Into the Gray

When it got to be too much, Kazuma had a tradition.

Mushiori City (the very same that had once been subject to Sensui's wrath) had a quiet
district known as Naporo filled with nothing but coffee shops and book stores. A small,
disjointed community held together by traditional houses and cobble stone streets that offered
Kazuma refuge from the bitter storm of Mushiori University where he was currently sinking
under a pile of paperwork and debt. The muscles in Kazuma's neck bulged from the strain of
carrying his massive book bag as he trudged bitterly through Naporo, stopping momentarily by a
local book store to pick up a new copy of Architectural Digest before depositing himself into the
nearest coffee shop he could find to mull it all over with a latte. For quite a long time, Kazuma
had depressed himself by buying nasty black coffee that he considered more 'manly' and reading
science magazines that bored him to tears. Eventually the strain had become too great, and he'd
relented on both subjects to allow himself the ability to cope. Instead of forcing himself to do
what was expected, Kazuma hid in the quiet corners of a coffee shop and read Architectural
Digest to his heart's content, adoring the spreads on Historic Design and Gardens. Fuck it, if
anyone saw him drinking a latte, he could lie and say it was his first time. They didn't have to
know he was a regular.

It was a mild Saturday afternoon, and Kazuma's brain was utterly fried from an intense
study session with Kurama. Kurama had spent close to four hours helping Kazuma to observe
theoretical physics from a new angle and to be fair it would have probably worked had Kurama
not been sitting on the same side of the table as him. His slacks had drawn tight to his thigh each
time he shifted to lean over the table, leaving Kazuma bombarded by the fierce warmth of
Kurama's leg accidentally pressing against his own. He'd seen enough animes with blood
spurting from someone's nose to realize what might be happening to his own face, and barely
managed to conceal himself behind a chart that he snatched off the table as Kurama gave him a
bemused stare. He was doing this shit on purpose now, Kazuma was convinced.

The day would only get worse.

Kazuma got up to get a refill on his coffee, his mind far from settled as he tried to fill it
with beautiful images of buildings and bridges he could re-create in his sketchpad, but even as he
gave his order to the barista and fished in his pocket for loose change, his line of thought was
shattered by the surprise that awaited him at the receiving counter. There, fishing out a cardboard
protector and three packets of sweet and low, was the very same young man that Kazuma had
watched be bullied all throughout high school.

Nobuyoshi Takahashi. Damn he'd gotten tall.

Takahashi had always been lithe, with expressive black eyes and a ridiculous hair flip
that used to piss Kazuma off. Now, it just made him sadder, as he recalled Takahashi as a wiry
teenager, moaning on the pavement with blood in his mouth. The terror had been obvious upon
his face, with his hands trembling as they tried to shield his neck and nose from those that kicked
or punched him. The idea of someone attacking such a defenseless person sent Kazuma's blood
on fire, and he instinctively gritted his teeth with shame and regret as Takahashi looked up from
across the counter to see him standing in line.

Kazuma could not bear it. He looked away.

"Another refill?" the barista asked, a young girl with plump cheeks and a kind smile.

"Yeah and..." Kazuma coughed, pointing as inconspicuously as he could at Takahashi,
"add his tab to mine."

"Sure thing," the barista said. He handed her what change he had left, depositing the rest
in her tip jar before hurrying back to his seat. He wanted to get lost in an article on log cabins
that expanded on the idea of a natural setting. Waiting for his fresh latte to cool and nervously
flicking through the pages of his magazine, Kazuma felt a shadow drawing closer to him and
prayed to God that it wasn't Takahashi.

But God hadn't been listening earlier today when Kurama had pressed his thigh against
his own, and he sure as shit wasn't listening now when Takahashi pulled the chair out next to
him and sat down with a smile upon his face.

"You know," he said, his voice familiar but ringing brightly with confidence that hadn't
been there in high school, "Usually when someone buys someone coffee, they're nice enough to
come by to share it."

