Youth Gone Wild

A/N: This chapter makes up for the previous one’s shortness. Prepare yourself for a first day at school, a family reunion, and mass character introductions. And hard language, especially from a broody foster kid.

***

Youth Gone Wild
Chapter 2: Welcome to the Jungle
December 18, 2008

Heaving a sigh, Shuichi flopped backward onto a pile of couch cushions, wiping away the sweat that had accumulated on his brow. It was 6:30; his mother and he had arrived at the house sometime between 3:30 and 4:00, and the two of them had been unloading, unpacking, and organizing since.

Just the two of them. Distant cousin Yoko was being distant in more ways than one. Try completely absent. When his mother had opened the house earlier, they’d found a note tacked on the inside door, signed by his cousin, saying that Yoko had already moved out with plans to live with a friend of his who was disabled and could use some help.

Confused, Shuichi had asked, “Did he ever mention this before?”

“No,” replied his mother, looking just as confused. “Never. I don’t know why he wouldn’t; it’s a very selfless decision for someone so young…” Frowning, she scanned the note again, looked on the back, and frowned some more.

Yoko hadn’t left a phone number or address.

“See if you can find him at school on Monday,” Shiori had told him. “His father only died recently and I want to make sure he’s okay.” More frowning. “I hope he hasn’t dropped out to take care of his friend…”

Now: “Shuichi, I made up your bed. Go get some sleep; you’ve helped out a lot and I think I can finish up on my own.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, even as he yawned.

“Go to bed,” she affirmed, helping him to his feet and giving him a playful push toward the stairs. “You need your sleep today because I want you to go to school tomorrow.”

No getting around that—when she’d been in town last week to meet with her new employers and to speak with Yoko about moving in (a lot of good that’d done), Shiori had taken the liberty of already enrolling him in Reikai High.

***

A crash in the kitchen made Kurama groan and roll over on the fold-out. “Why are you banging all that around?” he whined. Yomi couldn’t see, he couldn’t cook with pots and pans anymore.

“I’m looking for a bowl. Kuronue doesn’t believe in sorting shit, he just throws it all in together, careless bastard slob…”

Somewhere the phone was ringing, and from the bedroom Shura could be heard yelling, “Da-da, Da … da…,” as he hated it when Yomi let the phone ring.

“Mind getting that?” Yomi called into the living room.

Getting it … where? Kurama sighed and began crawling around on the floor.

“Found it!” both men yelled triumphantly as one found the bowl and the other the phone. “Gandhara residence,” Kurama greeted.

“Wow Yomi, when’d you get all sexy sounding?”

The volume was loud. “Hey, tell him to get his ass over here and find all my fucking bowls.”

“Who the fuck’s that pissing in the background? Don’t tell me that’s Yomi the Bitch.”

“Fuck you!” said the blind man through a mouthful of cereal.

“I’m sorry, what was that? Sounds like he’s got my dick in his mouth or something.”

Yomi made a choking sound, but managed to swallow while raising a middle finger. “I believe he thinks that situation should be reversed,” Kurama said, braving the mess that was the kitchen so he could fix Shura’s and his breakfast.

“Well he needs to hurry up and swallow. I’m pulling up front right now.”

Kurama rolled his eyes and hung up as he heard the combination of an engine and a loud car stero grow closer, then stop. A few moments later the door shook under a knock-knock-knock. “Mind getting that, too?” Yomi asked. Shura had just run out of the bedroom and was trying to tickle one of his legs. Yomi was always concerned that if he moved in such situations he’d step on his son. Smirking, Kurama left Yomi to making “ahaha” sounds to humor Shura, and answered the door.

When he saw the visitor on the doorstep, clad mainly in leather from his boots to his torn-up top to the weathered floppy hat that concealed a silky black ponytail, the smirk broadened and took on a leering manner. “Well look who it is. When Yomi’s done can I be next?”

Indigo eyes crinkled as Kuronue returned the smirk. “I thought I’d drop in on the honeymooners.”

“Hah,” said Yomi in the background. Picking Shura up and carrying him on one hip, he told Kuronue, “Get your ass in here and straighten up my kitchen.”

“Right away, Mr. Mom. No—Wait.” He considered Kurama. “You’re ‘Mama,’ aren’t you?”

Unable to use correct pronunciation, Shura called them—except for Yomi, who was naturally “Dada”—by derivatives of their true names. Kuronue was “Onay,” and Kurama had become … “Hah,” the flaxen-haired boy said now dryly.

Soon the apartment’s four occupants were situated in the living room. Kuronue was feeding oatmeal to Shura while Kurama was eating his own and Yomi was eating a second bowl of cereal. “So now that you’re like the housewife here you’re going to cook for that poor blind bastard sitting over there, right? You know he’s basically living off of cereal and scraps from Enki’s right now.”

