusuke would never rise from his comatose state, for instance—oh, but that hardly matters. You've made up your mind." His loudest sigh of all followed, pink bangs moving across his forehead. "I had hoped someone who loved the characters would enter their world and advocate for their wellbeing and happiness, but…" Hopping off of his chair, he headed for the door, wooden shoes clacking against the tile. "I'll send you along your way now, since you aren't interested in filling the position. Follow me!"

But she didn't follow. She only reached for him and barked, "Wait!"

One blue eye turned over Hiruko's shoulder. Cool and assessing. Calm and unperturbed.

"Wait?" he asked with uncertainty that did not match his stare. "Whatever for?"

"Yeah, just…" Shifting from foot to foot, she muttered, "Wait. For like a minute, OK?"

I remembered what went through her (my, our) head, then. I remembered with stunning clarity the way I (she, we) had considered all of Hiruko's seemingly innocuous words. It was true; I loved Yu Yu Hakusho dearly. So what if this pink-haired boy with the bright blue eyes—the boy so pitiable, so lonely—was right? What if someone else, someone less in love with Yu Yu Hakusho, took the place of the chosen canon character? And what if, in their lack of love and understanding, they fucked it all up? In that moment, I remembered thinking that even if I was dead, I'd never be able to live with myself if I learned that my choice had caused that outcome. And in my ignorance, I had thought that that urge to protect Yu Yu Hakusho had been mine, and mine alone.

But the me of the future—the me of the now—knew that Hiruko must have wanted this reaction from me all along.

Which is why his cheek twitched, suppressing a satisfied smile the me of the past was helpless to detect, when my past self threw her hands up and declared, "Fuck it."

"Beg pardon?" said Hiruko.

"I said, fuck it," she said. When Hiruko didn't react, she added, "Like… just fuck it?" She laughed a bit and rolled her head atop her neck, looking at the ceiling. "Like, OK. OK, yeah. It's highly unlikely any of this is real, but just in case it is—OK." Her hands opened, arms extending, as if to embrace the world. "Why the hell not agree, on the off chance all of this is actually real? No sense letting some rando screw it up when I could do everything right, right?"

Hiruko made a show of widening his blue eyes. "So you're saying yes?"

"I'm saying 'fuck it,'" she said, laughing still, "which is basically the same thing."

But Hiruko tittered. "I need to hear you say it, I'm afraid."

"Uh… why?"

Sweetly, he asked, "Because you always mean what you say, don't you?"

Her (my, our) smile faded. "Yeah. I do," she said, and then she drew herself up with a perfunctory nod. "Fine, then. Yes. I will do as you ask. I'll become one of the characters." She shook her head a bit, face screwing up with humor. "Ethical questions about taking their place aside, this is an opportunity to live out every fangirl's dreams, and even death can't cure the absolute weeb-ish nature of my heart, so—"

But Hiruko was not listening to her (my, our) jokes. He had walked up to her with his hands outstretched, and already thin red thread had spiraled from his fingertips, snaking through the air in her direction. But her eyes were powerless to see it, even when it covered her face and hair and her brilliant red dress—the one she'd worn to Denise's wedding on the night she died—and bound her powerless where she stood. She tried to scream, thrashing under bonds she could neither see nor understand, but it was no use.

I remembered, then, the way Hiruko's eyes had looked. Boring into me, blue as the hottest fire, burning down to the heft of my soul in a way I was sure would leave a scar.

She (I, we) had been terrified.

Hiruko did not care.

"Thank you," he whispered to her (my, our) screaming form, "Thank you so much for being such a wonderful volunteer."

And then, in a flash, I remembered the way my memory of the EVERYTHING IS FINE mural in the previous room had disappeared. The memory of the office followed, as did the contents of my past self's conversation with Hiruko in that barren room. I remembered the way the gaps formed in my memory—gaps that were now filled again, since I had witnessed the memory from afar—but in that moment, they had gaped like the space where a tooth had once been housed.

It was agony.

Hiruko did not care about that, either. He kept on, scrubbing my brain until there was nothing left about him in it.

"Can't have you remembering me," he'd said. "Not yet, anyway."

"Hiruko, stop!" I (she, us) had tried to scream.

But then we forgot his name, and we forgot meeting him entirely.

Next, without warning, came endless black.

Then there was light.

I felt cold, and wet, and a hand slapped my back until I could finally find my voice to scream. I wailed, long and loud and in terror—and I couldn't seem to stop. And my eyes couldn't seem to focus. And I blinked, and I screamed, but I could see nothing but vague shapes and distant colors, the words of a foreign language swimming into my muffled ears.

But then someone wrapped me in a blanket, and I was placed in someone's warm and gentle arms. It was nice, and I finally felt safe, but I only cried harder at the sheer confusion of it as my mother—as Keiko's mother—said something soft and sweet against my scalp.

I had been born, I realized later.

I born into a life I had agreed, on no uncertain terms, to make into my own.

Notes:

Missing chunk of memory aside, here are some details on how NQK ended up in this world. And surprise! She chose to be here! And approved of Hiruko's goal when she first heard it?! Yeesh. There's a lot of reading between the lines that can be done with this chapter, ESPECIALLY in regard to the babble of random words NQK managed to hear when the memory became distorted. Interested to see what people make of it. Apparently Cleo is trying to protect her from something in that memory, too…

Writing the last section was a fun experiment. Watching one of your own forgotten memories from the POV of an outsider, despite being the original memory's POV, then having your memories of that memory get REMOVED… while still remembering it, because you're watching it from outside the memory's original POV? Jesus. Why do I do this to myself?

SO MANY THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO TUNED IN FOR CHAPTER 96! You honestly made my day. Coming back after hiatus remains the single most stressful thing I've done regarding this story, but your support kept me feeling optimistic when I was feeling bummed about chapter 96. Thank you so much to allyallyonthewall, Kuramag33, SapphireStream, Sanguinary Tide, I Am IronMaiden, Niyuu Trickster Kat, Ms Liz, ShiaraM, TheLachnessMonster, Gerbilfriend, Unctuous, Not Quite a Morning Person, Nollyn, Paddygirl, Konkubus, rosethornli, WhitneyWonton, NotQuiteAnonymous, Ezibah, WitchofWriting, EtherealZenith, DJGirl and willowfire!

NEXT UPDATE: SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 2020

Chapter 98: All's Well That Ends Well

Summary:

In which situations are sticky and spinning out of control...

Notes:

Warning for brief mention of disordered eating

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The couch felt so soft, it hurt. I'm not sure if that's what made snapping back into my body so torturous, or if it was the surge of nausea that slithered up my neck and onto my salivating tongue—a tongue that weighed heavy and meaty against my teeth—but I digress. The couch's soft cushions made every last nerve ending scream, and at once I launched forward and off the couch, slamming to my knees on the carpet as I retched.

As if by magic, a trash can appeared, catching the stream of cranberry juice that poured with a liquid slosh from between my lips. I grasped the edges of the metal can as I coughed and gagged and groaned. The cranberry juice burned my sinuses, a great deal of it pouring from my nose with a rush of acidic pain. It tasted horrible, but as I sobbed, a hand smoothed my hair out of my face, fingers trailing along my cheek.

The hand was very, very cold.

"You poor thing," Hiruko said in a voice that sounded incongruously warm.

He knelt beside me. He had been the one to provide the trashcan. He looked at me with his oceanic eyes and smiled, offering a tissue between two fingers. I took it without a word. The tenderness he showed was surprising.

"You—" I swallowed the grit in my neck. "That memory can't be true. I wouldn't—"

The tenderness in his expression intensified, and that only made it all the more horrible when he said, with the gentlest of smiles: "You stupid, stupid girl."

My hand froze, tissue pressed against my mouth. Hiruko continued to stroke my cheek.

"Seeing is believe, and you're still in denial. But that's to be expected, I suppose." His thumb traced my cheekbone, infinitely gentle. "Pride has, historically speaking, been your greatest weakness in both this life and your previous. As you saw."

I slapped his hand away. "You manipulated me."

"Did I?" he said, puzzled. "You agreed to my terms willingly enough."

"I never would have agreed to this if I'd known what it would be. Never. I never—"

"Don't kid yourself, Keiko." He smiled wider. "You would have, and you know it."

"No. You lied to me," I said, falling out of my kneel and onto my ass, hands fisting in the lush carpet. "You lied and manipulated and—"

"You've been this way since you were a child, you ignorant, weak-willed little girl." His hands were on my face again, cupping it as he towered over my stunned form, staring into my eyes like a hawk bearing down on a dumbstruck rabbit. "I know what ran through your mind when I suggested you would be the best person for the job, even if you don't remember. You thought, no one can do these characters justice but me. You thought, no one can measure up to what I can do. No one but me can do this—no one in the world, no one at all, out of the eight billion people on earth, you thought that you alone could do Yu Yu Hakusho justice. And so you volunteered." His hands were a vice, fingers digging, palms burning, eyes the color of flame and asphyxiation. "Ever since you saw that anime, you thought you were its biggest fan. Its most ardent friend. The only person who truly understood it. Presenting your head-canons as fact, your opinions as gospel, and because you possessed the merest modicum of writing talent, people fell for that act. They ate it up!" A cruel laugh, his mouth stretching, smile no less prominent. "And you never once questioned if you were as good as you thought you were, or if their faith was misplaced. So you volunteered, and you made this entire world about you. Pride is your greatest weakness, Not Quite Keiko, Star Charter, nameless wisp of consciousness in the scope of the broader universe—pride, and your inability to see past it. You accused me of manipulating you, but the truth is that I did no such thing. I made a single appeal to your damnable pride, and you fell prostrate at my feet for the chance to prove your worth to no one besides yourself."

He let go of me.

"Because while you might have pride," Hiruko said, "what you lack is self-assurance, and that combination will no doubt lead you to your doom."

Hiruko stood. He walked away, gait stiff but agile, to face the windows and the frozen world beyond. He said nothing else, and I sat there in silence, stinging and in pain with my back pressed against the too-soft couch. With the grace of an automaton I dabbed the vomit off my chin, tissue coming away the color of blood and bile—but its sight and acrid smell nauseated me only a fraction as much as Hiruko's words.

He hadn't needed to explain what had gone through my head when he offered me the chance to enter the world of Yu Yu Hakusho. While I had not been privy to my past self's train of thought, it had been easy enough to guess that the things Hiruko said were right—but the self of today knew that my former delusions of grandeur had been false. The characters of Yu Yu Hakusho had surprised and confounded me enough to show me that I should be humble, and that I wasn't the perfect confidante of the series that I had thought I was.

But although Hiruko was no doubt right about me, something in his speech did not add up.

"If you hate my pride so much," I said, "why did you choose me at all?"

Hiruko gave a derisive snort. "Choose. I wish I had never used that word," he said. "I should have known you'd revel in it, prideful as you are." He whirled, red robe flying, pink braid a weapon striking whip-like through the air. "The truth is, Not Quite Keiko, that I did not choose you."

"What?"

"Choice. It was the wrong word, choice. As a writer, you know the importance of choosing just the right word, and in that respect, I failed." Hiruko's hand became a fist held tense and low at his side. "I didn't choose you, nameless girl from another world. You don't matter. I could have used anyone, and my plans would still come to fruition as they no doubt will, and soon. I only said what I said to you so you would agree to do what I asked." He laughed again, cruelly instead of kindly. "Not Quite Keiko, I played you like a fiddle—and you sang for me just beautifully."

Hiruko faced the window again, leaving me sitting on the floor with my thoughts. Said thoughts ran wild, tumbling one over the other in an unending loop. Was Hiruko lying to me? Was he telling the truth? There was so much back and forth with him, so much obfuscation and prevarication and so many outright lies. How could I hope to parse truth from fiction, reality from fantasy, when he said so much that could be both… or did it even matter, whether or not he was lying? Perhaps it didn't matter either way. Perhaps he had said all of that to distract me, lead me from the path I'd originally come here to tread and into the dark forest of confusion. Hiruko was a manipulator, after all, and a very good one. Maybe he was manipulating me even now.

I sat in silence for a moment. I threaded my fingers through the soft carpet—deep red with flecks of gold, cut through with a jagged silver pattern—and thought about why I'd come here. The million-and-one questions I had for him ran simultaneously through my skull, a confusing babble of uncertainty and frustration, and with a burst of mental acuity I reached into the cacophony and pulled one question from the hat that was my frazzled brain.

I said, "Peter Pan."

The non sequitur drew one blue eye over Hiruko's shoulder. "What about it?" he asked, sullen.

"You didn't know Tinkerbell." His withering gaze forced a knee toward my chest, arms snaking around it for protection. "In my memories, you didn't know about Peter Pan or Tinkerbell. Why? How?"

"I didn't exactly have anyone to read me bedtime stories as a child, now did I?" Hiruko said with an expressive roll of his eyes.

"So you made this world, or at least cobbled it together from other sources—and you left some details and stories out, because you never heard of them?"

Hiruko bared his teeth. "Stop trying to parse things your mind is too small to understand."

I soldiered on, pulling forth another (and the most pressing) question. "What do you hope to achieve, Hiruko?"

"None of your business," came his sharp retort. "Your little ally, Clotho, saw fit to obscure that memory, didn't she? Let sleeping dogs lie." He sneered. "Don't you trust her?"

"You're not going to fool me that easily," I said, refusing to rise to his bait. "Tell me what you want."

Hiruko remained quiet, stone-faced despite his smile.

In response, I changed tactics. "I was rooting for you," I said, struggling to stand. "You told me what you wanted, and I rooted for you. I said I hoped you'd get what you want. I said I had sympathy." Dodging around the vomit-filled trashcan, I stepped toward him, trying to sound sincere. "What if telling me now will result in the same thing? Maybe I'll root for you again, Hiruko."