Kazuma could not bear to look at Takahashi, the memories of his youth barraging his
brain and making conversation impossible. Damn him, damn his cowardice. Why hadn't he done
something? He had been a jackass. He could never get those years back, never make it all right.

"... But I see you're still afraid of me," Takahashi said coolly at Kazuma's silence, clearly
taking it the wrong way. "Thanks for the coffee, whatever your reason was-"

He rose up. Kazuma's hand shot out, grabbing him by the wrist before he could pull
away.

For a moment, they stood there in stony silence, Kazuma wrestling with his horrific guilt
and Takahashi waiting to hear what should have been said years ago.

Kazuma could bear it no longer. The same was too much.

"I am so sorry," he murmured, not daring to meet Takahashi's calm, dark eyes just yet.
He didn't have enough courage; still he tried, his gaze jerking about the place as he looked first
as Takahashi's wrist and finally at a spot somewhere between his neck and his face.

"I am so, so sorry," Kazuma repeated, unable to express how truly sorry he was in those
few words.

Takahashi sat back down, Kazuma's grip on his wrist slipping away as he set his
magazine down and clenched his fists upon the table. God, what he would give for some trash
talking punk to come by. He needed to pound some scoundrel's face in, before the ache in his
chest got any worse.

Takahashi held his cappuccino gingerly, looking at it instead of Kazuma, for which
Kazuma was grateful.

"Is that why you bought me coffee?" Takahashi asked.

"... I had to do something to initiate the apology." Kazuma coughed nervously, sipping on
his still scalding latte (in his nervousness he'd forgotten it was hot). "I felt... I've felt for a long
time... horrible about what I didn't do."

"Didn't do?" Takahashi repeated, slightly unsure what Kazuma meant.

"I should have defended you," Kazuma muttered bitterly.

Takahashi took his time, nodding for a minute as he mulled on Kazuma's words before
speaking up again.

"That wasn't your problem," Takahashi said. "It was mine, and anyway it's in the past
now. We're no longer in high school, and the people that I choose to surround myself with now
are supportive and kind. They lift me up." At this, he gave Kazuma a hopeful smile, "I hope
that... the same can be said for you?"

Suddenly images of all that had transpired since he'd seen Takahashi flashed through
Kazuma's mind. Urameshi's wild smile, shining like a ray of sunlight on a gloomy day; Botan's
delightful screech as she cussed out Koto during the Dark Tournament; lovely Yukina making
miso soup and asking him to set the table; Hiei over Urameshi's fallen and mangled body, a look
of absolute anguish upon his usually stoic face as he faced down Sensui upon Urameshi's
supposed death; Kurama...

Oh, Kurama....

What would Takahashi say if he knew about Kazuma's plight? Would he laugh? Would
he offer insight? Shit, at this point, Kazuma was grasping at straws. Maybe Takahashi was God's
small remorse, a pitiful offer at peace for his aching heart.

"I've been having a problem for a while now, and I don't know what to do," Kazuma
began, his voice hardly daring to go above a whisper so that Takahashi had to listen intently in
order to hear, "There's no one in my friend circle I can talk to. We all know each other too well
and... if word got out..."

Oh, that would be rich: 'I think I'm in love with Kurama.' He could see the look of mirth
and hilarity upon Urameshi's face even as he thought it. And, God... if Kurama ever found out.

Oh, God.

He flushed, fear taking over his heart once again.

Takahashi just smiled, looking slightly surprised if nothing else. "Finally realize your
undying love for that Urameshi kid, did you?" he said jokingly.

"Wha-what?!" Kazuma stammered, unable to keep the volume of his voice in check. "I'm
not in love with that punk!"
"I still remember what you said at his wake. 'Without you, who am I?"... that was it,
right?"

This conversation was quickly going downhill, and Kazuma sorely regretted ever hinting
at the topic. Takahashi probably meant only to inject humor into a potentially uncomfortable
conversation, but even his playful words were making Kazuma wonder at something that had
never actually occurred to him until now: Had he had a crush on Urameshi when they were kids?

The thought was enough to derail him entirely.

"In all seriousness," Takahashi was saying, "When did it change? I mean, when did you
start to wonder?"