Simultaneously Yomi pointed a middle finger in what he thought was Kuronue’s direction, and in Kurama’s direction made a sort of shrug, conveying that he wasn’t completely denying the claim either. Kurama for his part was skeptical. Yomi wasn’t flabby or anything, but he did seem heavier, and even under his shirt Kurama could see that his arms and torso had gotten thicker.

But he wasn’t going to point that out right now. Finished with his breakfast, he went to the kitchen and washed the bowl—and stacked it and its clean compatriots together in a spot that he thought might have originally been designated for them. Maybe. Who knew?

“Bowls are on the bottom shelf of the first cabinet to the left of the sink,” he told Yomi. He had control of the situation. Now that he felt that his “housewife” duties this morning were complete, to Kuronue he said, “Give me a ride to school.”

“Rate’s the same as I charge hitchhikers: one way, one job. Got it?”

“Tell me, Kurama,” Yomi said with a smirk, “is he wearing a straight face at all?”

“Hardly. Because every bit that just came out of his mouth was pure, unadulterated bullshit. He knows it, we know it, and he knows that we know it. Which is why he looks like a retarded Jack-o-lantern right now.”

The accused managed to tame his face into something slightly less than a shit-eating grin, and didn’t relapse too much when he retorted, “You’re getting to be a bit of a fatass, Kurama. Maybe it’d be better if I make you walk to school.” Even as he said it, he was moving toward the door and made a gesture for Kurama to hurry up and get his stuff.

“I don’t know where you’re getting ‘fatass’ from. If anything I think my ass ran away and joined your personality.”

“Shut up and don’t be late to school, how about that?” Yomi interjected, knotting his brows as he laced up his shoes. “Could one of you toss me Shura’s bag?”

Kurama made to oblige, but Kuronue took it and set it next to Yomi. It didn’t seem right to pitch things at a guy with hardly a fair chance of catching them. “See ya later,” he told the blind man, and waved when Shura made a similar hand motion and said “Buh-buh.”

On their way to the car Kurama stopped and adjusted his pants, which had been trying to slide down. Noticing, Kuronue opened Kurama’s door and got in the one on his side, and when his companion had gotten situated said, “You know I was totally shitting you about the fatass thing, right?” Kurama had actually lost some weight while his dad was dying, and it’d probably do him good to get back at least most of it. That was the one nice thing about after Old Man Inari died; they’d basically gorged an entire week on the free food Kurama got from sympathetic relatives, friends and acquaintances.

His concerns earned an eyeroll from their receptor. “I’m not a little girl with self esteem issues. Even Yomi can see that. Now drive, or I won’t even think about helping you with your chronic masturbation problem.”

“Pardon?”

Tossing back his head and grinning, Kurama said, “That must be it, making you desperate to the point of charging such an exorbitant price, or attempting to, anyway.”

Kuronue bit back a smirk and restrained himself from doing more than just grabbing Kurama’s head and shoving him against the window a little.

***

Shuichi wasn’t unpopular, he’d just never really made any close friends before. This hadn’t escaped his mother, who’d supplemented her morning goodbye with the line, “Meet some new people.”

Fine then: he could kill two birds with one stone—honor request number two, meet new people, while honoring request number one, look for Yoko.

Unfortunately the first people he encountered were engaged in a fistfight. He stared, one eyebrow raised, while a tall boy with orange hair, clad in blue, and a boy with slicked back dark hair, wearing green, shoved each other across the slab, making grinding noises as the occasional piece of gravel was caught under someone’s sneaker and subsequently dragged over the concrete. Also watching the two was a brunette girl in a blue dress, scowling and yelling admonitions at whichever boy was named “Yusuke.” (Shuichi couldn’t tell; neither one seemed to be paying her any attention.) Figuring he could find someone a little less engaged to ask about his cousin, he turned around a was preparing to round the corner, before freezing after coming face to face with someone who’d apparently been doing the same thing from the other side. “I’m sorry!” he stammered, blinking down at the person he’d almost tumbled over.

In response a pair of reddish eyes blinked up at him. Said eyes were set in the somewhat delicate-looking face of a somewhat delicate-looking boy. Part of this impression might have been because the boy was rather short, about eye-level with Shuichi’s chest. That aside, there was a surly sort of expression in the boy’s eyes and in his face that ensured that the first thought that came to an observer’s mind wasn’t the boy’s apparent delicacy. In fact the only reason it came to Shuichi’s mind seemed to be because he found himself staring at the other boy long enough to notice that the by wore his hair in a spiky fashion, may have a penchant for hair dye (in the middle of all the spiky black was a pointy white design), and wore a plain white headband—which was a bit of a contrast, considering the rest of his attire: black shirt, black pants, black trench coat, black boots. ‘Please don’t let him come after me with a gun later,’ Shuichi thought.

Narrowed reddish eyes now stared at him while the face adopted an expression that could easily have been confused, thoughtful, or pissed. Shuichi thought that fortune—or, at least the avoidance of misfortune—best lay with the second possibility, then the first, so long as it wasn’t the third.