Like approaching a skittish dog, I knew better than to get too close. I stopped a few feet from him, watching him as he watched the standstill scenery. He remained quiet. I wondered if I'd said too much. I wondered if, when he spoke again, he'd continue to obfuscate. But soon he looked my way once more, our eyes meeting in the reflection in the window, and his gaze did not flinch.

In tones no louder than a murmur, Hiruko asked, "To what lengths would you go to please your mother?"

I frowned. "My mother?"

Hiruko said nothing. He watched, and he waited—and I thought about bowing and scraping for a scrap of approval. I thought about the times I forced a finger down my throat and overworked my body so my mother might say something nice about it. I thought about when my mother finally gave her approval, how I'd run to a bathroom to sob as hunger gnawed my insides with sharp teeth. The lengths to which I'd go to please her were vast—but why was Hiruko asking about her?

He guessed my answer before I could speak, saying, "At one point, you would go so far as to hurt yourself to please your mother."

Bile stung my throat. "Yes."

His eyes closed. "Empathy rebounds, and rebounds again," he muttered, and then his eyes opened. "I understand that compulsion very well. I would move heaven and earth to please my mother—the equivalent of the one who made me."

The admission felt telling, but it raised new questions in its place. Could he be referring to his literal parents, the gods Izanami and Izanagi of legend? But he'd said 'one,' singular, which made less sense—so I just filed the tidbit away for future contemplation.

"There are other ways to feel whole," I said, thinking of my mother.

But Hiruko only asked, "Are there?"

"The approval of a critical parent isn't worth hurting yourself." It was a lesson I'd learned on an intellectual level, although one I'd never quite internalized. I forced the lie from between my teeth: "I learned that lesson for myself, eventually. Can't you do the same?"

"No, I can't." He grimaced. "Because it's not the same."

"What isn't?"

He didn't answer the question. He only said, "I must prove myself, Not Quite Keiko. I must prove myself, or I will never find my place to belong."

"But to hurt others along the way?" I insisted, because he'd sung this song and dance before. "At the expense of others?"

But Hiruko only laughed, and said in knowing tones: "Is it really at anyone's expense, my lucky child?"

He wore the look of someone telling an inside joke—like he expected me to know what he meant. But I didn't, and so I said, "I don't understand."

"You will." He sounded maddeningly certain, without a shred of doubt. "You're a smart girl. I trust that you'll figure it out, and soon."

With that, he was smiling again, spinning in place so hard I flinched at the gleam of his flame-bright eyes. I flinched again when he thrust out his fists, fingers rounded like he held something in each hand. I stared in confused silence until he shook his hands, nodding at me like a parent encouraging a child.

"Well, go on," he said with another shake. "Pick a hand."

"… why?" I said, staring as if his hands had sprouted fangs.

"Because I have a gift for you, silly girl," Hiruko chided. "No need to look so suspicious."

I backed up a pace. "I think I'll pass, thanks."

"No, I insist." He grinned wider, stepping toward me with one sharp motion. "Pick one. Go on. You won't be disappointed, I assure you."

"I don't think that's such a good—"

His smile faded a tick. "Pick one, damn you."

I pointed at his left hand, movement reflexive, like swinging an axe at a striking snake. His right hand vanished behind his back, left extending closer toward me. Gingerly I held out my hand, and into it he dropped a small drawstring bag. I nearly recoiled, but the only thing that touched my skin was velvet—and then I recoiled for real when Hiruko walked right toward me. He didn't stop when we drew near each other, though. He kept walking until he reached the other side of the table bearing the gigantic vase of sunflowers, a hum spilling from his throat, and for a moment I swore that I recognized the tune.

"Well, don't just stand there," Hiruko said (without turning around to check if he was right about my posture). "Open it."

I obeyed with the care of a bomb squad technician in a room full of soufflés—until I saw what lay inside the bag. Care evaporated in an instant. I ripped the bag away and spilled its contents into my hand, staring in complete and utter shock at the small, silver and white rectangle with its shiny screen and the pair of earbuds wound tightly around its body. It was, without a doubt, an iPod. The touchscreen model not much bigger than a pack of gum. The exact type I'd had right before I died in a car crash, in fact. I hadn't seen technology like it in fifteen years, but I knew what it was as if I'd held one just yesterday. But why the hell would Hiruko give me—?

Hiruko chuckled. A whispering noise cut the stillness. I knew what was happening even before I turned and saw the hole he'd torn in space and time. It filled the room from ceiling to floor, a hole the color of distilled darkness with edges ringed in bristling red threads, ones that branched from each of the infinite angles that make up the surface of a sphere. The threads tethered the hole in place, and when he stuck his hand into the center of the circle, they thrummed like plucked catgut.

Hiruko winked at the iPod. "Take care of that for me, will you?"

"Hiruko." I shoved the iPod into my pocket and glared. "Don't you dare—"

"Oh, hush. I'll be seeing you, and much sooner than you think."

"Hiruko, wait!"

He wriggled his fingers at me. "Ta-ta for now!"

And with that, he was gone, leaping through the portal and vanishing into the black. At once the light in the room stuttered, shadows shifting a disorienting few degrees eastward. The bird frozen beyond the windows fluttered into motion, flapping it wings and flying as quickly from sight as had Hiruko.

I almost didn't notice the bird. The demons that had stepped into the room through the red-edged portal were, in a word, distracting. There were six, all tall and muscular, each of them uniquely formed and equally terrifying. One had ten eyes, another the face of a lizard, another six arms and yet another with two mouths that bristled with needle teeth. Unsurprisingly, I backed up until my shoulder blades hit the windows, wishing with all my might that I could flee along with the vanished bird.

The one with all the mouths cocked his grey-skinned face to the side, long white hair brushing the emaciated ribs jutting from his chest. When he spoke, it was with a chorus of many voices, tones vibrating with discordant harmonics when he said, "Keiko, right?"

I tried not to let my voice quaver (but probably failed). "Who wants to know?"

"Just us demons, that's all." How he talked around his teeth, I'll never know. "We're supposed to play with you a little." He took a step forward, clawed feet carving gouges in the red-gold carpet. "Think you'd like that, huh? To play with us?"

His friends started grinning, then. Even the one with the face of an ox managed to hold a lot of sharp teeth inside his smile. I gulped, hands slipping into the pockets of my maid outfit's long, black skirt.

"Fair warning," I said. "I tend to play a little rough."

"Do you, now?" The many-mouthed demon cackled. "Then I think we'll get along famously!"

As one, they started for me—but I was prepared, the hole in my dress's pocket big enough to reach the bandolier of knives I kept strapped to my thigh. I yanked one out and chucked it at the massive vase of sunflowers between me and the demons, exploding it in a shower of water, plants and razor glass. Most of it sprayed across the demons' faces, and while I was under no illusion that it would hurt them, they all yowled in surprise and reeled back—and that was all I needed. I hiked my skirts and sprinted for the door, manic grin bursting across my face.

The grin vanished when the door to the lounge swung open ahead of me. For a wild minute I thought the demons might have reinforcements, but it was only Otoha, pink scales luminous against her dark skin and lovely face. Her eyes found me at once.

"Keiko? Did you find—" That's when her eyes found the demons. "What the hell!?"

I grabbed her hand as I ran past, yanking her through the door after me. "And we're running, we're running, we're running—!"

No need to tell her twice; she almost overtook me, running past the freaky, secretive doors down the long hall to the casino. We slammed open that door and ran into the bright and loud gambling hall without pause, but nobody really looked in our direction until we got halfway across the casino floor. By then a few heads turned, faces confused—and then a lot of heads turned, and some screams rang out, as our demonic stalkers burst into the room, too. I chanced a glance over my shoulder as they barreled into the crowd of richly dressed humans, knocking people out of the way with violent swipes, overturning a roulette table with a thunderous clatter, sending shrieking humans scattering. When the lizard demon peeled away from the rest and headed toward the casino's exit, cutting us off with his demonic speed, I grabbed Otoha's wrist again and dragged her in a new direction.

"Otoha! Behind the bar!"

She rerouted like a GPS on steroids. "Don't have to tell me twice!"

The bartender we'd met earlier in the day was still there, looking infinitely more stressed out as he huddled out of sight behind the bar. He looked up when we joined him, but he didn't say a word as I stripped my maid outfit over my head to reveal my leggings and t-shirt, not to mention the knives on my legs. He just watched in shock as I balled the maid's dress up under my arm and leapt atop the bar with a cry of, "Hey, assholes!"

The demons didn't need to be called; they were already on their way over, storming through the crowd of screaming humans toward our stronghold. They didn't count on me throwing my dress and then a few bottles of vodka at them, however, and when they tried dodging, I threw a salvo of knives in their direction. Two went down with a howl as my shots connected with their faces, but the remaining three kept coming like runaway freight engines.

Not that that was unexpected. I'd already clocked the drink cart sitting next to the bar, which I leapt atop and pushed with my legs, sending it flying toward the demons. One crashed into the cart, stalling him, but the other two kept coming, and fast. I ran back toward Hiruko's lounge, cutting through the crowd of rushing rich-folks, trying to get some distance between the demons and the hidden Otoha. But that was as far as my slapdash plans had gone, so what was I supposed to do now but throw more knives and hope like hell I didn't miss?

The demons didn't give me a chance to find out. One of them yelled in a voice like thunder, "Hold it right there!"

The demon with many mouths had Otoha by the throat, the other hand tangled in her rich, dark hair. Her eyes showed white all around her irises, terror as evident on her beautiful face as her sakura-pink scales. I skidded to a stop as the other demons gathered around them, each sporting a grin more gruesome than the last, hands going to my knives at once.

"If you hurt her," I spat, "I swear to fucking Christ, I'll kick your goddamn ass so hard—"

"Ha!" The demon threw back his head and laughed. "You and what army?"

A cool voice cut the chaos: "That'd be me, actually."

The lizard demon appeared, sailing through the air to land with a crash at the feet of the many-mouthed monstrosity. His head sat crooked atop his broken neck, a long gash carved up the length of his naked back, exposing vertebrae—and which injury killed him, it was hard to say. The person who'd killed him was obvious enough, however, because the energy-knife she held in her fist gave off a green glow so eerie, even the demons shrank back as she stalked across the casino. Shizuru didn't seem particularly offended by that. Smoke curled lazily around her face and hair, cigarette glowing cherry red when she took a long, slow drag.

"So." She exhaled a plume of pale grey smoke. "What were you saying about armies?"

Sensing opportunity, Otoha snatched a bottle off the bar and smashed it over the many-mouthed demon's head. "Two armies!" she screeched, stomping another demon's foot so hard, he crumpled with a cry. She kicked the shit out of the side of his head and then kicked another in the crotch. "Keiko has two armies! Yeah! Take this! And this!"

The remaining upright demon lunged for her; Shizuru was there in an instant, slashing his neck with a spray of green energy and even greener demon blood. But the others were rising, too, so Shizuru spat out her cigarette and pointed at the casino's front door.

"You two, this way!" She spared no time for chat, grabbing Otoha's hand and falling into a flat-out run. "Pronto!"

"Don't gotta tell us twice!" Otoha said—and we ran out of the casino and into the halls beyond.

At the very bottom of a winding, building-high stairwell, we found a place to hide: a hollow nook under the lowest flight of stairs, blocked from view by stacked boxes and discarded crates, lit only by the thin and indirect red light of the EXIT sign above a nearby door. Otoha hissed for us to follow her as demons pounded down the stairs in our wake, and we tucked ourselves into that darkened hideaway like a trio of fleeing shadows. The demons soon ran directly over our hiding place, yelling and squawking, footsteps slamming out the door at the stairwell's bottom and into the rest of the hotel.

When they left, Otoha didn't move. She sat crouched in the darkness with her hands cupped around her giant, batlike ears, eyes closed, mouth set in a thin line. I touched her shoulder, leaning close to her.

"You OK?" I murmured.

"Shhh!" Otoha susurrated. "I'm listening for the demons, or even for Hiruko!"

"Oh." I removed the hand. "All right."

She didn't reply. She sat there, crouched and concentrating, in the silence and the dark. I watched her warily, but I didn't speak. I'd been wondering if Otoha's oversized ears were capable of hearing more than my ordinary human ones, and her insistence on silence made me think that I was right. But the scales, what were they indicative of, and—?

A hand brushed my shoulder, and Shizuru said, "You OK?"

She crouched nearest the entrance to our hideaway—ready and willing to defend us if the demons returned, I surmised. I started to shush her on Otoha's behalf, but Otoha didn't seem bothered by Shizuru speaking. Maybe it only mattered if we spoke to her. Still, I kept my voice low when I decided to reply.

"I'm fine," I whispered.

She nodded. She said: "Who's Hiruko?"

Panic rose sharp and hot and heavy as I momentarily believed that Shizuru had somehow developed the ability to read minds, but then I remembered what Otoha had said just a moment prior. I swallowed, unable to keep from noticing the way the EXIT sign's crimson light turned Shizuru's eyes to twin sparks in the darkness. I opened my mouth to tell a lie. Maybe ask her who she was talking about and play dumb.

Instead, what poured from my mouth was the truth.

"There's a man named Hiruko who's aligned himself with Sakyo, and he wants to cause trouble. I don't know what kind of trouble, precisely, but it's bad, and he's the one who sent those demons after me." It took every ounce of my willpower to keep from clapping a hand across my blabbering mouth. "He's never threatened me directly before, and I don't know what he's—"

Something clicked behind Shizuru's eyes. "I think you said it back at the stadium before you ditched us. He wants to rattle the team by kidnapping one of our own." Her teeth gleamed. "Even when you blow smoke, there's fire, huh?"

…that was actually a pretty good guess on her part, now that I thought about it. The demons did say they had been sent to 'play' with me, after all.

She kept speaking, more good guesses falling from her lips. "I'm guessing this Hiruko character is the reason why Sakyo kidnapped you."

"Yeah." I swallowed, nerves like wasps in my wrists and throat. "He wanted information."

It wasn't really a question when she said, "And I'm guessing you don't have much to share with the class."