"Well, I-" Kazuma didn't know what to say. When had it changed? He couldn't say
anything even had changed, which scared him more than anything else. Had he always liked
guys, and simply not known it? But god damn it all, he was not gay! He wasn't!

But then he remembered Yukina, and he snorted.

"The girl I was in love with didn't love me back. For a while I just drifted but then I
started having... thoughts... about a friend of mine. And... every detail of his body and soul just-"
But Kazuma caught himself before he could say anymore. These were not things he wanted to
confess to a stranger, in particular one that he had already let down. "It's too much. I don't know
what I'm feeling or why I'm feeling it."

Takahashi just stared, lips pressed into a slight line as he stared at Kazuma with slight
humor. What about this was funny? Whatever it was, Kazuma was failing to see it.

"... I think you do, you just don't know how to admit it," Takahashi said, making sure to
stare Kazuma straight in the face. Kazuma could barely stand to meet his gaze, unable to
confront all the unabashed truth he found there. Takahashi was a brave guy for saying something
so calmly, so proudly, in the middle of a packed coffee shop. "How about saying 'I'm into a guy'
and see what happens from there."

"But, but-" Kazuma stuttered defensively, for he had no words.

"If that's how you feel, just roll with it." Takahashi took a sip of his cappuccino.

"I'm not gay!" He said it almost too loudly and self-consciously lowered his voice: "I'm
not!"
Takahashi seemed unperturbed, relenting with a quickly spoken, "Okay, okay."

Kazuma realized just how fucking weird it was to be having this conversation with a near
complete stranger and was suddenly very eager to have it end, but Takashi was talking again:
"Just so you know, you don't have to be so defensive. It's not like discovering something new
about your sexuality would change who you are. It's introspection, not a prison sentence."
Cheeks hot again at the frank discussion of his person, Kazuma had half a mind to shout
"I know that!" but stopped when he realized that as simple as Takahashi's words were, he was not
sure he truly believed them.
"To be honest," Takahashi continued, "if I hadn't come out in high school, my life would
have been a whole lot easier. But I learned a lot about myself even though I got some bruises,
too."
At the mention of physical injury, Kazuma was effectively silenced by another wave of
guilt, although he understood the other man had not intended that effect. Looking Takahashi up
and down, Kazuma realized that he really was nothing like the kid he'd once known - he was
confident and collected and probably able to hold his own if anyone tried to beat him up now.
Furthermore, he didn't even look gay.
The errant thought entered Kazuma's mind and was as quickly lost amid every other
confusion-riddled idea. There was just not enough space in his head to think about this. He
wished his life could be simple.

"I'm not gay!" Kazuma seethed through clenched teeth, his voice hardly audible, "I just
love a man-"

Yet even as he said it, he knew he was doomed.

"Same difference." Takahashi shrugged into his coffee cup. When he saw the rigid fear in
Kazuma's body language, however, he took pity.

"Look..." Takahashi sighed, giving Kazuma a plain look that bore no ill will or the need
to hide. "I can tell you're scared. But if you let that fear entomb you, you'll isolate yourself for
no reason. Is that what you want?"

No. No it was not.

But the fear was an ugly and violent beast within him, compounding upon him all the
guilt from childhood and all the embarrassment from adulthood until Kazuma could not see
himself happy with anyone anywhere. Until he felt trapped, in the corner of a cage that he
himself had created.

"Let's just say, for the sake of your sanity," Takahashi pushed forward, "that the terms
'gay' and 'straight' do not exist. There is nothing but who you love, and why you love them."

Kazuma dropped his hands, trying to envision such a world. It felt... nice.

"For a while you liked this woman, correct?"

"Yeah," Kazuma agreed.

"And then one day, the tide change and suddenly you liked this man. Yes?"

"... Yes." Kazuma's face flushed beet red.