Eventually: “Hn,” grunted the boy, taking a few steps forward and to the side, cocking his head and giving Shuichi the same look at a different angle. “You’re new,” he finally said monotonously.

“I am,” Shuichi agreed, perhaps a little too quickly and too loudly. Pausing a moment, he said with better control over his voice, “My name is Shuichi Minamino.”

First, no response. Then, “Hn.”

Unsure if a mutual introduction was necessary for this encounter to count as meeting new people, Shuichi decided they could always revisit that later, and proceeded to the second objective: “My cousin is Yoko Kurama. I was wondering—”

“Shit, Urameshi, New Guy found Hiei.”

Footfalls of a few people from behind, and then Shuichi saw the previously brawling carrot-top and brunette, soon joined by the girl in the blue dress. The brunette (Urameshi, apparently) looked from him to the kid in the trench coat (Hiei?) and said, “You don’t look like he’s gone at you.”

Knotting his brows, he inquired, “Should I?”

“You’re more likely to get beat up around them,” muttered the kid called Hiei. “Just because they’re bored.”

“And he’ll mindfuck you and we’ll have to go to another assembly about tolerance and school shooting and blah blah some other crap,” retorted Urameshi with a shrug, then half-smiled at Shuichi. “If you told him your name it doesn’t really matter because he’s going to call you ‘Idiot’ or something just as witty like he does to everyone else around here, but I might call you by it.”

“Shuichi,” he supplied, brows still knotted, “Minamino.”

“Yusuke,” replied his inquisitor, “Urameshi. Kazuma Kuwabara.” The orange-haired boy he’d been punching not five minutes earlier. “Call him Kuwabara. Or whatever the hell you feel like, actually. I think it’s not so much what you say but what you do with your voice when you say it, like with a dog.” Kuwabara rolled his eyes and aimed his foot at Yusuke’s rear. Yusuke hopped to the side. “And she’s Keiko,” he concluded, pointing his thumb behind him.

The girl in the blue dress. “Yukimura,” she added, rolling her eyes at Yusuke. “Did you say that your cousin in Yoko Kurama?”

He nodded his head. “Distant cousin,” he specified. “Fifth, or something like that.”

“So you’re the relatives that moved into the house?”

Another nod. “My mom and I.”

“So what, your dad kicked the bucket too? Ow!” Yusuke winced as Keiko punched his shoulder.

Shuichi watched the nonverbal reprimand with an uncertain semi-smile, then blinked in confusion when the first syllable or two of a snicker came from Hiei. “Maybe he’s just a bastard like you.”

“Takes one to know one,” Yusuke shot back hotly. Hiei shrugged, then looked at Shuichi again.

Was he supposed to answer? “My father did die,” he confirmed. “A few years ago. Car crash.”

“Ooh, sorry.” Yusuke winced again, without inducement this time. “That sucks, I was in one before.”

“Except you were the idiot who ran out in the middle of the street and caused it,” Kuwabara said.

“Fuck you, man! I only ran out in the street to push that little kid out of the way.”

“Maybe that dumbshit was supposed to die,” murmured Hiei with a little smirk. “Maybe you fucked up the order of everything when he didn’t get retribution for playing in the street, and someone else had to die in his place. Maybe it was his dad,” referring to Shuichi.

“Maybe not everyone shares your social Darwinist butterfly effect cynicism,” Keiko said hastily, giving Shuichi a concerned look.

He shrugged. Maybe Hiei was put off by almost getting knocked down. Being a little sleep-deprived made him not care all that much about if the comment was meant to be antagonistic at him or not.

Or not, probably, after Hiei said, “You were wondering?”

“What?”

“Your cousin is Yoko Kurama,” the boy in black restated. “You were wondering…?”

Oh yeah. “Does anyone know where he usually is right now?”

“I thought you moved into his house?” Kuwabara asked.

“Yes, but he apparently moved out…”

“Probably to Yomi’s,” Hiei said.

“Who?” But as Shuichi asked the bell rang and drowned him out.

“Oh God, it begins again!” Yusuke groaned, looking at the school with a pained face.

“None of us actually know Yoko,” Keiko told Shuichi as they headed toward the entrance. “Us three are freshmen and he’s a senior, so we don’t really have any classes together. Unless you count when Yusuke and Kuwabara see him in detention.”

“Naw, he’s only in there sometime,” the carrot-top said. Shuichi inferred that he and Yusuke were in there more frequently. “I think he’s been too busy with his dad dying to get in trouble, either that or the teachers have just been cutting him some slack because of it. When he is there he’s always in the back with that guy who blasts the Skid Row out of his headphones.”

“More of a G N’ R man, myself,” Yusuke interrupted.

“Short-stuff might be someone to ask, though, they sit close together sometimes. Hiei,” Kuwabara added when it occurred to him that Shuichi had no idea whom “Short-stuff” meant.