"Not for lack of trying," I grumbled.

For a moment, she remained silent—but soon she shook her head, hair whispering across her blazer like a reedy wind.

"Somehow, I believe you." Her sparking eyes grew contemplative. "Hiruko. Nice to know our real enemy's got a name, at least." The sparks turned suspicious. "Koenma put you on a secret mission or something? Is that how you know so much?"

I hesitated, because while what she said wasn't true, it was a good lie—one I would've surely taken and run with in any other situation. Too bad for me, Otoha's hands came down from her ears before I could take advantage of Shizuru's imagination. She crawled over to Shizuru and me and jerked her head toward the stairwell door.

"They're in another stairwell on the west side of the building, heading back up again. Coast is clear, but only for a few minutes." Another jerk of her head toward the door. "I'd get out of here as fast as you can. Front exit's through there; take the door around the corner and you'll let out near the elevators. They won't expect that."

"Thank you for all your help, Otoha," Shizuru said.

"You're welcome." She giggled. "And I thought this would be a boring shift…"

Her insouciance struck a chord in me, and not a good one. The last person I had seen act too casually about Hiruko had wound up stripped of her name and thrown into an anime, after all. It took effort to keep from sounding strained when I clasped her hand and said, "Stay safe."

"You, too," she said, squeezing my fingers. "And you gotta tell me what this was all about at some point, because this is spy-movie intrigue and I'm dying to know what happens next!"

She ran off quickly after that, ghosting through the darkness and through the door to the hotel lobby. We followed quickly after, walking briskly but calmly through the lobby's echoing chamber, heels of our shoes clicking purposefully—but not panicked—across the lobby floor. Only a few people loitered nearby, most of them hotel staff; there was no sign of the demons anywhere. Still, so as not to attract undue attention, we maintained a steady but measured pace until we got outside, at which point Shizuru broke into a dead run down the path leading into the nearby forest. I followed, matching her speed as best I could. When she skidded to a halt under the cool shade of the forest, however, I had to wonder if I was about to get a lecture… but all she did was point ahead of us down the path.

"New stadium is that way," she said. "We got most of the way there before realizing you'd left, and I dropped everyone off before coming back for you." Shizuru shook her head, reaching into her pocket for a cigarette. "Kid, you are trouble, you know that?"

I fidgeted. "That has been brought to my attention on previous occasions, yes."

"Figures." She lit up and took a long drag. "Just tell everyone you needed to take a piss when they ask where you went, because we don't need that guy—Hiruko, right? We don't need him getting what he wanted." Like a conductor with a flaming baton, she waved, punctuating each word. "No distractions. Not during the semifinals, and not before the finals. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear." I saluted (like an absolute dork) and then gave her a sheepish smile—because that was all I could do. She'd told me once she wouldn't be asking more questions, but I hadn't thought she'd meant it the way she had. It was with true gratitude that I said, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She puffed gamely at her cigarette until it turned mostly to ash. With a flick of her fingers, she tossed the butt to the ground and stamped it under her heel. "Now let's go. Your little potty-break excuse won't hold up if we take too long standing around."

All too eagerly, I broke into a run. Shizuru learning Hiruko's name wasn't a huge revelation in and of itself, but if she broke her promise and started asking questions, my inability to tell a convincing lie would not doubt spell revelations too monumental for comfort. Instead I hoped for distraction, to keep her too occupied to ask me anything at all (although how long that tactic would work against someone as single-minded as Shizuru, it was tough to say).

We didn't have far to run, it turns out. The path almost disappeared a few times as Shizuru led the way through the woods, and I could see at once why we had managed to get lost earlier in the day. Soon, however, the forest thinned out, and then the weirdly bug-like contours of the stadium rose over the trees like a looming eldritch horror. When we emerged at last from the forest, we found ourselves standing at the foot of the gigantic stadium, the concrete ring around its bulk hosting dozens of milling demons. While the old stadium had resembled a sports arena, this one resembled nothing I'd ever seen before in Human World. Unlike the previous stadium, it lacked any television screens that non-ticketed spectators could watch to see the fights, and the only entrance to the arena was a set of enormous gates at least twenty feet high. Two burly demons in cop uniforms, of all things, stood outside the gates, glaring at any demon who dared to stray too close.

I came to a stop and stood there with my mouth open when we first caught sight of it. Enormous and black, festooned with angled, jutting columns and strange towers like the antenna of a gigantic insect, the closed-roof stadium looked more like the shed carapace of a mammoth beast than it did a manmade structure. The many windows along its upper floors glowed from within against the blue sky, lit like a million yellow eyes watching the movements of its prey below, the columns like legs that could at any moment come to life and crawl in a streak of destruction across the earth. Nothing at all like the previous stadium, which could've been mistaken for a soccer arena if you didn't notice the demonic onlookers in the stands. And it didn't help that the aforementioned crowds were screaming inside the arena, an unholy dissonance that sounded almost like the cry the beastlike arena might make on some moonless night.

Shizuru, meanwhile, appeared unfazed. She stalked toward the gates with hands jammed in her pockets, mouth set in a ferocious scowl, ready to fight and kick her way inside—but just as I started to follow her out of the woods in her wake, a voice from the forest called my name.

"Keiko!" said the voice, which sounded infinitely relieved. "You're back!"

I wheeled, peering around in confusion, because I saw no one.

"This way, silly—down here!"

It wasn't until Botan waved that I spotted her. She sat at the foot of a tree well beneath the forest's camouflaging shade, partially hidden by a bush and a large rock. I called Shizuru's name over my shoulder and waded back into the forest toward Botan—but when I rounded the rock, I stopped short, mouth dropping open in surprise.

Yusuke was with Botan—and he was asleep on her shoulder.

And that wasn't all. Puu lay asleep in her lap, bright blue wing-ears wrapped tight around his body like a security blanket. Yusuke's face bore no expression, jaw slack, while Puu snored lightly, sound like bubbles on the air. Despite wearing his hair down instead of shellacked back with pomade, Yusuke looked… the same, really. The same, but battered. A purple bruise covered his cheek while a bramble of scratches adorned his knuckles and fingertips, nails worn down to the beds. His clothes and skin bore a thick layer of dirt, too, and his shoes were missing most of the tread along the bottom. But he wasn't hurt in any obvious ways, and he didn't look at all pained as he slept.

Funny. After the ordeal he'd been through with Genkai, I thought he'd look different, somehow.

Botan cleared her throat, soon, and gave an awkward wave. Sticks cracked as Shizuru approached; she joined me in silence beneath the trees, staring as Botan began to blush. Neither of us spoke as the blush turned to a full-out flush, and then into a red so deep it was a wonder her brain didn't boil.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Botan eventually yelped, steam almost pouring from her ears. "Say something!"

Shizuru took out a cigarette, although she did not light it. "You two look…"

"Cozy," I supplied. "Very cozy."

"Couple of regular lovebirds, even," Shizuru observed.

Botan gasped. "Ex-cuse me!" she warbled. "It isn't my fault he's practically comatose. Again." She glared down at her passed-out companion, pinching his somnambulant cheek—true proof he was out cold, because he'd surely protest if he wasn't. "This boy has a nasty habit of falling into impenetrable sleep, doesn't he?"

"He's got a knack for it." I glanced about, suddenly worried. "So where are the others?"

"And how'd Yusuke get here?" Shizuru added.

Botan looked very excited to discuss something else. "Yukina and Atsuko went inside to watch the fights," she said in an energetic rush. "As for Yusuke, Genkai dropped him off and asked us to look after him." Her blush flared back to life. "But then Atsuko said she wanted us to have alone time and abandoned me…"

The only thing that can accurately describe Botan's face is the word "atomic." Shizuru watched her with amused eyes, holding her unlit cigarette between two fingers as Botan became increasingly uncomfortable. Botan looked everywhere but at Yusuke, magenta eyes roving across the trees and the sky and my feet as she desperately searched for something else to discuss.

I was not sure how I felt about any of it.

"A-anyway." Botan cleared her throat, fingers absently petting Puu's mop of messy black hair—but then she caught herself and quickly removed her hand. "We're mostly hidden back here, but a little while ago some demons happened upon us and almost tried to make mincemeat out of poor Yusuke! Luckily for us, Chu—you remember Chu, don't you? Well, he and Rinku appeared, and so did Jin and Touya from that shinobi team! They chased the demons off lickety-split." She couldn't keep from shooting Yusuke a fond smile. "Apparently trading punches makes Yusuke friends."

"Sounds like him," Shizuru said with a chuckle.

I couldn't join in. I wanted to join in and tease Botan about this, but her encounter with Jin and the others confirmed what I'd suspected the moment I found Botan leaning against that tree with Yusuke. It seemed that (for all intents and purposes) Botan and I had swapped places for the purposes of this particular scene. Which meant what, exactly? I couldn't say for sure, but I had a sinking suspicion that my date with Jin, and the subsequent changes the date wrought on Keiko's love life, probably had something to do with this—and the fact that I'd missed my chance to see Jin again within the confines of canon didn't do any favors for the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, either.

If Shizuru noticed my unusual silence, she didn't say anything. She only cocked her head when a feminine voice cut the air, words booming and indistinct but very, very loud. Koto's voice, instantly recognizable, even if we couldn't quite make out what she was saying. A moment later, another voice followed hers, excitedly calling out something unintelligible. Juri's voice over the loudspeaker now that she had taken over Koto's referee duties, if I had to guess.

"Who's fighting now?" Shizuru asked.

"Genkai, I think," said Botan. "There was a hullabaloo over her identity when she tried to fight, from what I could overhear, but…"

Koto screamed something, voice rising even louder. She was delighted about blood, from what I could make out. Specifically about the chance of seeing it outside of someone's body. We listened in silence, heads cocked toward the sky, as demons booed and hollered. Seems whoever they were rooting for was on the receiving end of the bloodshed, then.

"… it sounds like everything turned out all right, in the end," Botan observed.

"And by baby brother?" Shizuru looked at Botan through hooded eyes. "How'd he do? Last I saw him, he was gearing up for a rematch against Shishiwakamaru."

I did a double-take. "A rematch?"

"I'm not sure," said Botan, anxiety flashing across her face. "Atsuko said she'd come out to give me a status report, but…"

"A rematch against Shishiwakamaru?" I pressed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

We'd already seen Kuwabara break canon when he bungee-jumped back inside Shishiwakamaru's portal, but we hadn't known for sure if he'd managed to get back to the new arena or not. In the anime, he'd had to walk all the way back to the new arena, where he challenged the Beautiful Suzuka in disguise as the old man Onji (who promptly used the same teleportation technique on Kuwabara to send him back to the old arena, again). He'd never had a rematch with Shishiwakamaru in canon—so what the hell had happened in this version of the story?

Shizuru (who maybe, in fact, could read minds) promptly filled me in. "Remember when we saw my brother come flying out of that portal at the old stadium?"

"He bungee-jumped back inside it with his Spirit Sword, yeah. I remember."

"Right. And it took him back here, to this new arena." She smirked, familial pride glinting in her bright eyes. "But before he and that Shishi guy could throw down, the committee ruled that Kuwabara had been out of bounds for a ten-count. And since he couldn't prove he hadn't been on solid ground for the ten seconds he was out of the stadium…"

My jaw dropped. "They ruled that a loss?!"

"Yup," she said, looking far less concerned than I felt.

"And then what happened?"

She shrugged. "Shishi got pissed, that's what."

I hung my head, rubbing at my temples at the thought. "Ugh. Poor Kuwabara."

"No, kid," said Shizuru with a firm shake of her head. "Not at my brother. At the committee." That smirk returned, cigarette bobbing before her mouth. "Shishi said that giving him a win on a technicality was shameful and that real demons fight to the bitter end. Guy demanded a fair rematch so he could, and I quote, 'earn the reputation he was due.'" Shizuru laughed, smile wry. "You wouldn't think he'd be that type, given he was fine with teleporting Kazuma outside of the ring to begin with, but that's not the first time a demon has surprised me."

The mind boggled—but if this could change, what else had shifted in the match against this team? I asked, "What about the other matches? The outcomes?"

Shizuru shrugged again. "I'm not sure since I haven't been inside yet. Heard all that about Shishiwakamaru from some of the demons walking around down here."

"And I got saddled with Yusuke too quickly to check in with the team," Botan said, cheeks turning seashell pink again. "But I think Hiei and Kurama won their fights, if it helps."

"About time we found out for sure," Shizuru said, turning back toward the stadium. "C'mon, Keiko."

Botan jolted in place, though she settled down with a guilty look at the sleeping Yusuke. "Wait! What about me?!"

Shizuru glanced over her shoulder, smirk reappearing. "Like I said—you look cozy. Would be a shame to break that up now, huh?"

"Shizuru!" Botan groaned.

"Holler if somebody tries killing Yusuke again, I guess."

'Offended' didn't even begin to cover the look on Botan's furious face. "Why, I never—!" Her head whipped toward me, blue hair flying, eyes pleading and huge. "Keiko, what about you?"

"Sorry!" I skipped over and pinched Yusuke's cheek. "He's just so cute when he's sleeping."

Botan groaned again. "Keiko, no!"

"Keiko, yes!" I chirped, and I ran off after Shizuru.

"You were late."

For a demon who'd been acting pissed at me for days, Hiei certainly seemed salty about that fact. He glared, arms crossed, foot tapping as Shizuru and I approached our group in the tunnels beneath the arena floor. Shizuru and her magical intuition had led us to our friends in short order. They'd just come off the main stage of the arena after Koto declared them the victors of the semifinals, battleworn and limping but all in one piece. Hiei wore a bandage around his shoulder, blue undershirt stained with blood; Kurama's clothes were torn along the arms and legs; Kuwabara's coat was a shredded mess, hanging off his arms in tatters, pompadour half fallen out of its style so curls spilled along one cheek. Genkai—unmasked at last—appeared largely unharmed, though her hair was a bit frizzier than usual. None looked at all perturbed by the boos filtering through the concrete over our heads. Hiei only had a glare for me, while Kurama looked on with amused sympathy and Genkai observed in expressionless silence.