"Then that's just the way it is. It may be that you love this man for the rest of your life. It
may be that in two months you move on and like someone else." Takahashi shrugged, but even
as he spoke thoughts of Kurama flooded Kazuma's head, the subtle sway of his hips when he
walked, his hair so dark it was almost black but bloody red under the light... those lips, smooth
and sweet to behold as they spoke, clearing the path to victory time and time again. Never afraid,
never a single drop of fear in those deep forest eyes.

Oh, how Kazuma wished he could be as brave as Kurama.

"... I don't know if I could move on," Kazuma murmured softly, his latte cold enough to
drink now, though he did not touch it.

"Like I said," Takahashi offered him a sympathetic smile, "he could be the one. But it
doesn't matter that he's a man. It doesn't matter that you're a man. What matters is how you feel
for each other. Right?"

Kazuma had never heard such a concept before, but now that he thought about it-

"Right...?" Takahashi repeated, urging Kazuma for an answer.

Now that he thought about it... it certainly made him feel much better to take their bodies
out of it, to put it down to their souls where they could merge together entirely. Like water
meeting the sky in a thin line on the oceans' horizon- Kurama's endless depths, allowing him to
sink right to the bottom-

Kazuma flushed, forcibly dragging himself back to the surface lest he make an ass of
himself in front of Takahashi who must no doubt think him an idiot by now.

"Right," Kazuma finally agreed.

"There you go." Takahashi smiled and finished his cappuccino.

For a moment they sat there in silence, each enjoying their coffee, till Kazuma suddenly
realized something awful that made him flush again.

"But I don't even know two guys would do... things," Kazuma said; what a damn
travesty he was turning out to be. He was in love with Kurama and wanted to touch him but
didn't even know how.

"What do you mean?" Takahashi asked, confused. His brow furrowed as his soft eyes
looked at Kazuma. "Do things?"

"Well like, how do you..." Kazuma stuttered, "how do you make out and stuff? How do
you do it?"

Takahashi's shoulders sagged, and the look he gave Kazuma was dismal with
disappointment. Kazuma wished he could bury his face in his hands again, and so he did to hide
his blush from Takahashi's gaze. Of course he knew how to make out with someone; why in the
living hell had he asked that question?

"What the hell?" Takahashi grumbled. "You are way too smart to say something that
stupid. I've only had coffee with you for half an hour and even I know that." For a moment he
said nothing, but as he glanced at Kazuma's magazine it seemed he was struck by another wave
of inspiration.

"You're an architect?" Takahashi asked.

Kazuma dropped his hands, stuttering, unable to deny the claim even though it was false.
Something had pounded in his chest at Takahashi's words. Something in him had wanted to cry
out 'Yes! Yes, I am an architect!' even though he wasn't. What on earth was going on inside of
him? Why was he so eager to claim a title that wasn't even his own?

"I, uh," Kazuma mumbled, but Takahashi carried on.

"Well, quit thinking about your sexuality like you would architecture," Takahashi
supplied, "No bolts, no screws. Just...love."

Sex had not been a topic Kazuma wanted to broach, but it seemed they were going there,
even without either of them mentioning the word. All of a sudden an image came unbidden into
his mind, of Kurama splayed beneath him with his beautiful red hair spilling upon a pillow, his
face contorted in bliss and delight as he begged and cried out his name-

Kazuma dropped his mercifully empty latte, quickly righting the mug before it could roll
onto the floor. His hands were shaking wildly.

"Nice." Takahashi raised his eyebrows.

"I- I-" Kazuma could not speak. Words would not come.

But instead of being humored by his lapse, Takahashi just seemed to grow concerned.
Maybe it was the fact that Kazuma had dropped his cup, a sudden visual confirmation of the
turmoil growing beneath his skin. Takahashi shook his head, his lips pressing into a line again.

"You're really scared, aren't you? You're not just playing dumb; you're really stuck."

Kazuma still could not speak. The image of Kurama beneath him had been too much, too
overpowering. He needed to go home and take a cold shower, and a nap. He needed to shut down
and forget for the next twelve hours.

Takahashi had his answer.

Rising up from his chair, Takahashi fished about for his back pocket, speaking as he
pulled out his wallet.