Unfortunately Hiei had disappeared, so Shuichi figured he was back to powers of observation for a while.

***

Kurama, in his slightly more naïve days, had snorted that the school had a guidance counselor whose only form of guidance was asking students what college they thought they were going to. Turns out she did more than that if she thought you needed it. Unfortunately, he apparently needed it.

He was seated outside the small hallway in the office, on what had to be the most uncomfortable bench ever. They must really want their selected “traumatized” kids to cry, he figured. Well fuck them—he was going to think of the hard seat he’d had earlier, when he’d gotten out of the car on the driver’s side. With Kuronue still in the driver’s seat. Asshole really liked his supposed fat ass then.

Down the hall a door opened, a door shut, footstep, footstep, footstep… “Have we figured out if I should skip school April 20th?” he inquired wryly, smirking at the school’s suspected and isolated neo-Columbine kid.

“Fuck you,” the sophomore Hiei Jaganshi replied impassively. “If we’re going by what they think then Pretty Boy Wakamaru and his buttbuddy Blondie are the first ones gone. I think Dumbass has first dibs on him, though.”

“Dumbass” was a freshman named Kazuma Kuwabara. “Did you tell her that?”

Now Hiei smirked. Make Kuwabara sit on the Bench of Inquisition and then tell the counselor whether or not his dead parents and dysfunctional home life had fucked him up enough to warrant special administration by the faculty and staff. “Someone was looking for you earlier.”

“If it was any of those creepy theater kids I’m not interested in that de Sade play or whatever the fuck they’re doing this time.” It’d be weird regardless of what it was. Karasu Bakudan always picked the production, and always picked one with his preferred, unique, flavor.

“Shuichi Minamino. Redhead. Kind of looks like a bitch. Says he’s your cousin.”

… Oh—fuck. Why hadn’t it occurred to him they’d be going to the same school? No shit they’d be in the same district, they technically had the same address. “Oh,” he said nonchalantly. “Okay.” Shit, shit, shit…

His mental self-reprimands were cut short when a deceptively cheery “Yoko” came from down the hall. “Later,” he murmured to Hiei, wincing as he got off the bench and went to face the counselor. “Morning,” he greeted the counselor in a bored tone as he shut the door behind him and took a seat opposite her at the desk.

“How are you this morning, Yoko?” asked Botan Enshutsu.

“My boyfriend’s kid didn’t sleep well. He was screaming half the fucking night.”

“Eh, and which boyfriend…?”

Kurama was always very honest with Botan. It made these little talks of theirs fun. “The one that dropped out because the school can’t distinguish a blind kid from a retard.”

“Did Yomi officially drop out?” she inquired in a concerned tone.

“Did the school ever get those Braille books they said they were going to get for him?”

She didn’t know. “George got a phone call from one of your relatives this morning. Her name’s Shiori Minamino. Isn’t she the one your father put in charge of the estate?”

“She is.”

“She enrolled her son in school here. His name’s—”

“Shuichi.” He’d met them before, especially recently. Did she think he didn’t do shit like attend reunions and similar family affairs?

“He should be here today. Have you seen him at all yet?”

“I haven’t.” He waited for what he knew was coming next.

Giving him one of those concerned looks that seemed her standard where he was concerned (no pun intended), she continued, “Shiori said you moved out without notice.”

“I left her a note.”

“With no address or phone number.”

“We hardly live in a metropolis,” he said tersely. “She can and did track me down.”

“You moved in to help out a disabled friend. Is that Yomi?”

Pointedly: “Someone should help him.”

“Why didn’t you explain the situation more fully?”

“I wanted to leave a note, not a novella.”

“Why did you leave a note instead of explaining in person?”

It was like playing the “because” game with a child. Crap: Shura. At least that was a while off. “The Minaminos are distant relatives in more than the genealogical sense. I didn’t feel like summarizing my personal life to someone who might react any of a number of ways.” Play the jaded minority card. “I do have a class soon,” he reminded her.

She nodded, then looked at him a few moments. “I am concerned…”

‘Of course you are.’

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to jump from taking care of your father to taking care of Yomi?”

“Do not insinuate I’m searching for a substitute father figure or some such bile.”

“I don’t mean—”

How he loved his co-conspirator the clock. “Botan, I hardly have the time to enunciate all the indignations that comment prompts. Calculus?”

“I know,” she sighed, waving her leave. “We can talk about this next time.”

‘Of course,’ Kurama thought, suppressing an eyeroll as he left.

***

Inari Kurama had had an illness for a while and had been dying for almost as long. Hiei supposed that was why he’d periodically see Yoko Kurama sitting on the bench in the office generally reserved for those students awaiting their turn in the counselor’s seat. First sighting he could remember had been about a month into his freshman year. About a third of the way through the second semester the elder Kurama had been confined to his sickbed in the house, and Yoko became a regular presence on the bench. The past three weeks had seen enough of that that Hiei thought the senior should be named Honorary Citizen and Patron of the Bench.