Kuwabara wouldn't even look at me, though, gaze averting the second I appeared alongside his sister.

"Sorry!" I clapped my hands together and bowed, trying to look contrite. "Got a little lost in the woods."

"Keiko here has a tiny bladder, apparently," Shizuru muttered in her usual deadpan. It was a lie, of course, but no one said a word; her understated delivery was quite convincing.

Atsuko stepped forward and clapped me on the back. "Glad to see you're all right. Had us worried for a sec."

Yukina nodded in agreement. "Yes, when we turned around and saw that you were gone, we could only assume the worst." She covered her mouth with her pale blue sleeve. "We thought maybe those demons…"

That got Kuwabara's attention; his head swung my way, brow knit and eyes wide. "Huh? What demons?" he asked, striding a few steps toward us.

"Oh, nothing." Atsuko grinned and popped her knuckles. "Just some demons trying to menace the little human girls, that's all. But we kicked their asses, no sweat."

"All's well that ends well," Shizuru grunted.

Kuwabara shook his head, teeth grit and on full display. "Yeah, but still!" He crossed his arms, tatters of his jacket swinging. "If demons know you're with us, there's no way all of you can go off on your own again." A resolute nod nearly knocked his fraying pompadour askew. "24-hour guard, if that's what it's gonna take to keep you safe."

Kurama, tone detached, suggested, "Perhaps our energy would be better spent on preparing for tomorrow's finals." He looked Kuwabara over with cool green eyes. "Especially considering the shape you're in."

Kuwabara glared, trying to stand a little straighter as he combed the tatters of his coat. Kurama just offered him a pleasant smile, face a mask of innocence I didn't believe for a minute.

"He's right." Genkai stepped between them. She clasped her hands behind her back, gaze full of force and fire. "Hiei, Kurama. In the finals, we'll need a win from each of you—"

("Hey?!" Kuwabara squawked. "What'm I, chopped liver?!")

"—so be sure to watch Team Toguro's semifinal match very closely later today. Then rest." She broke away from our group and headed off down the dark and echoing concrete hall. "Your lives depend on it."

"What's her problem?" Kuwabara muttered at her retreating back.

Yukina hummed, uncertain. "I imagine she must be fatigued from the matches."

"Who, Genkai?" Kuwabara said with pronounced skepticism. "Nah; she's tough as nails. Something must be bothering her…" His face screwed up, watching as she walked with slow, shuffling steps away from us. "She was acting funny when she showed up to fight Shishiwakamaru, too."

"Shishi…" I grabbed at his arm on reflex, though I snatched back my hand at the last second. Still, he noticed, turning to me as I said, "That's right. Kuwabara, I heard you were pretty badass today!"

"Heh. That's for sure!" He thrust out his chest and turned up his nose, looking smug and happy and tired at the same time. "I learned an all-new application for my Spirit Sword on the fly, and then I clobbered Shishiwakamaru by turning it into a net and turning his own energy against him! It was as easy as—urk!"

He must've tweaked something by throwing out his chest, because he fell to the floor clutching his back, face nearly blue with pain. Yukina gasped at his strangled cry, and Atsuko burst out laughing (because she was Yusuke's mother, and some things are just genetic). Shizuru cocked her head to one side, face barely shifting at all.

"Kazuma?" she said. "You OK?"

Kuwabara squeaked, "I think I pulled a muscle."

"I think you pulled your everything," Atsuko cackled.

"Ha!" Hiei tossed back his head with a laugh. "What a fool!"

"Oh, can it, shorty!" Kuwabara snapped. "If I wasn't in horrible pain, I'd turn you into mincemeat!"

Hiei's eyes blazed. "I'd like to see you try it, dolt."

I stood back as Atsuko and Shizuru helped Kuwabara upright, angling him so Yukina could send a blast of her healing powers across his spine. Hiei bristled at the sight, but he turned his face with a pointed harrumph and sulked a few feet away, clearly unhappy with the whole affair. The sight pulled a laugh into my throat, but before I could join in with a quip, Kurama stepped into the space beside my elbow.

"He's right, you know," he muttered in my ear. "Genkai was acting strangely when she appeared in the middle of the fights." At my look of confusion, he grimaced. "Despite the strange changes in her energy, it was what she said to us before her fight that proved more interesting."

I ducked my head closer to him for privacy. "What did she say?"

"Genkai insisted that she be the one to challenge Onji—or the Beautiful Suzuka, rather." He nodded toward the others, and to Kuwabara where he lay in pain upon the ground. "Hiei and Kuwabara were both in poor physical shape after their matches, but I am in relatively sound condition, and I had questions for Suzuka, besides. And yet, when I volunteered to fight, Genkai said she could not allow me to risk myself. She wanted me in top form for the finals, despite the fact we have a day of rest tomorrow." Kurama stared after her contemplatively, eyes distant. "For someone as keen on pushing one's limits as Genkai, her reticence was surprising indeed."

He was right; it was odd of her to say those things. At least, it was odd if you didn't know what I did. In silence Kurama and I watched as Genkai stopped before a doorway at the far end of the hall. She didn't look back when she pressed her palm to its dark expanse. She just pushed it open and disappeared within, silent as a ghost.

Kurama murmured, "Do you know why she was acting that way, Kei?"

He looked at me with curiosity, but not insistence, green eyes inviting explanation but not demanding it. It hurt to not share the truth with him, but…

I shut my eyes, if only so I wouldn't have to look at his. "I can't tell you."

His hand closed around my elbow. "Kei—"

I didn't yank my arm away, per se, but I didn't give him any choice by to let me go when I jogged off after Genkai. Kuwabara and Yukina called out after me, asking where I was going, but I didn't turn to acknowledge either of them. Doggedly I went to the door Genkai had vanished through, which opened onto another long hallway, dimly lit and shadowy. A short figure stood at the hallway's end, just barely out of sight in the darkness; I waited for my eyes to adjust, which only took a seconds, before heading toward her.

I didn't get far before I noticed him.

He stood with his broad shoulders leaning against the wall, impossibly tall and as quiet as the grave. He smiled when he saw me, and although I could not see his eyes, I got the sense he was giving me a quick once-over. The kind of scrutiny a warrior gives out of habit, sizing up a potential enemy so as not to be caught unawares.

For my own sake, I hoped like hell that the younger Toguro brother didn't consider me as such.

"No need to jump like that," he said, although I wasn't aware that I had jumped at all. He had the deepest, most melodious voice I'd ever heard. I'd expected the former quality, but the latter took me by surprise. "It's not you I'm interested in."

Anxiety forced a joke out of my mouth: "I'm actually just kind of jumpy in general. Try not to take it personally, all right?" I bowed at him, hoping manners might distract him. "If you'll excuse me…"

"Wait." The word froze me in place, flight triumphing over fight as he pushed away from the wall to stand at his full height. But his massive size wasn't nearly as intimidating as the angular planes of his face or the lithe way he moved, catlike in spite of his physique. "Keiko, I presume."

"Yes." I cursed myself for being honest, forcing out the words, "What do you want?"

"Nothing." His lips quirked. "Your name's just come up a few times in my hearing, that's all." A long pause followed. "But for the life of me, I can't see what's so special."

"That makes two of us." Another desperate joke, but Toguro didn't laugh. I bowed again. "Well, then. Bye."

I got only two steps away when Toguro called, "What. No pleas for mercy?" He looked amused behind his sunglasses. "No begging for the life of your friend?"

Friend. Singular.

Begging for the life of your friend.

I knew exactly who he meant, and when anger rose hot and bright and horrible in my chest, I didn't have the wherewithal to consider if rising to that bait was worth it. I bristled, rounding on him with a snarl he no doubt saw as kittenish in its ferocity.

"You know damn well that what's about to happen has been coming for decades," I spat at his feet. "No pleas, no matter how well worded, could change your heart now." I threw my hand out, pointing down the hall. "Not your heart, and most certainly not hers."

Toguro said nothing.

Then: "I stand corrected."

"Beg pardon?"

A chuckle rumbled in his chest with surprising warmth. "Nothing. Nothing at all." He nodded. "Go on, now. And be sure to cheer your friends on two days from now." Toguro spun on his heel, strolling in the opposite direction from Genkai and myself. "They'll need your support, I'm sure."

"And they'll have it," I murmured. Yet another bow, this one calmer than the last, though no less unnecessary. "Goodbye, Toguro."

He didn't turn around. "Goodbye, Keiko."

I didn't wait for him to call me back again. I ran off after Genkai, hoping I'd catch her before she left the stadium—because I knew in my gut that no matter what changes I made to canon, I did not have long to say goodbye to her.

Notes:

Anyone who spots the obscure-ish Terry Pratchett reference in this chapter is henceforth my hero.
I've started a playlist on YouTube for this fic; there's a link to it on my Tumbler page. The theme song of chapter 97 is "I Was Just a Kid" by Nothing But Thieves.

Had a whole big scene at the start of this about the self-destructive lengths I've gone to in order to please my mother before, but I chickened out of posting it. Sorry. But the subject has become relevant in my life again and it's still too raw and unresolved to publish here.

This chapter ends with the same scene that ends episode 51 of the anime series; couldn't resist using it to fit in a Toguro cameo. In terms of episode count, this means we've covered almost half of the Yu Yu Hakusho episode canon. Weird to think about.

NEXT UPDATE: SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 2020

Many thanks to everyone who came out to read and comment last week. You make every post a dream: Sdelacruz, MikoMouse, ViviCatLover, Ms_Liz, rosesandlion, Niyuu_Trickster_Kat, I_Am_IronMaiden, Paddygirl, MLKoo, rosethornli, Sanguinary_Tide, Kuramag33, Not Quite A Morning Person, RosesUniverse, NotQuiteAnonymous, WhitneyWonton, TheFictionFairy, Bzzz, JestWine, ShiaraM, DragonsTower, GerbilFriend, Altered_Karma, DJGirl, goldentimes!

Chapter 99: Trolley Problems

Summary:

In which NQK has decisions to make.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Like an oiled snake, Genkai slipped through my grasp and disappeared.

I found her again soon enough, although by that time, the rest of our group had caught up to me. Genkai stood beside Botan and Yusuke outside of the stadium, glaring daggers at any demons who happened to stray too close to their hiding place. They all knew exactly who she was without her mask, and thus they gave her a particularly wide berth.

She turned that same glare on Hiei when she saw us approach. Kurama had already peeled away from our little clan to go watch the Toguro's semifinal match, just as Genkai had requested a few minutes prior. She noted as much to Hiei with a dose of her trademark snark.

"So I suppose you thought I was merely making a suggestion earlier?" she said, giving him the dead-fish-eye.

Hiei tossed his hair and scoffed. "I have better things to do than watch someone else fight."

"Fine. Die in the finals, then." She whirled away before he could say something cutting in return, which he definitely would have done given the look of wrath on his face. "Let's get the dimwit to the hotel. Can't have demons trying to pick off the team captain in the lull between fights. Kuwabara?"

Kuwabara put Yusuke on his back with only the smallest of complaints. Unlike Hiei, he knew better than to test Genkai. He'd trained with her too long to mouth off.

The walk back to the hotel was uneventful, at best. Any demons bold enough to approach our entourage were quickly sent scurrying by the combined efforts of Hiei, Kuwabara and Genkai, not to mention Shizuru and even the happy-to-shout-threats-of-dismemberment Atsuko. The only ones not affected by their intimidating presence were the various tournament backers we passed in the hotel lobby. They shot us stares even more withering than Genkai's (probably because they'd lost money on the fights, if I had to guess). I thought I spotted one or two of them looking at me with particular scrutiny, so I hung my head and tried not to look conspicuous as we boarded the elevator. No sense in them recognizing me from the dustup in the casino…

At the room, we settled Yusuke down onto his bed in short order, where he continued to snooze without a single sign of disturbance despite our rough treatment of his sleeping body. Botan and Atsuko fussed, pulling a blanket over him and a tucking a pillow beneath his head, and my first instinct was to join in—but when I saw Genkai hovering in the doorway, watching Yusuke in silence, I turned my face away.

She looked… desolate, somehow. Like a death row prisoner enjoying their final, beloved meal, knowing it would be the last joy they ever tasted.

Not that Yusuke or Puu, that fuzzball reflection of Yusuke's soul, noticed. Puu slept like a log in my arms, bat-wing ears wrapped around his body like a swaddling cloth. He breathed the softest of snores through his yellow beak, and when he gave a sleepy grumble and cuddled closer to my chest, Kuwabara eyed Puu over with consternation… and then he seemed to realize something, and he thrust out his chin.

"Yusuke's back, but since he's still sleeping, that means I'm still team captain." His chest inflated; it was a wonder his head didn't join in and puff up like a balloon. "And that means I call the shots."

Shizuru rolled her eyes. "Don't dream too big, kid. Your head'll swell."

"Yeah, yeah. Now let's see…" He eyed the room over, critical gaze skating from Botan to Yukina, me to Hiei, Genkai to Atsuko, and finally toward his sister. Kuwabara lifted a finger and pointed. "Shizuru, Atsuko. You need to make sure we have enough food for everyone. Nutritious stuff, not the junky garbage Yusuke eats."

One of Shizuru's perfectly manicured brows lifted, subtle but fierce. "And what makes you think you can tell me what to do all of a sudden?"

"Because I'm team captain and last time I checked, you're on this team!" Kuwabara retorted before rounding on me. "Keiko, once they get the food, you'll need to cook it."

I saluted (like a dork; was this becoming a habit?). "Roger that, cap."

"See? Now that's a good attitude," he said, beaming at me. He turned to Botan. "And Botan, as head cheerleader, you need to make sure we're all in high spirits and stuff. Think you can handle it?"

She saluted, too (because apparently my dorkery was spreading). "Yes, sir!"