"Look, here's my number," Takahashi said, producing a business card and handing it
over to Kazuma before he could refuse. Kazuma took it, quite amazed to find that Takahashi was
working for an art studio just a few blocks away from this very coffee shop. Was he an artist?
Kazuma looked up at Takahashi with new found respect as he continued on, "If you ever need
anything... call me. Just someone to talk to, to bounce things off of. If I can help you get over this
hump and move on with your life, I feel I ought to. When I was younger, in high school, I was
really lost and confused. And then someone came along and helped me. And it really made all
the difference. So, I more or less owe it to them to pass along the favor to someone else."

Kazuma nodded. "Thank you," he said.

"Don't mention it," Takahashi assured him. "Consider it payback for the coffee."

And with that, he left. For a minute as he opened the door wide, his light jacket blew
about his narrow waist. Among the crowd of men coming and going to work, Takahashi blended
seamlessly in. He was as average and content as any of them. Meanwhile Kazuma couldn't hold
onto a fucking coffee cup.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck... he was fucked.

~*~


Far above Sariashiki city, there was a park with a lovely overhang view known to locals
as 'Demon Point' for the supposed structure of the cliff face that looked like a face in pain. It
was ironic, because when Hiei had been contained within Sariashiki he'd often slept in this park
on dry or calm nights. The monsoon months had brought Hiei to Kurama's window, which
Kurama had always been more than happy to open, but more often than not Hiei had preferred
these trees. Kurama could see why.

The city was lovely from high above.

This was the home town city of Yusuke Urameshi and Kazuma Kuwabara, the ground
zero of so many annihilation attempts. This fragile cradle of human life was nothing more than a
large block face of corporations mixed in with a heavy dollop of schools, museums, movie
theaters and shopping plazas thrown in for good measure, but it was more than enough to be
substantial. A healthy, vibrant city where one could settle down and make a life for themselves if
they so chose.

Kurama had 'so chose'.

But as it stood, Kurama was unable to appreciate the beauty of the city lights on this night
due to the paper that lay hot in his coat pocket, folded tightly from clenched fists and stained
with the sweat of shaky palms. An x-ray update that boded ill, that told him his efforts had been
in vain and Shiori's brain deterioration was back.

Back after the Forlorn Hope. Back after a second chance at life.

How could it be that after everything he and Yusuke had done to secure Shiori's safety
and happiness that she was now once more on the chopping block, suffering from fatigue and
headaches that blinded her? How had this same disease come back again? Was it fate, mocking
Kurama's prior struggle with its fierce return? Was it some kind of penance, for the cruelty
Kurama had displayed towards others? The very thought made Kurama's stomach twist into a
painfully tight knot. If anyone deserved to pay for his crimes, it was him. Not Shiori. Anyone but
Shiori, who had so selflessly loved him through his apathetic childhood... who had held him tight
through his vivid nightmares of his previous life and protected him endlessly against his drifter
father when he'd attempted to unnerve Kurama in his youth.

Shiori, who had taken the beatings and the pain without ever raising her voice in return.
Who had instead only raised her eyes to the sky, believing that the next morning would bring
better tidings. Beautiful Shiori, who had selflessly saved his soul.

Kurama had come to this point over the city simply because he could not bear to look
Shiori in the eye tonight, not when he knew what she did not. She was completely unaware of the
pain facing her, ignorant to the illness ravaging her gentle mind. Kurama wondered if it was
better for her to remain ignorant, for her to simply to enjoy what little time she had left before
her mind was completely gone.

A sudden shift alerted Kurama's mind to an incoming presence. No birds took flight from
the trees, no twigs snapped under foot, but a very slight heat tickled the back of his mind. It was
comforting and familiar, the touch of an old friend coming for a visit.

Kurama did not have to ask.
He knew.

"Hello, Hiei," he whispered, his voice more hoarse than he would care for Hiei to hear.
Beside him upon the rain soaked bench, Hiei sat with the same poise and care as he'd had so
many years ago. The tension of expecting a fight never left a hardened warrior. A human
psychologist might consider Hiei a victim of PTSD, but demons would merely say Hiei was
smart. Very smart. "How are you?"