Outside of the office the two didn’t really interact on an intimate level, but did know things about each other. Kurama was in an open or polygamous or something like that relationship with Yomi Gandhara, a single parent who’d basically dropped out of school after a firecracker accident had left his eyes shot; and with Kuronue Koumori, a senior who signed himself out of class frequently enough that he may as well have dropped out. He was good at cracking codes and playing practical jokes. Or at least, that’s what he was usually given detention for, when he was caught—and Hiei was suspicious that this happened because Yoko wanted it to happen for the attention.

Apparently Yoko was also some sort of freak when it came to observations, to the point that it was disturbing. Hiei thought of it as such because Yoko was the one student in school who had, independent of his disclosure, determined the connection between him and Yukina Koorime.

There she was, sitting at lunch in the cafeteria. She was wearing a turquoise dress, and red ribbons in her hair. She sat with some of her friends. Among them was Keiko Yukimura; daughter of a pair of local grocers; sort of girlfriend to the green jumpsuit-wearing dumbass, Yusuke; and an acquaintance and occasional contestant (such as this morning) of himself. Keiko was probably still annoyed with him over his manner toward Shuichi Minamino. Not that he cared—wasn’t his conduct a matter between he and Shuichi, not her? No, she wasn’t a repellant.

Also among Yukina’s friends were several other offshoots of the Koorime family. They were somewhat foreboding. Hiei didn’t look a thing like any of them.

A few wary looks were thrown his way as he moved to get in line for lunch. Dumb bitches, he didn’t control where the lunch line formed, stupid-ass snotty little…

“Hi Hiei,” Yukina said sweetly.

Except for her. Never her. “Hello Yukina. What’s for lunch?”

“Why don’t you go find out instead of harassing her about it?” said one of the Koorime cousins nastily.

Well if she could dish it out: “Why don’t you go drive another of your kinswomen out the window, you stuck-up lesbo cunt?” he retorted, as though it were a mere suggestion.

“Could you please not say that?” Keiko admonished, though she wasn’t as adamant as earlier. After all, she tried to be the understanding intellectual, and Hiei tried to be the dejected foster kid.

“I’m sorry, you’re right: calling that ‘lesbo’ would insult Kuwabara’s sister.”

Several pairs of aqua-colored brows knotted at mention of that name. One good thing about the blue jumpsuit-wearing dumbass hanging around Yukina: it pissed off those pristine little Koorime almost as much as he did.

“I thought Shizuru liked guys too?” Yukina asked.

He shrugged. “Ask him,” he replied—there came Kuwabara now. His shift annoying his bitch relatives was over. Licking his middle finger, he smirked and showed it to Mouthy Man-hater of the Day, then waved at Yukina and Keiko and moved up in the line.

Lucky that his sister hadn’t turned out like his cousins. At least he got to talk to her at school.

***

“So any luck finding your cousin?” Yusuke asked.

“None yet,” answered Shuichi.

They were in Body Conditioning, playing dodgeball, or had been. Most everyone had been massacred by a junior named Hagiri. Yusuke and Hiei had been good competition for a while, until Yusuke got distracted by the volleyball game on the other side of the yard, and Hiei got bored and just walked into an oncoming ball so he could go sit down.

“Maybe he skipped.”

Hiei made a grunt of dissent from his spot, a little further down the bench. “He was here earlier at least.”

Shuichi looked down the bench at the boy, now wearing black shorts and a faded blue tank top. “You saw him?”

“Waiting outside Botan’s office.”

“Why’s Yoko Kurama seeing the counselor?”

“Gee, Urameshi, didn’t his dad just die?”

“They’re making him,” Hiei supplied.

Apparently this made more sense to Yusuke, who shrugged and nodded. “All right, I can see that. Coercion’s a fave of theirs.”

“Yours ain’t coercion Urameshi, you’re paying shit off.”

“Fuck off, Kuwabara!”

And with that both jumpsuit-wearing dumbasses hit the ground in a mass of tangled, flailing limbs. “Wrestling,” Hiei muttered. “Gayest sport ever.”

“No, that would be volleyball.”

Tilting his head back to see his new opponent, Hiei raised an eyebrow and repeated, “Volleyball?”

“Indeed,” Yoko Kurama confirmed seriously. “Played by priests of Apollo as part of their festivities in tribute to the god. Villagers were invited to watch the game, and the orgy the priests commenced directly after.” Hiei widened his eyes a little. “Hence,” concluded Kurama, “the gayest sport ever.”

“… Uh-huh,” Hiei managed. Pointing, he said, “Your cousin.”

