Youth Gone Wild

A/N: First update (on my part) of the year, I do believe. Hope it—the year and the story—has been good for everyone so far, or at least not very horrible. In this chapter we meet a few more characters and learn a little more about already established ones, so here we go.


To address the reviewers:

To NyteKit, Karasu shall be making his proper debut in this chapter, and we’ll be seeing more of him, I promise. And thanks for pointing out the “one”-“on” thing; I haven’t yet but I’m going to edit Chapter 2 because there were a few one-letter errors like that.

To Sekah, Karasu’s working on a piece of his own, actually, as he’ll explain below ^^

To Kita Kitsune, Hiei’s interaction with the Koorime family was one of my favorite scenes to write in that chapter, especially the slimy flip-off, haha. And I like to write Yomi/Kurama scenes partly because he’s blind so it makes it more interesting (“Senses” I wrote using all descriptors except visual ones, because it was supposed to be his POV). I want to put a Kuronue/Kurama in the next chapter—we must be fair, right?

To BlueUtopiah, this chapter’s title might be more “heavy” than “glam”orous, but considering the larger genre as a whole I think that this band’s closer to the other ones I’ve used than it is to more modern examples such as, say, Cradle of Filth, no? And yes, I’ve literally put words in your mouth XP As for Karasu and Shuichi, you’ll have to read on.


Youth Gone Wild
Chapter 3: Stranger in a Strange Land
January 16, 2009

“He was at school?”

Shuichi nodded, and Shiori’s face slackened in relief. “His friend’s blind and has a kid. And, I think he might be his boyfriend.”

“Really?” He nodded again, but half-shrugged—he wasn’t a hundred percent, but the way they’d been talking. Nodding absently, Shiori repeated, “He was at school, then. So he hasn’t dropped out. Good.” Still she looked troubled, but then asked, “Aside from your cousin, did you meet anyone today?” He had, and listed off some names: Yusuke, Kuwabara, Keiko, Yukina, Hiei. This seemed to please her.

“Oh,” he said, remembering. “Kurama’s phone number. He gave it to me.” Pulling it out of his pocket, he gave it to his mother, and added, “His friend said they live on Skid Row Road.”

Probably not an assuring name, if the look on her face was anything to go by. “Does his friend have a name?” she asked, looking at the number and then tacking it up on the wall by the phone.

What had Hiei told him? “Gandhara. Yomi Gandhara.” His mother murmured something about a school directory. “You should probably call him before trying to go over or anything. He basically told me so earlier.”

“Of course,” she agreed, in an isn’t-that-obvious? tone. “Sudden movements might make him bolt.”

Like he was an animal gone feral. “Maybe he’s spooked.” Okay, that made him sound like a horse that’d scared during a storm or something. “His dad did just die, right?”

Conceding his point, Shiori added, “Then if moving out was just a knee-jerk reaction, I’d like to find out if it’s suiting him or if he needs to be coaxed home.” Sighing, she shrugged and said, “But it isn’t something I’ll find out this evening. Do you have homework?” He did. “Why don’t you go work on it, and I’ll have dinner ready in a little while, okay?”

Okay. There was no more talk of Kurama the rest of the night.

***

“What’s up with you, Shorty?”

Annoyed, Hiei looked up at Kuwabara, and monotonously answered, “A very ugly ape.”

“Hah. I meant, why do you look like shit?”

Personally Hiei thought that his own insult had been nicer. “Late night, jackass. You look like you’ve had a few hundred of those yourself recently.” Kuwabara glared at him and he smirked in return. Idiot didn’t even know he’d just helped bump Hiei’s morale up a few notches. Last night had sucked, so it felt good to get a few kicks now.

“Forget you, man. Jeez, guy asks a question, gets nothin’ but—Yukiiina!!” Now Kuwabara truly had forgotten about Hiei, leaving him in the dust, run off to greet his better half.

Yours and mine both, Hiei thought, a tad glumly.

“Hiei?”

Likelihood of his answering was usually so-so, but he recognized this voice. “Hn?” He turned around and looked curiously at an uncertain-looking Shuichi.

“I don’t want to bug you,” the redhead ventured, looking apologetic, “but I can’t find my first class. Do you know where the greenhouse is?”

Stupid school couldn’t name things right—“Yeah. Follow me”—; took a room in the back of the ag building, filled it full of plants and called that “green house,” like it was its own and detached or something. Least then it’d be easier to find if you’d never been out there before.