For a moment they said nothing, side by side as the cool night wind passed between
them.

"No update?" Hiei mused aloud.

"Nothing is working." Kurama was loathe to admit it, and the bitterness burned his
tongue.

"... I see." Hiei did not have much to say, and in the quiet that followed Kurama's
pessimistic admission the two looked out upon the city as one might look upon a fine painting in
the Louvre. To demons that had witnessed chaos, a peaceful town at night was one in the same to
a masterpiece. Such was its rarity in demon world.

Kurama knew what Hiei was saying in that silence.
He appreciated it.

"Thank you." Kurama whispered, to which Hiei gave him a slight look but said no more,
"We just have to keep looking. Something is out there. Something will turn up."

Who was Kurama speaking to now? Hiei or himself?

His heavy mind was so wrapped up in thoughts of the inevitable that he was taken aback
by the motion of Hiei reaching into his black coat to pull out a silk draw string bag. He handed it
to Kurama, who accepted it wordlessly to open it.

Inside, seeds glittered like gems. Kurama could sense their power, like tiny bombs in his
hand waiting to go off, and was suddenly struck with newfound hope. If these seeds were
combined with a few more he had at home...!

Kurama looked at Hiei, his eyes shining in the dark as they beheld the solemn figure at
his side.

"Where did you find these?" Kurama asked, unable to keep the gushing praise from his
voice. Hiei was a treasure for the desperate; a thorn in the side of the cruel.

"Spirit world," Hiei sneered, lounging against the wet bench and looking quite pleased
with himself. Kurama had missed that snarky little smile, how the tips of his fangs appeared
beneath his upper lip when he stretched his lips too tight.

"Rather dangerous don't you think?" Kurama could not help but make the jab as Hiei
rolled his eyes and looked away.

"Hardly." Hiei had no doubt seen worse in his time. "Their security systems are no better
than when we launched our own attack all those years ago."

Kurama smiled sadly, unable to forget the repercussions of that wild spree. Poor Hiei,
who had left Kurama's side with the intent to find Yukina only to return two days later wild and
drugged with a crazed scheme hatching in his baked mind. Kurama had been far from fooled,
knowing Hiei was acting on someone else's control.

The SDF was known for their approach on low class demons in human world. A higher
crime rate meant a higher need for their control... and drugging an unsuspecting demon was far
from beneath them.

"To be fair, it was mostly you and Gouki leading the way, I hardly did any attacking,"
Kurama mused. "I had to make sure someone didn't do anything out of the line while drugged."

Hiei glared at Kurama dully, but Kurama could not suppress the shudder that ran through
him as he remembered how Hiei had screamed himself hoarse in his dark cell upon awakening
from his haze and realizing his fall from 'grace'. That scream, so haunted and heavy, had stayed
with Kurama many nights after.

"I still can't believe that happened to you," Kurama admitted aloud, recovering to
continue on as Hiei gave him another derisive look. "I can use some of these seeds to create a
more powerful antidote. Thank you, Hiei." Kurama tied the drawstring tight upon the pouch,
putting it protectively into his breast pocket, "Truly. You are a wonderful friend."

"Shut up, Kurama," Hiei grumbled, relaxing into the bench again. As he closed his eyes,
the slightest flutter of a wince crossed his usually stoic features. Kurama sensed slight unease
and suddenly noted that Hiei's free hand was laying almost defensively against his stomach.
Could it be another wound had formed there? The last time he'd come to Kurama for aid, Hiei
had nearly received a fatal blow from Mukuro in that very spot. Such tactless behavior... really
Hiei ought to be a more understanding lover. Could it be that once again, Hiei had made a rude
or suggestive comment only to receive a prompt reminder of who wore the pants? Kurama could
not help the laugh that bubbled up from his throat, but he stifled it quickly when Hiei gave him a
dirty look.

"Another stomach wound?" Kurama asked, sly with knowing.