He beamed again. Turned. "Now, as for Hiei—"

"Team captain is a pointless title when you're the weakest member of the team." Hiei cut in like a honed knife, eyes even sharper than his pointed words. "Don't think you can tell me what to do, idiot."

To his credit, Kuwabara only looked afraid for about two seconds. "We'll, uh… we'll circle back around to you." His hand came up, cupping his chin. "I guess that just leaves…"

When his eyes settled on Genkai, she shot him a look that broached no argument whatsoever. But he just grinned and shrugged, sheepish.

"Genkai—well, do whatever you need to do, OK?" he said, adorably earnest. "We need you in top shape for the match day after tomorrow."

Genkai chuckled. "Whatever you say, kid."

She sounded affectionately grumpy. Breezy, even, at least by Genkai standards. The vulnerability I'd glimpsed when she looked over Yusuke's sleeping face was gone, replaced by casual amusement at Kuwabara's antics. How did she do that? How did she conceal what had to be feelings of turmoil—because surely even the unflappable Genkai was not immune to anxiety in the face of certain death, was she?

But I was staring again. So I cradled Puu in my arms and looked away.

No one noticed my awkward demeanor, or if they did, they did not say anything. Perhaps Yukina distracted them when she stepped forward and tapped gently on Kuwabara's elbow, eyes huge and liquid and gorgeous as she peered fretfully into his face. He looked down in confusion, but then his eyes lit up.

"Oh, Yukina-san!" he said. "I almost forgot—you're the most important part of preparation for the finals!"

Yukina blinked. "I am?"

"Of course! We need you to help heal." Crossing his arms, Kuwabara nodded, jaw poised in a dead-set grin. "Kurama has his plants when he gets back, and Botan has white magic she can use to help, but your healing powers are the best! Would you mind making sure we're all in good shape by the day after tomorrow?" He backpedaled, hands coming up in apology. "I mean, only if you want to, and—"

"I would be happy to assist the team in whatever way I'm able." Her demure smile could've melted solid stone. "Especially since you have all given me such a nice place to stay."

"Oh, don't mention it, Yukina-san! We're happy to help a friend." He gestured at the room, looking to the rest of us for confirmation. "You've already taken care of me, and Yusuke seems fine. But Genkai, do you need Yukina to—?"

Genkai grunted a denial. "I'm good, kid." Wizened cheeks rounded into a soft, lean smile. "You shouldn't waste your talents on an old lady, anyway."

Yukina looked pained. "Genkai-san…"

(Behind her, Shizuru stared at Genkai with an odd look on her face. I couldn't quite make it out before our eyes met. Our gazes held for a moment barely longer than a heartbeat, and then, as one, we looked away. No one noticed this, either.)

Kuwabara stroked his chin. "Well, if Genkai and Yusuke don't need healing, and I've already been healed, that leaves Hiei and Kurama. And since Kurama isn't here, that just leaves… urk!"

He had visibly paled by the time he flinched and fell silent, shoulders hunching as he stared at the wall, bead of sweat rolling down his temple. He especially didn't look at Hiei, who lounged against the wall near the door like a tiger awaiting a meal. Hiei's face didn't move even an inch at Kuwabara's implication—not even when Yukina, master of process of elimination that she was, sidled up to Hiei with steps most tentative, eyes locked on the bandages wrapped around his arm and shoulder.

"Hiei-san." She gave a little bow (and Kuwabara, meanwhile, looked on the verge of a panic attack). "If you're in need of healing, and would permit me to—"

"I'm fine." His tone, curt though it was, held a bite of humor. "Those half-rate thugs barely left a scratch."

"But Hiei-san…"

His face softened, but so slightly that it's possible I just imagined it. In any case, he pushed away from the wall and turned his back on Yukina, angling himself toward the door like he intended to leave us all behind.

"It would take much stronger demons to impact me in any great way." Hiei shook his head. "No, Yukina. Save your abilities for those who need them." A wicked smirk crossed his face, scarlet eye glinting as he turned it over his shoulder. "Like the big oaf over there, for instance."

Kuwabara's face swung toward him. He started to retort, but no sooner had he opened his mouth than did his eyes flicker in Yukina's direction. At once he swallowed down whatever he'd been about to say, face turning ashen once more, eyes darting awkwardly between Hiei and Yukina and back again. He had a horrific poker face, and I could tell exactly what was wrong: Kuwabara didn't want to insult Hiei in front of his long-lost sister, even if Yukina didn't know who Hiei was just yet.

And I understood what he was going through, because I felt much the same way. Unlike Kuwabara, however, I had an 'out.' Rather than step on a rake (one that would likely force Hiei into murdering me outright), I tried not to look guilty and busied myself with arranging Puu at Yusuke's side, tucking the little sleeping Spirit-Beast-burrito in beside his human counterpart. A Puurito, if you will. Inventing irreverent names for Puu was far preferable to being skinned alive by Hiei, that was for sure.

Atsuko, meanwhile, had looped her arm around Yukina's shoulders. "And in the meantime, kid. How about we try asking around about that brother you told me you were looking for, huh?"

Yukina smiled up at her, gratitude radiating from every pore. "Really, Atsuko-san?"

"Of course! He can't hide from my eagle eyes." Atsuko winked. "I once managed to pick one of my ex-boyfriends out of a Dolly Parton lookalike contest, and those queens all looked exactly like—"

Hiei's poker face was a far cry from both mine and Kuwabara's, because he stood there as cool as a cucumber, not looking even the littlest bit guilty as he continued to lie (by omission) to his twin sister. Botan's poker face was better than mine, but even she wasn't able to compete with Hiei in that department. Moving with stiffness born of supreme awkwardness, she undid all my good work and removed Puu from the bed, muttering something about how he needed a bath before darting off for the bathroom and out of sight. I tried to follow (because she had the right idea, beating a retreat like that), but before I could do so, Kuwabara cleared his throat. He'd begun to stare, eyes desperate, edging inch by inch around Hiei toward the door.

"Uh. Hey, Keiko?" He inched another iota closer to freedom. "Are you hungry?"

"What, you done ordering us around already?" Shizuru snarked.

He ignored his sister. He just kept inching, expression growing increasingly more desperate. "Because I'm really hungry and would love it if you made me pancakes!"

I scowled. "I'm not your mother, go make your own panca—actually, on second thought, yes, I'd love to make you some pancakes." Toward the door I scurried, too. "But I don't have supplies here, so we'll have to go back to the other suite."

"Aw, shucks!" Kuwabara said with overstated, Br'er Rabbit dismay. "Not the other suite!"

"Yeah, it really sucks," I said with equal insincerity, "but them's the breaks. Let's go!"

"You're both disasters, you know that?" Shizuru muttered as I passed.

"Pancakes?" Atsuko called in our wake. "You better bring back some for us! Though it's kind of a weird time for pancakes, if you ask me…"

"What's a pancake?" Yukina said.

"Well, it's a really tasty thing that's usually served at breakfast—"

As Atsuko explained the finer points of brunch to a perplexed Yukina, we beat a hasty retreat into the living room, then the hallway and finally onto the elevator. Neither of us dared speak until we'd reached the girls' suite, at which point we breathed twin sighs of relief and sank in unison to the floor, equally thankful not to occupy the same space as Yukina and her recalcitrant brother.

"I don't know how Shizuru just stands there like that!" I groaned, mopping my hands over my perspiring face. "She and Genkai have the best poker faces in history. At least Botan had the sense to get the heck outta dodge and leave the room."

Kuwabara shot me a peeved glare. "Shizuru and Genkai? Botan? What about Hiei?" he said, hands flying as he gesticulated. "How can he just stand there and not tell Yukina the truth?"

Sometimes I forgot that Kuwabara knew the secret of Yukina and Hiei's shared parentage. Now was not one of those times. To cover my awkwardness (something I was doing more and more of lately), I rolled to my feet and padded into the kitchen, pulling utensils and ingredients from the cupboards one by one.

In canon, Kuwabara hadn't been present to see the video from Spirit World that explained the link between Hiei and Yukina; he had seen Yukina's face, fallen in love, and run off to find her before the video got to that all-important piece of information. In this reality, he had seen the video in its entirety—and clearly he hadn't forgotten that they were, in fact, twins. He didn't know the truth about why Hiei didn't confess that he was Yukina's brother (not like I did thanks to my meta knowledge of Yu Yu Hakusho), but he still knew they were related… and whether or not Kuwabara would be willing to keep that secret for long was anyone's guess. Canon certainly didn't provide any clues. This was uncharted territory encapsulated, and I wasn't sure how to handle it. Should I let Kuwabara vent about Hiei not telling Yukina the truth? Should I just listen, or…?

Oblivious to my inner monologue, Kuwabara followed me into the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. "It's a cop-out, if you ask me," he said, jaw set in a determined grimace. "Hiei knows he's not the prize of a brother Yukina thinks she'll get when she finds him, so he doesn't even risk telling her the truth." He scoffed, sound out-of-place in his normally kind mouth. "Short little punk might be a halfway decent fighter, but I know what makes a good brother, and he is not it."

I had to stifle a laugh, because the irony was almost too much to handle. In the anime, Kuwabara had been tough on Hiei due to their weird rivalry, but now he was being tough on him for entirely different reasons. The irony was that in the other timeline, Kuwabara was hard on Hiei in front of Yukina because he didn't know he was insulting her brother in front of her. Earlier today he'd made sure to stop from insulting Hiei in front of Yukina, respecting their relationship even if Yukina didn't know who Hiei was yet. It proved that even if Kuwabara was mad, he wouldn't be spiteful. He was a good guy, even if he wasn't exactly acting his best just then… but how long would his good will last, especially given Hiei and Kuwabara's tendency to insult each other?

"I just feel sorry for Yukina, y'know?" Kuwabara continued. "She's a sweet girl, and she's got a whole lot of disappointment ahead of her whether or not Hiei decides to fess up. Especially after everything she's been through." His face screwed up tight. "She deserves somebody nice. Not someone like Hiei."

My hands paused around measuring cups and the flour I'd been measuring with them. "Don't you think you're being a little hard on him?" I said, dumping the flour into a mixing bowl.

"Being a little—?" Kuwabara looked confused. "Nah, actually, I don't. Lying to her is a scumbag move." When I didn't agree, he took a step closer, searching my face. "Don't you think so, Keiko?"

"I think…" I debated the merits of agreeing with him to avoid a tough conversation, but decided against it. Setting aside my developing pancake mix, I met Kuwabara's eyes and explained, "I think people have reasons for doing all kinds of things. And no one has to share those reasons if they don't want to. We care about Yukina and Hiei—"

"You care about Hiei," he muttered.

"Shut up. You care, too." When Kuwabara rolled his eyes (but didn't deny what I'd said, because we both knew that this team cared), I picked up my mixing bowl again. "The point I'm trying to make is that while we might not like the fact that Hiei is keeping his relationship to Yukina a secret, it's not our place to judge him for it, let alone force him to confess the truth to her."

Kuwabara's brow knit. "Even if Yukina is suffering for it?"

He wore sincerity on his chiseled features and sympathy in his dark eyes, and for a moment, I had no idea what expression I wore in return. Cooking proved a handy distraction from both his query and his curiosity. I put down my work with a clatter and cast about for a frying pan, but I didn't see one and began to open cupboard after cupboard. A pan availed itself on an upper shelf, but…

"Almost—!" I said, standing on my tiptoes, but my fingers barely brushed the pan's handle. I gave a hop, but it was no use. "Damn Keiko and her tiny little t-rex arms!"

Kuwabara reached over me and grabbed the pan with no trouble. "Always referring to yourself in the third person," he said with a chortle. "What are you, a feudal lord?"

"I wish. I could get face tattoos and look down on people."

"Face tattoos?"

"Never mind." I took the pan and set it on the stove. "Thanks. And I don't know. About Yukina, I mean." I shrugged. "I don't know what to do about her. But… all I know is that we can't make a choice for Hiei. We have to respect his decisions and be there for him, whatever he decides to do."

He didn't look convinced. "But what if the decision he's making is a bad one?"

"I don't know." Another shrug. "But I do know that someone as determined and honorable as him must have his reasons."

Kuwabara rolled his eyes. "Honorable, my ass."

I socked his arm, but gently. "Shut up," I grumbled with neither venom nor force. "Shut up, and just give it time." At his skepticism, I offered a smile. "Maybe Hiei isn't ready. Maybe there are forces at play that keep him silent that we just plain don't know about." This was the truth, although I did not present it as such. "Whatever the case, he'll tell her he's ready someday—or he won't. We just have to be there for him, and for her, when he does."

We cooked pancakes for a while in silence. Kuwabara didn't say much, but the lines between his eyebrows told me he had been given much to think about. When we made enough for the two of us, we piled the cakes high on plates and carried them to the table, where we ate in continued silence—silence I found unbearable, because it allowed my mind to wander, and my mind only causes trouble when allowed to meander unchecked. Despite my growing unease, Kuwabara didn't appear perturbed. He shoveled down bite after bite, contemplation eventually replaced by contentment.

"Damn, these are good," he said around a mouthful. "Nobody makes 'em like you do."

I fiddled with my fork. "Kuwabara…"

He looked up from his plate with cheeks packed full, comically squirrel-like. "Yeah, Keiko?"

"Are we… good?"

"Good?" He swallowed, loud in the quiet suite. "Good, how?"

"I dunno." I couldn't look at him. Said around a held breath: "Things got pretty awkward after Jin showed up."

"… oh." He put down his fork. "That."

I took a deep breath. "I feel like I owe you an apology."

"Keiko—"

"We had just had that talk, and then—there he was." Finally I raised my eyes to his, trying to look as contrite, as desperate, as sick inside as I felt (and as guilty as I felt for feeling that, because although I'd never admit it to Kuwabara, I had enjoyed my date with Jin more than I could say). Leaning toward him over my cold pancakes, I said, "I just need you to know that I didn't plan that. The whole thing with him was completely—"

"Keiko." My name cut the air like a falling cinderblock, and then Kuwabara looked me dead in the eye and said, "I get it." A beat passed. "And it's OK."