There he was all right, Shuichi Minamino, not looking his best in sweaty gym clothes, but who did look good in them (aside from Suzuka Kyogi, at least)? Earlier when Hiei had said “Kind of looks like a bitch,” Kurama had been inclined to disagree (he’d had his share of that “haha you have long hair you’re a girl!” tripe himself), but at the moment his cousin’s generous red mane was pulled back in a manner that rather discredited any defense he’d have made earlier; it’d look better again once it’d been brushed out. Part of it had already come loose, getting into a pair of emerald green eyes, currently trained on him. His lips seemed frozen together.

Shuichi had intended to say something when Yoko looked his way. His cousin’s platinum blonde hair had been pulled back at the funeral, and looked longer now loose. Yoko’s clothing was loose too now, in contrast to the funeral black: some white sort of drapery things that made Shuichi think of a toga, unless that suggestion was a leftover of the Greek talk a moment ago. Though of course Yoko wore pants, and slip-on shoes instead of sandals. He guessed that his cousin favored a monochromatic look.

Except for Yoko’s eyes, piercing yellow eyes like a bird of prey’s or a cat’s or some other predator. At the moment they may as well have been a basilisk’s: Shuichi was frozen.

So Yoko spoke first. “Did you two move in without issue?”

“Uh—Yes,” he replied, nodding hastily. “Mom was surprised, when we arrived and you weren’t there—”

“You two found my note, I hope?” Shuichi nodded again. “I thought it sufficiently explanatory. She and you manage well enough on your own, don’t you?” Another nod. “Understand that my friend cannot on his own, and needs my ass—”

He paused and drew a breath as something swung down on his rear. “Oh don’t stop, Kurama,” said an amused voice. “Go on an explain how I need your ass.”

Kurama turned around to face a smirking Yomi. “How did you—?”

“My eyes crapped out, not my feet. People see a blind man coming, they either get out of his way or try to heckle him.” Whap! Kurama dodged Yomi’s cane as the latter whipped it round him and struck some kid who’d been making some semi-audible faces behind him, right in the stomach. Ignoring the sounds of collapsing and wheezing, Yomi added, “The cane is usually a deterrent.”

“Nice,” snickered Kurama.

“I had expected to stumble around the school a while looking for you while serving as a visual reminder of the shortcomings and failures on this school’s part. Why’d you spoil my fun?”

“Couldn’t help it; my school day’s over.” Due to shortcomings on the school’s scheduling part he had one less class than everyone else. Which was fine, because he still had enough credits to graduate, and thanks to block scheduling got out of school every other day an hour and a half early. “Where’s Shura, Enki’s?”

“No, today one of the neighbors agreed to watch him.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Kurama inquired, “Upstairs neighbors?” Yomi nodded and Kurama immediately followed with, “Aren’t they crazy?” That was the popular opinion, and the noises Kurama had heard from the apartment above theirs had done nothing to dissuade him from believing such.

“He’s crazy; I think the other one’s playing along out of support. Want to walk home with your eyes covered for me?”

Not dignifying that with an answer, he asked, “Which one did you leave him with?”

“Obviously I left my son with the crazy one that dislikes children, Kurama.”

Shuichi looked up in surprise at the newcomer, who looked around Yoko’s age. Black hair sprouted from a widow’s peak hairline and hung just past his shoulders, framing a slightly pallid face. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. “You have a child?”

“Who’s that?” Yomi asked.

“Cousin Shuichi.”

“Ah. Yes, Cousin Shuichi, I do, and let me warn you: whenever you are so inclined to mess around with a woman, for sanity’s sake take care that she’s not some cold steely bitch who dumps your collaborative bastard on you and never gives word again.”

Startled, Shuichi managed what he hoped was a polite “Oh.” Meanwhile Hiei wondered if Yomi’s “cold steely bitch” had been a Koorime.

“Live and learn, I suppose. Kurama, he is supposed to be home by four, so I’d like for all traces of my child to be moved downstairs well before then.”

“Agreed. Shuichi,”—the redhead looked his way—“this is my friend whom I’ve moved in with. Should your mother have any concerns, she’s welcome to voice her concerns to me personally from now on, rather than the school counselor.” He’d already put down his number on a piece of paper, and took this out of his pocket now and gave it to Shuichi. “Have Shiori call that. Ready, Yomi?”

“Where do you live?” Shuichi called after him.

Debating whether he wanted Shiori to know his address right away, Kurama widened his eyes and bristled when Yomi yelled back “On Skid Row.”

Green eyes narrowed as Shuichi contemplated that answer. “That’s vague … they live in the poor section of town?”

“Skid Row Road,” Hiei elaborated.

“Someone had a sense of humor when they named that one,” Yusuke said, poking the fibers of the thinning knee of his pant leg either direction away from a now skinned knee. “It’s like the ‘You Are Now Entering…’ sign of the poor section of town.”

“Is it dangerous?” Shuichi asked, thinking of his mother going to see Yoko.

“Just on Skid Row Road, not really, I think,” Kuwabara told him. “Unless you’re gang-affiliated, maybe. Are you?” Shuichi gave him a “need I answer?” look. “Right, didn’t figure. ‘Sides, if you’re Yoko’s cousin no one over there’s gonna touch you.”