"No," Hiei said after a moment of pause, but Kurama cared not for his lies. Hiei could
weave tales like a spider, hiding himself in a web of silken strands that carried poison in their
touch. Kurama knew this; he would not be fooled.

"May I see your stomach, then?" Kurama asked, sitting up better in his seat to lean a little
into Hiei who bristled and scooted back even farther towards his own edge. He seethed.

"Touch me and I'll cut off your hand," Hiei snapped. Kurama had had no intentions of
touching Hiei to begin with; Hiei was well aware of the empty dance in their words. In a time
before Yusuke, Kurama and Hiei had known one another as partners. Yusuke's presence had
only caused that original pact to grow stronger, perhaps because they were both demons battling
with newfound morals and an appreciation for life. Kurama had, admittedly, been slightly ahead
of Hiei in the beginning with Shiori's love to help him through the transition... yet it had become
astoundingly clear when Hiei had allowed Mukuro to cradle him after their explosive battle that
Hiei had made his own progress.

Despite the occasional bruises that came from being in love with such a powerful woman,
Hiei was happy.
Or was he?

Hiei seemed tense as he glared dully at Kurama, who waited expectantly for Hiei to show
him his stomach. Irritable and venomous, Hiei jerked two buttons of his black coat free to lift up
his black shirt beneath. The skin there, normally healthy and tanned from hard work under the
Alaric sun was now sickly green and brown.

"Satisfied?" Hiei snarled, letting his shirt fall down and quickly buttoning up his coat
before Kurama could demand to see more. Kurama was far from satisfied, but to be fair Hiei had
done exactly as asked. What more could be asked of someone for whom actions meant
everything?

"Did you get into an argument?" Kurama asked after a tense moment, and Hiei made a
disgusted noise which boded ill for their conversation. He was nothing if not touchy where
Mukuro was concerned.

"Training," Hiei corrected.

"Rather aggressive for training," Kurama noted; he knew it was a lie. Hiei had no doubt
said something rude and tactless to Mukuro prompting a physical reply to leave him winded and
gasping for air. In Mukuro's defense, Hiei couldn't exactly make snide comments if he was
gagging on a collapsed esophagus.

"It's not aggressive, you're just weak," Hiei sneered. Kurama smiled, in spite of himself.

"I admit, your physical prowess far outmatches my own," Kurama murmured, and though
he could not explain why, he suddenly thought of Kuwabara's bulging triceps, his rippling
pectorals. Compared to Kurama's own body, lithe and toned, both Hiei and Kuwabara were
incredibly strong. There was something very attractive about the power they both could display.

"If you're going to compliment me, at least attempt to make it sound convincing. Your
pity party is feeble and shallow."

You're strong, too. Kurama knew how to read between the lines.

"Yes, I suppose I have my own strength." Kurama shrugged, thinking momentarily of his
own battles, in particular the ones with Karasu and Shigure. Shigure had been an honest and dark
fight, and he'd come out on top without relying upon his physically superior Yoko form (for
which he was rather proud).

Karasu on the other hand had been a fight to the death. From the moment Karasu had
pressed his body against Kurama's in that dim underground hallway he had marked himself for
death. He'd had wild intentions for the pair of them, for Kurama to pleasure him with his body
and somehow have a smile on his face while he did it.

Oh, how the foolish fell.

"Suppose?" Hiei drawled, folding his arms over his chest and closing his eyes to the
beauty of the city below. "I am not going to hold your hand. You know your own strength.
Acknowledge it or risk losing it."

Kurama looked at Hiei, at his state of relaxation that was still full of tension. An iron trap
waiting to slam shut.

He wondered if Hiei was ever fully relaxed. If Hiei allowed himself to feel peace, even
for the slightest moment? Kurama hoped he did. Hiei had certainly earned it in his short life.

"That is what the world requires," Hiei murmured, his eyes still closed. For the
unsuspecting passerby, Hiei might have looked asleep. Yet he would never do such a thing on a
park bench in the open. Hiei waited. Hiei watched. Hiei learned... and Kurama could respect that.

He had not lived close to a thousand years by being foolish.