"… it is?"

"You did what you had to do," he said, shrugging—and truly, he didn't look bothered at all. No pain flashed across his face; no hurt entered his narrow eyes. In fact, a smile lit them up, and he picked his fork back up again. "Plus, you had a promise to keep. You always do what you say, so… that's that."

I sat there in silence, watching as he cut his pancakes into chunks. He downed a huge bite and grinned, gesturing at me with his fork.

"And besides," Kuwabara said. "After this tournament's over, he's gotta go back to Demon World. We're still going to Megallica together, which means… I win." Before I could react to that statement, or even process it completely, he pushed back his plate and stood up. "That was great. Nothing beats your food." He favored me with the most genuine of grins. "Wanna take the rest down to the others?"

"Oh. Yeah." I stood, too. "Sure."

If Kuwabara felt at all awkward about what he'd just said, he didn't show it. In fact, he whistled a tune between his teeth as we poured out and cooked all of the leftover batter, piling pancakes high on plates and tucking bottles of syrup under our arms to share with the others back in the boys' suite. I cradled a plate in each elbow and balanced more on each hand, years of restaurant training kicking in like a revved motorcycle. Kuwabara led the way out into the hall, and when it came my turn to follow, I found that the door had swung completely shut behind him. I stood there with full hands, staring at it, wondering how to juggle my load around so I could open the door (because even with my training, I couldn't open doors without hands)—but just as I prepared myself to try and somehow kick the door down, it swung open.

In the doorway, hand pressed against the wooden panel, stood Hiei.

We looked at one another in silence. Down the hall, Kuwabara whistled a happy tune, music getting further and further away with each passing moment. It was a Megallica song, I was pretty sure, but Kuwabara was almost too tone-deaf to tell.

Hiei inclined his head when Kuwabara whistled a particularly discordant note. "You're right, Meigo," he said. "I will tell Yukina when and if I'm ready, and not a moment sooner."

I nodded. "Yup."

"You'd do well to remember to respect that decision."

"Yup."

"You will tell Yukina nothing. And you'll caution the buffoon to do the same."

"Yup."

We stared at one another. Kuwabara kept whistling. Hiei looked… not angry. He'd seemed a little angry (or at least agitated) at first, but he'd cooled with each word he spoke. Now he just stared, as if I'd yanked a rug out from under him and had stopped him in his tracks. Perhaps he'd been looking for an argument? Well, I wasn't about to give him one. I just looked at him with bland placidity, no hostility or belligerence at all—and then his eyes flickered to the pancakes in my hand.

At that, I smirked.

Hiei saw (of course that three-eyed asshole saw). He blurred out of sight, a shadow in the night, and the weight of the plate balanced flat on my right hand disappeared. My arm rocked in place, trying to stabilize; Hiei reappeared with a laugh, backing out into the hallway with a stolen plate in tow.

I darted after him through the door, which had rapidly begun to swing closed, but he was nowhere to be found. "It's better with syrup, you little thief!" I hissed into the hallway—and then a wind stripped past and the bottle of syrup under my arm disappeared, elbow slapping painfully into my ribs in its absence.

Hiei reappeared before me, smirked, and vanished once again.

I wanted to get mad at him for being a food-thief as well as a bowl-thief, but as I trotted down the hall after the still-whistling and unaware Kuwabara, I found that I couldn't quite muster up any irritation. That smirk, so self-satisfied and… well, smirky made me think that, perhaps, Hiei had cooled off a little bit since we last spoke. Winning all his matches in the semifinals probably had more to do with it than anything I'd said or done, but…

At the end of the hall, I turned a corner and found Kuwabara waiting by the elevators. Hiei was nowhere in sight.

"Hey," Kuwabara said. "What took ya so long?"

I fell into place at his side with a smile. "Had to tie up some loose ends."

"Huh?"

"My shoes. I had to tie my shoes." The elevator dinged. "Anyway. Let's go."

Back in the boys' suite, Yukina became a quick and devoted fan of pancakes, with the request she next be allowed to try waffles. Atsuko's brunch education knew no limits, it seemed…

Food safely delivered, Kuwabara stationed himself in Yusuke's room—to keep watch, he said, in case any demons tried taking them out ahead of the tournament finals. The rest of our group, minus the absent Hiei and Kurama, seemed in high spirits as we ate a late lunch and chatted about the day's events. Botan looked much calmer now that Hiei had left, although her discomfort grew as Atsuko regaled Yukina with increasingly inappropriate stories about her exploits in the bars of Human World. I collected plates and washed up, listening with half an ear until people started standing up, dining room chairs squeaking over the wooden floor.

"Well, we should probably go get that beer," Atsuko said. "Right, Shizuru?"

"We do have some wins to celebrate." A smile colored her husky voice. "Think you'll be OK here with Botan, Yukina?"

"Yes. Of course," Yukina said.

Botan's bright laugh filled the suite. "I've been dying to braid that gorgeous hair of yours, anyway—oh, but Genkai. Where are you going at this hour?"

As if on cue, the suite's front door opened with a creak. "On a walk." She paused. Her voice held remarkably steady when she said, "All of you take care, will you?"

"Sure," Botan said, tone uncertain.

But Atsuko just cackled. "I make no promises!"

"Heh. Yusuke definitely takes after you, Atsuko," Genkai said.

"Would you like any company on your walk?" Yukina said.

"No. I'll be fine alone."

Heavy footfalls thudded out of Yusuke's bedroom. "Oh, Genkai, before you go," Kuwabara said, summoned by the goodbyes. "What did you think of that move I pulled on Shishiwakamaru? You inspired it, after you showed me and Yusuke how to repurpose someone else's energy, and I—"

Kuwabara and Genkai stood in the suite's small foyer for a minute or two, talking shop about energy manipulation and how his technique could use improvement (criticism he bore with his typical good humor; I got the sense he was used to her coarse methods of teaching by now). I listened with my heart in my mouth as Atsuko and Shizuru walked past them and out of the suite, bidding them casual farewells while Botan and Yukina moved into another of the bedrooms to talk. I stayed quiet in the kitchen as Genkai told Kuwabara to mind his energy expenditures (they were apparently sloppy), but as the door fell shut, she went quiet.

Kuwabara was far too perceptive not to notice her silence. "Genkai?" he said, concerned. "Are you OK?"

Her voice did the audible equivalent of someone straightening their posture when she said, "Kuwabara."

"Ma'am?" he replied.

"You have a good heart. Use it."

"A good heart? What do you—Genkai, wait!"

The door shut with a click, and I knew what Genkai was saying even if Kuwabara did not. Those were the same words she'd spoke in canon just before leaving to fight Toguro, which meant…

Adrenaline flooded my chest and neck. I lunged for the refrigerator, wrenched it open, and grabbed a water bottle faster than I've ever moved before, all but sprinting for the suite's front door—and past a stammering Kuwabara, who wheeled toward me in shock.

"Hey," he said, "where are you—?"

"Just bringing Genkai some water for her walk; be right back!"

He shouted something after me, but I didn't hear it. I was too busy running for the elevators, skidding around the corner and hoping against all hope that I wasn't too late to catch her—and when I caught sight of her tiny frame in its pristine red and white robes, I stumbled to a halt, relief almost turning my knees to water. Genkai didn't appear impressed. Not that she appeared unimpressed, mind you. She just looked… blank. Eyeing me askance, silent. And although I had so much to say to her, the sight of her impassive eyes froze me momentarily in place. It was all I could do to clear my throat with a tight swallow. Luckily Genkai saw fit to take pity on me, breaking the silence as she turned to face the elevators once again.

To the elevators, Genkai murmured, "You know where I'm going, I take it."

It took all of my power to nod. "I do."

Her eyes cut my way again, considering. "And you're not going to try to stop me?"

It broke my heart to admit, "I couldn't stop you if I tried."

That got a smile out of her, wry though it may have been. "Good girl," she said, and she thumbed the 'down' button beside the elevator doors.

Numbers ticked down in the panel above the elevator, carriage coming down to our level from somewhere up above. It felt like the countdown on a bundle of dynamite, each passing second taking Genkai closer and closer to detonation. It felt like I should do something, say something, say anything to get this to stop, to bring Genkai to her senses—but wordy as I am, words in that moment failed me.

Again, Genkai broke the silence.

"Tell me one thing." She didn't look at me this time, eyes as locked in place as her hands behind her back. "What I'm about to do—will it break him?"

Her voice didn't waver. Her voice held quite steady. It was an honest inquiry, no more loaded than a question about the weather.

Genkai was many things.

This proved that a beautiful liar was most definitely one of them.

It was a good thing I didn't have to lie just then to comfort her. Looking at the truth with open eyes was asking too much, though, so I closed mine as I whispered, "Yes. It will break him… but he'll find his feet again soon enough."

Genkai huffed, and when I opened my eyes, I found her smiling. It was a small smile, just a curl of her lips at the corners, but it touched her eyes—and that's how I knew it was real.

"He'd better," she said, more to herself than to me. "But then again, I'd expect nothing less from my apprentice."

The elevator dinged, then, countdown hitting zero with not an explosion, but the quiet rush of two doors sliding open. Genkai stepped into the elevator car with a click of her heels, marching smartly into place like a solider to the front lines. I swallowed as she took up her position, licking my dry lips with an even drier tongue.

"Genkai," I said, softly. "Thank you for everything."

She smiled again, that smile that touched her eyes.

Genkai told me, "Take care of the dimwit for me, girl with many lives."

The doors slid shut between us.

To their unhearing breadth, I promised, "I will."

It was, after all, the least that I could do.

I took the stairs two at a time to the lobby, and I ran into the woods so I could be alone.

To be alone so I could wallow; let's be clear about my motives here. I went to the woods because I felt horrible. Like I'd betrayed everyone I loved by not saving Genkai from her fate—the fate only I knew of; the fate only I could prevent. But I couldn't prevent it, could I? Because Genkai's death was important. Because her death would enable my friends to win their fights.

Because her death was only temporary, I reminded myself. Because Genkai, like Yusuke before her, wasn't going to stay dead.

That fact didn't make me feel any better, though. Because it wouldn't stop people from being hurt in the meantime, and because… what if the story changed?

What if temporary became permanent, after all?

I followed the path to the tournament's first stadium, then veered off it and into the woods, where I found a pretty little clearing not too far from the beaten track. Clouds overhead turned blue skies gray, threatening rain like they had on my date with Jin. I walked to the middle of the clearing and flopped down in the long grass, throwing my arm across my face to blot out the sight of gray-on-blue. Would the skies open up the minute Genkai died like some bad movie cliché? I couldn't quite remember if that had happened in the anime or not.

But then again, lots of things I couldn't remember in the anime were happening.

Case in point: the object in my pocket currently jabbing into my ribs. Not opening my eyes, I slipped my hand inside the kangaroo pouch of my sweatshirt and just held onto it, fingers tracing the winding length of the headphones wrapped around the iPod's slim rectangular outline. Eventually I worked up the courage to pull it out of my pocket and actually look at the thing. It was an ordinary iPod with a headphone jack and a spot for a charge cord at the bottom, volume rocker and power button sleek and silver atop white glass.

Why had Hiruko given this to me? Better yet, where the hell had he even gotten it?

Gingerly, as if worried I'd disturb a coiled viper, I unwrapped the gray and white headphones, catching sight of my pinched face in the iPod's reflective glass. It certainly looked ordinary enough, at least to me. No doubt anyone else in this world, with the exceptions of Kagome and Minato, would find it alien indeed.

Should I risk turning the device on? Did it have music on it? Would it even work? Or was this a test that would explode and kill me if I didn't resist temptation? Killing me didn't seem like Hiruko's style, but the most burning question still remained.

Why had Hiruko given me this damn iPod?

And more importantly yet…

"How the heck am I gonna charge this thing?" I whined.

"Charge?"

I leapt and screeched and sat bolt upright, shoving the iPod into my pocket and out of sight—but it was only Kurama who stood a few feet away looking deceptively innocent. He smiled like he didn't know full well that he'd just scared me out of my skin, and if he'd noticed the iPod, he gave no sign of it. Green eyes didn't divert their attention to my pocket as I stood up, anyway—a pocket that suddenly felt like it had caught fire.

"Hey." My face was on fire, too, although I tried to compose myself (and failed, if the glitter in Kurama's eye was any indication). "What're you doing here?"

He gave an absent nod. "Kuwabara said you left to take water to Genkai."

"Oh. Yeah. I did."

"And that you didn't return." Here he glanced at my hands. "Or give her water at all, it seems."

I was still holding the water bottle I'd picked up when I left the suite. I'd forgotten I'd been holding it. Like an idiot. I shoved the incriminating object into my hoodie pouch and scowled, but Kurama's brow just lifted, not at all perturbed by my glare.

"Why did you run after her, if not to give her water?" he said.

I shrugged. "Just wanted to talk to her, is all."

"Kei." He took one quick step in my direction. "I think you know well enough by now that I can tell when you're hiding things." Kurama looked me over briefly; I have no idea what he saw. "And you're hiding something now."

"Can you pretend not to be perceptive for once?" I grumbled. "Just humor me a little?"

"Alas, I'm afraid that isn't in my nature."

"No. I suppose it isn't." Sensing he wasn't going to give this up without a fight, I hauled off and told him, "You ever watch a train barrel toward a brick wall?"

"I can't say I have."

"Well. Imagine were looking at one right now, and you could stop it, and it would be a good thing, but a bad thing at the same time." I sighed and rolled my eyes. "And then imagine the headache when you get when you think about how mad people will be no matter which option you choose."

He had the decency to look sympathetic, at least. "You have quite the trolley problem on your hands."

"Yup." Another sigh. "It's a bummer."