Shuichi nodded. Though he wasn’t sure how much blood ties talked when the relative barely wanted to talk to him.

***

“Did you really have no options but them? I think there are some domestic issues happening up there.”

Yomi fought the urge to laugh—he didn’t think it was all domestic issues. “There are domestic issues between Enki and Koko, too. Doesn’t stop me from exploiting their availability as babysitters when I can.”

“But this guy’s psychotic.” He was still well-known at school: famous for his academic prestige—and infamous for the way he’d left.

“And Koko’s not? Besides, I think we’re all psychotic from time to time; at least he knows it and takes medicine for it. It’s eerie how stimulating it can be having a conversation with him.”

A snort. “You have a thing for the crazies?”

Sweetly, “I’m with you, aren’t I?” Kurama rolled his eyes, and reached out to steady his friend, as they had reached home and were at the steps. Yomi brushed his arm away and stepped up on his own, tap-tapping his cane, always a step ahead of him. His cane found the door, and he struck it a few times, and waited.

When the door opened Kurama raised an eyebrow as the lover, the one who was crazy by association, appeared: a tall, slender young man with long teal hair, wearing a flowing sleeveless shirt that showed off some well-toned arms. Under the shirt he wore a pair of relaxed cotton pants and red slippers. With mild ire, Kurama noted that the other guy was basically wearing a slightly more colorful version of his outfit.

“Did all your errands go well this afternoon, Mr. Yomi?” asked the man.

“We’ll be able to eat, which is good since we’ve acquired another mouth to feed.” Kurama winced a little as Yomi groped for him with the cane and wound up smacking him in the shin. “Itsuki, I don’t think you’ve met Kurama?” The man now identified as Itsuki replied that he had not. “This is my good friend, Yoko Kurama. Kurama, this is Itsuki Yaminade, Shinobu Sensui’s boyfriend.”

Everyone present knew who Shinobu Sensui was. Kurama offered a “How do you do?,” still processing the information that Sensui had a live-in boyfriend.

“Making dinner,” Itsuki said. Kurama noticed a burn on the man’s arm. “Shinobu will be home soon.”

Sensui didn’t like kids. “I’m sure both of those will run smoother once I take Shura off your hands.” Itsuki murmured something in agreement, and excusing himself withdrew into the apartment for a moment, returning with Yomi’s son and the basically mandatory accessories that coincided with a child that young. Immediately Kurama stepped up as pack mule, unsure of Yomi’s dexterity on the stairs with full arms and not wanting to experiment with the child involved.

“You didn’t tell me Sensui was gay,” Kurama said as they re-situated Shura et al in Yomi’s—well, now more like their—apartment downstairs.

“I thought you’d appreciate a dry sort of surprise,” Yomi replied, taking off his sunglasses before throwing himself down on the couch and adopting a lounging position. Shura toddled up and began patting his face. He pulled the child up on top of him and let his hands be taken hostage for a round of patty-cake. Tilting his head back toward Kurama, he said, “Bitch, go make me a sandwich.”

“Go make it yourself.”

“Ever tried assembling something in the dark?”

“I don’t care if you make a mess, so long as you don’t burn the place down.”

“Soup and sandwiches sound good for dinner.” Bluntly he added, “I can’t work a stove, Kurama.”

The flaxen-haired boy sighed. “That pity angle isn’t flattering, Yomi,” he said, before going into the kitchen.

He decided that while he had the stove on he might as well make grilled cheese sandwiches, which he knew Shura could eat. After setting the toddler up with that, though, he hesitated and asked, “Can he handle soup?”

“So long as it’s not very hot,” Yomi replied, tearing his son’s sandwich into smaller pieces so that the child could feed himself.

Kurama taste-tested the soup, found the temperature fine, and doled out a bit for Shura to start with. Then he took his own dinner and sat down next to Yomi. The blind man had taken off his jacket, baring his arms. Remembering this morning, Kurama thought a moment, then said, “For someone who’s been living off of cereal, you look like you’re putting on a lot of weight.”

“Muscle,” replied Yomi brusquely. “I can’t run around like I used to, but I’ve been doing weights.” Saying this, he held out one arm for Kurama to inspect if it suited him.

The boy took him up on it, and widening his eyes realized that Yomi actually had quite some definition. “Have you been doing this by yourself?” he inquired, squeezing a bicep.

“Kuronue spots me.” Kurama nodded, thinking that Kuronue had a nice set of arms too. He wondered if Yomi had been toning up anywhere else, and decided to find out.

Shifting as Kurama pulled up his shirt and fingered his abdomen, he grabbed the other boy by the head and gently pushed him away when the fingers began trailing too far downward. “Not the time,” he warned, tilting his head pointedly toward Shura.

“Sorry,” Kurama said, sitting back. He could wait until Shura was put to bed.