"Perhaps explaining the details of this particular trolley problem in terms a touch less vague might prove remedial?" he suggested with undue delicacy.

"Nope." I shook my head. "I don't think it will. Not this time, at least."

"You don't have to shoulder these things alone." Kurama offered a small smile, but it held obvious fatigue. Whether he was tired of telling me this or just plain tired, I couldn't say. "But you know that already."

Softly, I told him, "I do."

Kurama knew better than to pry too much. He wasn't the type to give up without a fight, but he also knew I was a stubborn asshole who didn't take kindly to being browbeaten. So he just smiled, and sat beside me in the grass, and gazed about at the trees and shrubs and cloudy sky in silence, presence as steady as the earth beneath my feet. It was comforting, that silence—and when words bubbled in my throat, guts longing to be spilled in the presence of comfort, I realized he'd calculated my reaction. That tiny little smile on his face said it all.

In response, I clenched my teeth. Spoke through them to ask, "So. How did the Toguro semi-finals go?"

He looked disappointed, but he got over it quickly, smoothing past his failed plans without a hiccup. Still, Kurama's smile faded when he said, "As expected. They won, and decisively, even without the help of their team captain.

A team captain whose whereabouts I knew of, since he was currently off killing one of our teammates—but I refused to wince, holding as still as I could while Kurama continued to speak.

"After Karasu dispatched the first contender, the elder of the Toguro brothers slaughtered the remainder of the opposing team on his own." He spoke with clipped deliberation, detached and cold. "It was a calculated display of power, I'm sure, intended to signal that they will take no prisoners during our bout." Kurama's chin lowered, green eyes hood and tense. "They made that abundantly clear in the tunnels afterward, as well."

I shifted toward him. "What do you mean?"

"The demon named Karasu. He spoke to me." Kurama swallowed. "Made it clear that my match will be against him."

"You look worried," I said (and indeed, he looked a little gray, graceful features more haggard than usual).

But Kurama only chuckled. "Do I?"

"Either worried or like you're about to throw up."

"And here I thought I had perfected my poker face," he said with easy humor. "Looks like more training is in order."

I nudged him with my elbow. "Don't be glib."

"I'm not. I do need to train." Humor faded into calm resolve. "Because every mental simulation I've run ends in the same way: with my death at Karasu's hands."

Like Genkai, he spoke without gravity, as effervescent as soda bubbles on a mild spring day—but the words themselves were darker than that. Obviously they were darker than that. And yet my brain did not want to process them, at first, churning and spinning at the disharmony wrought by paradoxical content and tone.

That's why it took me far too long to shudder and mumble, "Don't talk like that."

"Unfortunately, the situation calls for an unvarnished analysis," he said with more of that clinical detachment. "If I'm unable to win my match, Kuwabara, Yusuke, Genkai and Hiei will have to be flawless in theirs if we are to survive as a team."

I shuddered again. "Don't be so fatalistic!"

"You're developing a habit of issuing ultimatums," Kurama observed.

"Yeah, because I don't like hearing someone I care about talk about dying like it's nothing more than—"

Genkai's face flashed across my mind's eye; my throat thickened as if gripped by allergic reaction, tightening until it squeezed off speech and rendered me silent. My eyes pricked, and although I looked away, Kurama saw it all. At once he'd found my hands, gripping them in his as he earnestly peered into my averted face.

"I promise you that I am not being fatalistic without cause," he said, words low and urgent and full of warning. "I will make every attempt to win my match against that demon, or against any demon that threatens us." He hesitated, the most infinitesimal of stutters, but Kurama pressed on soon enough. "But the fact remains that a gulf exists between myself and Karasu—and I am not certain it is one I can overcome in time for the final matches." Hands tightened around mine. "Not without assistance, that is."

Right on cue, assistance declared in the haughtiest voice imaginable, "Then it's a good thing I'm here, isn't it?"

At sound of that pronouncement, a smile broke across my face. Kurama didn't see that smile. He was on his feet too fast, pulling me up and putting me behind him as he faced the newcomer, who had appeared at the edge of the clearing, with the speed of a lightning strike. Our new friend only waved a hand however, dismissing him with a roll of his brilliant blue eyes.

"Calm down," he said. "I'm not here for revenge."

"Revenge?" Kurama looked the man over with a sneer. "If I defeated you in combat, I can't say it left an impression."

He looked affronted, gasping in shock and disbelief. "Come, now! Don't you remember this face?"

"Probably not, to be honest," I piped up. "Last time we saw it, it was kind of a mess."

The blue eyes narrowed. "Keiko," he said, sounding somehow satisfied and aggravated at once. "Nice to see you again."

"Nice to see you too, Suzuka." I grinned, stepping out from behind Kurama with a laugh. "Do you still require 'the beautiful,' or are we past that?"

Suzuka pouted. He looked nothing like the old man Onji with whom I'd shared breakfast days before, nor did he resemble the clown-costumed rapscallion who had played puppeteer to the entire Fractured Fairy Tales Team. He had appeared to us in his true form—that of a handsome man with piercing blue eyes and blonde hair worn spiked up atop his head, dressed in a simple pair of breeches and a loose shirt. Of course, he still sported a black eye and a bandage on his cheek after the beating Genkai had given him in the semifinals, so it was no wonder Kurama didn't recognize him.

Suzuka took a moment to compose himself, recovering enough to wave his hand in arrogant dismissal once again. "Let's just say I've evolved since the last time we spoke and be done with it," he said, cheeks turning the smallest bit red in the process.

"The beautiful Suzuka," Kurama murmured, studying him with renewed interest—although the interest shifted gears a moment later, circling back around to me in due time. "But how do the pair of you…?"

I grimaced. "Do you really wanna know?"

Kurama paused before saying, "In spite of my burning curiosity, no. I don't." To Suzuka he added, "If not for revenge, then why are you here?"

"To see you, Kurama." He rolled his eyes. "And that human who bested Shishiwakamaru, much though it pains me to admit he has piqued my interest. But it seems I'll have to look farther afield for him, however, as I have something to give to each of you."

Kurama's eyes narrowed. "Forgive my reluctance to accept a gift from a former enemy."

Suzuka scoffed. "Come now. You aren't the least bit curious about the mysteries of the Idun Box?"

Kurama stiffened; Suzuka smirked, knowing his hook had landed him quite the prize fish. From his pocket he pulled a small, round vial made of glass, sealed with a wax-covered cork at the top of a short spout. In the chamber of the vial floated an odd… fruit, I guess. I knew it was a fruit thanks to the anime, although it hardly looked like one in real life. The most generous fruit metaphor I can concoct is that it resembled a shriveled plum, mostly because it was purple, but it was shaped nothing like a plum at all. Rather, it resembled a desiccated heart—as in an anatomical heart, not a Valentine's Day heart. The fruit swam in pale purple liquid the color of blood trapped in veins, and although Kurama wore a perfectly neutral expression as he took the vial from Suzuka, I knew he had to be excited indeed. Not that he allowed himself to show it on his face, of course. He was far too good a liar to allow for a slip-up in that respect.

… but perhaps I was staring a little too closely at Kurama, waiting for him to react, because he seemed to take my expectant stare for one asking for an explanation. He held the vial toward me, although only so I could look at it more closely. Kurama wouldn't let go of that fruit if you paid him.

"You weren't there to witness my semifinal match against Uraurishima, so allow me to clarify what Suzuka has brought me," he said. "The fighter I faced in the semifinals wielded the Idun Box, which emitted a fog that reverts those exposed to it to a weakened state, turning back the clock on their age until they are rendered helpless. One of the tournament referees, Juri, was changed to the form of a toddler." He glanced at Suzuka, undisguised satisfaction on his face. "But the effects on me were unexpected, to say the least."

Suzuka huffed, arms crossing over his chest. "Oh, don't look at me like that," he said, cross. "I had no way of knowing that you were the Kurama, legendary bandit long thought dead in Demon World!"

"And thus, you could not predict that I would revert to the form I possessed in my previous life," Kurama said, smoothly transitioning back to the topic at hand. "My powers, too, returned in full. Uraurishima stood no chance." He eyed the fruit again, speaking almost absently to Suzuka. "I had hoped to fight you in the finals when Uraurishima said that you had supplied him with the box. When Genkai took the final match, I had thought my chance to learn the secrets of the Idun Box had passed—but here you are. Bearing the secret, freely given." He looked more than a little skeptical of the whole scenario, but when Suzuka just shrugged, Kurama said, "I presume this fruit had something to do with my transformation."

"Indeed," Suzuka said. Pride glowed in his every pore, then. "The Fruit of Past life, plucked from a remote location in Demon World by none other than my discerning hand, produces a potent elixir that returns an individual to a previous state. Quite the impressive feat of artificery, if I do say so myself." He pointed at the fruit, chin lifting so he could declare, "If you can get the dosage squared away, perhaps your previous form, and the power it contains, could be within reach again."

"'Could be,'" Kurama quoted. "The hypotheticals are admittedly worrisome."

Annoyance flashed across Suzuka's features, although it soon changed to a look of resignation. "Use it or don't. It's no concern of mine," he said, voice flat.

"But why?" Kurama asked. "Why give this to me, a former foe?"

"Because while I may hate your team, I despise Toguro even more." Suzuka bared his teeth, a low growl issuing from between them. "He beat me once, you know. A long time ago, not that he'd remember. He humiliated me. Called me a weakling not even worth killing. I entered this tournament to make him regret underestimating me. To prove that brains can overpower brawn, if given the right incentive. To prove that underdogs are more than they seem—but the true underdogs of this tournament are not on my team. Alas." Here he glanced in my direction, though his attention returned to Kurama swiftly enough. "Let's just hope you can succeed where I failed, using the inventions of my making, and bring that bastard down."

Although Kurama continued to look distrustful, Suzuka paid him no more mind; he'd done what he'd come there to do and he'd said what he'd come there to say, and that was that. Instead Suzuka turned to me. I expected him to bid me a pithy goodbye, maybe allude to the things I'd told him about Team Urameshi during our shared brunch the other day, but he did not. He just… looked at me. Like he was trying to read a passage of an obscure book, eyes narrow and brow tense.

I'll admit that the look unnerved me. "What? Something on my face?" I said, fiddling with the end of my bangs.

Suzuka scowled. "Don't play coy. I know you're hoping that you'll get something, too."

"Am I, now?"

"Yes," he said, as if the answer should be perfectly obvious. "My inventions are quite the commodity, after all. And you were brazen enough to request one when you asked me for a favor the first time we met." He held out a hand. "Wrist."

"Uh…" I extended my arm. "Okay?"

He grabbed my arm with one hand and reached into his pocket with the other, shooting Kurama a look that said Kurama was overacting when he stepped forward, hands outstretched as if to push Suzuka away. From his pocket Suzuka pulled a bracelet made of red cord, braided into a loop, bearing two dangling drawstrings tipped in tiny white beats. In the middle of the bracelet lay a flat disc of white stone with a hole in the middle, through which the bracelet's cord had been expertly knotted. It looked kind of like a Chinese 'bi' disc, only not made of green jade like I'd seen so many times before. Whatever it was, Suzuka slipped it quickly over my hand and around my wrist, tightening it against my skin with nimble fingers. The stone disc glowed unexpectedly warm against my pulse point, as if it had already been heated by contact with someone else's skin.

"As expected, red is your color," Suzuka muttered, eyeing over my handiwork. He dropped my wrist and smirked. "Looks good… but even if it clashes with your outfit, I wouldn't take it off, if I were you."

At once I started tugging at the thing. "If you strapped a goddamn bomb-bracelet to my wrist—"

"Relax," Suzuka said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "It's nothing like that." Quicker than my eyes could follow, he snatched up my wrist, fingers playing over the stone disc attached to my new jewelry. "This is a kinetic stone."

Kurama (who had calmed down somewhat, although he still stood in close protective stance beside my elbow) frowned. "A kinetic stone?"

Suzuka puffed out his chest, placing a hand self-importantly upon it. "A name of my own invention, of course, granted to a stone tossed by water and rain until a hole formed through its heart. Exceedingly rare, as you might imagine. I had to polish it for aesthetic appeal, of course, and it was an utter nightmare to track down in the first place—"

Dubiously I asked, "If it's so rare, why are you just giving it to me?"

He smiled. "Afraid you'll owe me? Well, fear not." He turned up his nose quite snottily. "The thing is entirely useless!"

My jaw dropped. "If it's so useless, why are you giving it to me!?"

"Useless for me might not mean useless for you," Suzuka retorted. "A kinetic stone draws in ambient energy from the surrounding environment, creating a potent psychic field around the stone that only grows stronger with time." He jabbed a finger at the stone, nail clacking when it made contact. "That stone travelled for millennia before I got ahold of it, and it continues to draw in ambient forces even now—but at its own laborious pace." Suzuka heaved the single most longsuffering sigh I had ever heard in my life and shook his head with pronounced displeasure. "I wanted to use it like a battery, augment my energy with the surplus psychic force emanating from the stone, but the energy the stone gathers isn't compatible with mine. It's slow, like a glacier inching across the land, rigid and immense and utterly useless in something as fast-paced as a fight."

"And you think it might be compatible with me?" I said with a glower. "Because if so, you basically just called me 'immensely useless,' and that's not exactly flattering."

"Oh, don't be dramatic," he said (and he kept talking before I could point out that this command was incredibly ironic coming from him, of all people). "This kinetic stone was an experiment that went nowhere, and whether or not you'll be able to make use of this object is no real concern of mine." Another of his eye-rolls, so exaggerated it was a wonder he didn't give himself a concussion. "But of all the inventions I possess, this is the only one I thought might stand a chance of granting the ridiculous request you made over breakfast."

Kurama glanced at me. "Breakfast?"