Fortunately Shura actually went to sleep after going to bed, as by then Kurama was getting antsy. “Take off your shirt,” he implored once Yomi had shut the bedroom door and returned to the living room. Yomi rolled his eyes, but wasn’t sure if that had much of an effect anymore. Oh well; his son was asleep and he was here now in the company of, he knew from his sighted days, one foxy specimen, who wanted satisfaction. Best to deliver, then. Smirking, he grabbed the hem of his shirt tails and slowly lifted them up, sure that Kurama’s eyes were currently documenting and savoring his every move. So his friend was right, he had gained a lot of flesh—but he wore it all damn well.

Even if he hadn’t already known that, it would have been confirmed by Kurama’s swift move to appreciate. He kept as still as possible while Kurama ran a pair of slender hands over his stomach, traced them up his waist, moved them across his chest. When the hands moved in on his nipples, however, he no longer found it so simple to stand still, especially once the hands began to turn circles, coaxing his nipples into a nicely pointed pair of nubs.

Keeping still proved impossible when Kurama began to pinch and twist one nipple while licking the other. With one hand he groped behind him, with the other he made sure that tongue stayed right where it was. He found the couch arm and managed to only slip a little while in transit to the couch itself, keeping Kurama and that nimble little tongue fixated on him the entire time. Spreading himself over the couch, he tilted his head back and let in and out deep, sighing breaths while he kept on hand on Kurama’s head, massaging its scalp as its skilled owner switched sides. The other hand he inched downward, to placate another part of him aching for a bath from Kurama too.

The hand brushed Kurama’s thigh, bringing attention to itself. Immediately Kurama rose up off Yomi’s chest and grabbed it. “Uh-uh!” he scolded gently, in a sing-song fashion, nibbling its knuckles in playful admonition. “This isn’t a game of Blind Man’s Bluff,” he told it, swatting it on the wrist while its master chuckled. “Now, let me lead the way.” And smirking he pulled the hand down Yomi’s chest and abdomen so that it could feel how much sexier its body had gotten, and then left it at the base of this sexiness while he freed and began to kiss the tip.

Yomi tossed himself back into the couch and groaned as he showed self-appreciation via minute strokes; while Kurama showed appreciation via greedy, voracious slurps and sucks and swallows, all the while making the savory sounds of a happy glutton. Afterwards, while Yomi lied sprawled and panting still, Kurama sat back and licked his lips, making exaggerated smacking sounds, and in his best sultry voice declared, “You’re such a big boy, Yomi, but it wasn’t all muscle. If you hadn’t gotten so plump I couldn’t have eaten you up like I just did.”

But Yomi wasn’t so far gone from being the dish that he couldn’t dish it out too. Sitting up, he grinned and pulled Kurama to him, smacking the other boy on the seat of his pants. “And what about you?” he asked, his hand appraising the pants’ contents, squeezing. “Did you meal just go straight to your ass, or has Kuronue been helping you get bigger too?”

Kurama smirked and backed up into Yomi’s grasp, letting out a sensuous chuckle for the other’s benefit when the grasp became a massage. “How was that a meal?” he inquired deviously. He picked up Yomi’s unoccupied hand. “I’m still hungry.”

Something warm and wet, Kurama’s tongue, lapped at his fingertips. “Oh?” humored Yomi with a smirk of his own.

“Yes,” Kurama affirmed, kissing each finger. He backed against the other hand harder. “You’ve only fed one of my mouths.”

He said it so nonchalantly. Somehow Yomi managed not to break into more than low laughter. “I see,” he said (a little dryly), before flipping them and just hoping he didn’t send the wrong part of Kurama down onto the couch arm. Judging from the lack of cracks and pained utterances—hell, what he was getting was a low croon of encouragement—, he was getting better at this sightless maneuvering bit. “So Kuronue has been spoiling you, has he?” A snort. He smirked. “Well, let’s hope he likes looking at your ass as much as I do feeling it, because it’ll be twice as swollen as it is now once I’m done ‘feeding’ you.”

------------

A/N: Hiei’s description of Yusuke as a “green jumpsuit-wearing dumbass” comes from one of Lanipator’s videos on YouTube; it’s so apt a descriptor, coming from Hiei, that I felt compelled to use it.

I had to create surnames for the characters that in the show are mononymous. The ones for Yomi, Yukina, and Itsuki are pretty obvious, but I had to do a bit more thinking with some of the others, so here we go:

Kuronue: Koumori = Bat

Botan: Enshutsu = Direction

Karasu: Bakudan = Bomb (He’ll be making an actual appearance soon.)

Suzuka: Kyogi = Vanity

More characters will be introduced and more interaction between already established characters (e.g. Shuichi and Yoko, Shuichi and Hiei) will happen in the next chapter. In the meanwhile reviews, while not required, are most appreciated. Especially since it's an AU I'd like to get some feedback!