Suzuka ignored him, as was his wont. Spreading his hands in a defeated shrug, he said, "Who knows? Maybe some of this ancient, excess energy will rub off on you, Keiko… provided you don't take the stone off in five minutes like yesterday's fashion." He shrugged again, beleaguered smile all the more pronounced. "But then again, maybe it won't. Either way, you get a pretty bracelet in the bargain. Isn't that what girls your age enjoy, anyway?"

"I'm fifteen, not five," I snapped—but as I stared at the stone on my wrist with new understanding, my ire cooled. "Well… thanks. I think. And it is pretty."

Suzuka chuckled under his breath. "Right. Well." Without preamble, he spun on one heel so he could saunter off toward the edge of the clearing. Over his shoulder he added, "For the record, I hope you were correct when you said that your team's convictions would carry them through this tournament. All my ambitions ride upon your shoulders, now. So best of luck to both of you. And you, Keiko—after this is said and done, look me up if you're ever in Demon World."

I shot a glare at his retreating shoulder blades. "What, you want me to write you a report on how your gadget works?"

"No." One blue eye regarded me over his shoulder, mouth beneath it pulled into a boisterous grin. "I just think we could get into some trouble, you and I, and that it might be fun." He lifted a hand before I could react, waving two fingers through the air. "Au revoir, now. And try not to die the day after tomorrow. I'd hate to have come all this way only to go home disappointed…"

After he left, we stood in the clearing in silence, each with our hands curled around the objects Suzuka had granted us. The only detail that betrayed my bracelet's magical nature was its warmth—that odd warmth that didn't fade, always remaining just a few degrees hotter than my skin. Or was it merely warm from Suzuka's grip? I couldn't say for certain. I just traced the disc's edges with a fingertip, studying its opalescent surface centimeter by centimeter.

After a while, Kurama cleared his throat. "This request you made of Suzuka," he said, tone flat. "Care to explain?"

I shrugged. "That big brain of yours should be able to figure it out."

"You asked him to grant you psychic powers."

"Bingo."

"That was reckless of you, Kei."

"Hey, he said no," I replied—but then I looked at the bracelet and grimaced. "At least, he said no when we got breakfast the other day. Apparently he changed his mind."

"Am I to assume you knew of his proclivity for invention before the semifinals, then?" Kurama said. "From the legend?"

I pasted on a sunny grin. "See? You didn't need me to explain a thing. That's exactly right." But when Kurama only stared, not amused in the least, I sighed and let the smile fade. "And you heard him. He's not even sure if this thing will help me. Seeking him out netted me nothing more noteworthy than a pretty bracelet, in the end. Oh well." I glanced at the vial in his hands. "But more importantly, what are you going to do with that fruit?"

Kurama did not reply. He studied the fruit, turning it over in his hands and watching the way the fruit moved inside its prison. Muted sunlight glanced off the crystal in rainbow bursts, dazzling the eyes whenever it caught sun peeking through clouds. Kurama didn't seem to mind even when the prismatic light crossed his face. He only stared, gaze distant, and turned the vessel around and around again.

I put a hand on his elbow. "Everything OK?"

His mouth thinned. "That remains to be seen."

I waited for him to continue. To elucidate, explain, wax poetic about why he held such hesitation in his eyes. He did none of these things, however. He only stared, as if he could see through the fruit's wizened skin and into its hidden heart.

"Not to put too fine a point on it," I said when the silence grew too cloying, "but you were just talking about how there's a gap between you and Karasu and how you'd need help to cross it." When he still did not speak, or even look at me, I put a hand on his elbow once more. I implored, "Could this help you, Kurama? Your demon form was powerful, as I understand it." (As I knew it, I wanted to say, but I did not.) "So if this thing could give you a boost…"

He shook himself, as if waking from a deep sleep. "Yes. It could close the distance between that demon's powers and my own." His eyes returned to the fruit again. "But I wonder at what cost."

I frowned; in the anime, there had been no costs to using the fruit, and he had not seemed at all reluctant to use it. This, therefore, was new, and I had to ask, "What do you mean?"

"It's difficult to explain," he said—and even saying that took some time, each word chosen with laborious care. "I'd like time to think before I answer."

I raised my hands in a 'hands off, your move' gesture. "OK. Sure. Sleep on it if you need to." I grinned, hoping I looked confident. "You've got all day tomorrow to train, maybe plan how you'll test the fruit—because I know you'll want to test it and stuff—so just rest up for now and think on it, all right?"

His eyes shut, smile lifting his face. "You know me well." When our eyes met, his held apology, however slight. "For now, allow me to ruminate upon the possibilities."

"And you'll let me know if I can help at all?" I said.

"I will." Kurama's mouth quirked. "And I will resist asking you if you know what will happen if I decide to use the fruit for its intended purpose."

He might've been joking, but the gravity in his voice brought out the gravity in mine. "That's a decision you'll have to make on your own," I said with a sad, slow shake of my head—and then I added a smile, not to mention a quick wink. "However, the consequences of your decision aren't something you have to shoulder alone. But you know that already."

That got a laugh out of him. "An eloquent offer, Kei. I'm impressed."

"I learned from the best," I said, and after he stowed the Fruit of Past Life inside a pocket of his robe, I looped an arm through his and grinned. "Now c'mon. Let's head back to the others. They'll be wondering where we've been."

Kurama remained subdued as we walked out of the woods and back onto the path that would lead us to the hotel. It wasn't hard to guess the cause of his mood; in fact, he'd outright told me that he was worried about what side effects he would endure if he used the Fruit of Past Life to regain his demonic form. I wasn't sure what he suspected the side effects might be, but if he was hesitating, he no doubt suspected something pretty bad—but was he worried about physical effects, or more metaphysical ones? I had a unique window into his mindset, and that insight made me suspect the latter. Both Kurama and I had worked hard to cultivate our present-day personas and lives. Reverting to the self of the past all at once? What consequences would that wreak on who we were today?

Not that I was exactly like Kurama in this sense. If someone used the fruit on me, I'd just be a human turning into another human. That would be a horrible shock to the system, I imagined, but Kurama would be swapping entire species. Who's to say using the fruit wouldn't have concrete impact on his human life? The anime hadn't hinted at it overmuch, and in it, he'd used the fruit to defeat Karasu without negative consequence, but the possibility was still there. After all, weirder things had happened in this version of canon so far.

Whatever the case, I'd support him no matter what… although thinking about the subject suddenly had me wondering what would happen if I took the potion. Would I turn into the person I once was? Or would I just become a toddler version of myself, just like Juri had experienced when she was exposed to the fruit's magical smoke?

I was so busy imagining the possibilities of the Fruit of Past Life that I only realized someone was calling my name when Kurama stopped walking and slipped his arm free of my own, murmuring at me to look ahead. Further up the path, Kuwabara had appeared, running toward us with one arm waving frantically above his head.

"Hey!" he bellowed, skidding to a stop before us. "Where the heck have you two been? And did you see Yusuke go by?"

"Yusuke?" Kurama said.

"Yeah, Yusuke! He woke up and ran out of the hotel room like a bat outta hell," Kuwabara said, looking left and right and up and down the path. "I tried chasing after him, but then guess what? That 'Beautiful Suzuka' guy showed up, and I lost him!"

Kurama ah-ed in understanding. "We just ran into Suzuka as well. He mentioned seeking you out. I trust he gave you a gift, too."

"Yeah, but I wish he'd kept it to himself! Take a look at this!"

Kuwabara thrust out his hand, grimacing and making a small noise like he'd just seen something unexplainably gross. Between his thumb and index finger he held a long object wrapped in strips of white and blue cloth—the hilt of a katana, by the looks of it. But he held it like it might bite him, face contorted into a mask of disgust and fear.

"This weird doodad powered that Banshee Shriek sword-thing that Shishiwakamaru used in our fight," Kuwabara explained, still holding the hilt as though it might grow teeth and bite his arm off. "Suzuka said it came from a tree that drained the life force out of all the other plants and animals and stuff nearby—and he just wants me to hold it with my bare hands!" Shaking the sword up and down a few times, Kuwabara looked at Kurama and I for validation. "That's crazy, right?"

"Oh, definitely—and creepy, too!" I thrust out my hands. "Let me see!"

Kurama's brows shot up. "Are we certain that's wise?"

Kuwabara snatched back his prize, momentarily forgetting to be afraid of it. "Kurama's right—no way am I lettin' you touch this, Keiko!" He shoved the hilt into his pants pocket, but then he paled and yanked it back out again, holding it once more between two reluctant fingers. "Hell, even I don't wanna touch it."

"Did Suzuka say what it might do for you?" Kurama asked.

"Not really; he said its abilities depend on the wielder or somethin' like that. But like hell am I gonna test it and see!" he said, all but shouting the last line at the hilt in his hand. Shaking himself, Kuwabara stalked away down the path, eyes roving over the trees. "Anyway, I'm gonna go look for Urameshi; he's probably gonna get into some kind of trouble and get himself killed, and even if I'm not team captain anymore, there's no way I'm gonna let him be late for the finals!"

Kuwabara talked about Yusuke getting killed with remarkable composure, but rather than feel reassured, a chill skated up my neck. "Oh, have a little faith," I called after him, voice regrettably desperate. "You'll all do great. OK?"

Kuwabara shot a disgruntled glance over his shoulder. "Maybe so, but we should still have a strategy meeting or something tonight so we can hash crap out in case we bite the bullet." He threw up his hands with a cry of frustration. "Urk, he's gonna be on the other side of the island by now! Gotta run; bye! See you later!"

Kurama watched Kuwabara's retreating figure closely, staring after him with the shrewd expression he reserved for particularly tricky math problems and exceedingly annoying teachers at school. It wasn't an expression he often levied at his teammates. Was he considering the potential effects of Kuwabara's gift from Suzuka? Recalculating the likelihood of surviving the tournament now that the team possessed two new powerups? If he was rerunning his mental simulations of his fight against Karasu now that he possessed the Fruit of Past Life, I wanted to know what he saw (mostly to see if it matched up with his fruit-powered victory over Karasu in canon). Would he talk about it whenever the team held their next strategy meeting?

At that meeting, would Kuwabara and Kurama once more talk so casually about getting killed?

They'd both done it that afternoon. Both had spoken the possibility of death into the universe as though the universe couldn't hear them, and each time it had had the same effect on me: a spike of anxiety followed by a feeling of impotent despair. It would've made me feel a little better if I'd been able to comfort them, but I didn't have any practical means of soothing their worries or helping them prepare. They were the ones with powers, not me. What else could I do but twiddle my thumbs while my friends prepared themselves for the possibility of a painful and bloody demise?

My friends who were children, I reminded myself.

I shivered again. I turned to Kurama, wanting to ask him if he thought he stood a better chance against Karasu now, seeking comfort and affirmation from his rich green eyes—but just as I reached once more for his arm, he jerked away, spinning in place to face the forest, eyes wide and brimming with startled, verdant color.

"No," he muttered, so softly I almost missed it. "It couldn't be."

I latched onto his arm, unable to help the alarm frothing in my chest. "Kurama, what's wrong?"

He started, looking at me with a small gasp. Kurama smoothed his features quickly, however, back into a neutral smile.

"It's nothing, Kei." He patted my hand, thumb tracing a soothing pattern on the back of my knuckles. "Just the wind."

Just the wind, he'd said—but far away, a flock of birds took flight above the trees, crows bursting into the sky with a whirlwind of cawing feathers, and I swore I heard a distant, echoing crash. Kurama's arm snaked around my shoulders before I could ask him if he'd heard it, too. He forced me into step beside him, voice cheerful and gentle as he said we should find our friends, steering me back toward the hotel and away from the dark forest. When I peered up into his face, he smoothed the tension from his eyes at once—but not fast enough. I saw the pain. I saw the fear. I saw the uncertainty he tried to hide from me.

And I knew exactly what he had sensed, even if he wouldn't admit it.

Just as we stepped into the hotel lobby, I heard another distant boom.

Behind us, rain began to fall.

Notes:

Hope you liked this!

NEW CHAPTER OF DAUGHTERS OF DESTINY IS UP! Fic is almost complete, yaaay.

Chapter 100 is going to come at a weird time, because I'll be in Japan for two weeks(ish) from February 24 until March 6. Which means my schedule of updating biweekly will fall in the middle of my trip. Yikes.

So: I'll be updating in three weeks on Sunday, March 8. Hopefully having three weeks to write the chapter instead of the usual two will be enough time despite my travels. If I can't update in that time, I'll have the chapter up on March 14 at the latest. International travel just has a way of messing with your schedule, haha.

I'll be doing a little gift giveaway in celebration of chapter 100, BTW. So definitely tune into that chapter for details!

Many thanks to all those who found the time to read. You give me life and water my crops. I will read your words in Japan when I need a boost. See you soon, and thanks again to these fine folks: Sanguinary_Tide, Paddygirl, rosethornli, goldentimes, SarcasticallyDances, Gerbilfriend, Unctuous, Bzzz, NotQuiteAnonymous, I_Am_IronMaiden, rosesandlion, JestWine, Ms_Liz, ShiaraM, EtherealZenith, Niyuu_Trickster_Kat, Note_Quite_A_Morning_Person, theNewDesire, forever_kouhai, ashez2ashes, and meow!

Chapter 100: #goodvibesonly

Summary:

In which NQK tries to keep breathing.

**Please see end notes for a special announcement.**

Notes:

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!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

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). I can reply to anyone on AO3, so anons are OK there.

2. Leave a comment/review on chapter 100 of this story. Only comments on chapter 100 will be counted toward the giveaway.

3. Check back when I post chapter 101 to see who wins! 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: Unctuous, NotQuiteAnonymous, rosesandlion, allyallyonthewall, Gerbilfriend, Paddygirl, forever_kouhai, KittyWillCutYou, Ms_Liz, JestWine, Konkubus, theNewDesire, musiquemer, MyMindIsTellingMeNo, DragonsTower, and a VERY BIG SPECIAL THANKS to MidKnightOwl for reading this fic start to finish and literally commenting on everything. You gave me life and watered my crops last week. LOVE YA LOTS!