En route they ran into Kuwabara and Yukina, who’d apparently circled the corridors at least once already. This time it was she who asked after him: “Are you getting sick, Hiei?”

Really, did he look that bad? “No.” Just a late night. On a fucking porch, of all places to (not) sleep.

Kuwabara tried retaliating against Hiei’s “ugly ape” remark from before. “See, he’s trying to build up a freaky dead look for his role as pygmy-vampire-zombie for the school play.” Several lockers down there was a loud “Booooo,” followed by a metallic thud. “Oh shut up, Urameshi! At least I’m being creative.” However, this defense didn’t keep Yusuke from banging his forehead on the locker again, hands held around his throat and a repulsed expression on his face.

“Creative, perhaps; but not factual. I wrote no such character in the play.”

Turning around, Shuichi saw the owner of the voice, the apparent playwright. “Yea,” cheered Hiei unenthusiastically. “Thespian.”

“Orphan,” replied Karasu Bakudan coolly. Fluorescent lights played off and made strands of silky jet hair glitter as the “thespian” titled his head way from Hiei. Violet eyes appraised the boy standing beside him. “What may I call you?”

“My name’s—”

“Going to be called at the beginning of class,” Hiei interrupted. “Which starts in a few minutes. Let’s go.”

“O-kay—.” He stumbled a step or two as Hiei grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him along.

The brunette pulled him along until they’d turned a corner and gone half-way down the hall. “Do I look sick?” he asked after he’d let go of Shuichi.

Examining him for a moment, Shuichi said, “No, you look like you stayed up late.”

Nice and simple, see? Dark circles didn’t have to mean illness. None of the cousins had been around to be repelled by Kuwabara this morning, he’d noticed. Maybe they’d all caught pneumonia from each other’s chilliness. He could only hope, far-fetched as it was. “It’s out here,” he said, opening the doors at the end of the hall. “In that building.” Not five feet that-a-way, right next to the back parking lot. “There’s just one hallway. Go straight down, then through the last classroom before the ag shop. Your classroom’s right behind that one.” He made to leave, stopped, and added, “I’d show you, but I’m not allowed in there anymore without a faculty member.” So it didn’t seem like he was just dropping Shuichi or anything.

His explanation made Shuichi widen his eyes a bit. “Why? What happened?”

Shrugging, Hiei pursed his lips and muttered, “I started a couple of fires.” Or four. He shrugged again. “But they were all on accident.” For real. Whatever. He didn’t have any required classes out there, so it wasn’t like it was much of an inconvenience or anything. He’d always been unsettled by the sight of Yusuke and Kuwabara chasing each other around with lit blowtorches, anyhow. Anyway: “I’ve gotta go that way. Later.”

“Thanks,” Shuichi said, waving before walking up to the ag building and disappearing inside.

As for Hiei, there was a couch on the back of the stage calling to him.

***

Fourth period. Last period—block scheduling. Class had been sacrificed to an assembly. An assembly that probably didn’t need the full hour and a half. Shuichi had gone to get a drink just to pass the time. He was taking the long way around the school for similar reasons. It wasn’t really truancy.

“Chigo.”

Someone laid a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and spun around. It was “Thespian.” Brow furrowed, he corrected: “Shuichi.”

“Well, now I know your name.” The thespian replaced his hand on Shuichi’s shoulder. “Mine is Karasu. But Chigo is the name of my play. I had wanted to discuss it with you this morning before Jaganshi yanked you away.” His tone carried the slightest trace of ire. Just for a moment, though. “Do you know what a chigo is?” Shuichi shook his head. “A chigo was an adolescent boy. He would receive room, board, and education from a patron, and the chigo performed services in return. Often, sexual services.”

Knotting his brows, Shuichi restated: “The chigo was a boy concubine.”

“In a sense. As such matters usually go, in literature the chigo as a rule died by the end of most pieces.”

“Why?”

“Sickness, suicide, or at the hands of a lover.” He said it like it was something tender.

Shuichi shook his head. “That’s how, not why.”

Matter-of-factly Karasu replied, "Because it’s what the people want. No matter how they insist otherwise, it’s all about the angst.” And in much the same manner he said, “I think you’d make an exemplary chigo, Shuichi.”

… Compliment or not? “What do—?”

Bell ringing; assembly over. “My script will be finished and ready for auditions soon,” Karasu continued. “I would very much like you to be my chigo. Give it some thought?” The tails of his coat swished, his boots produced solid echoes on the tile of the empty hall as he walked away.

Empty hall, for a moment or two more. And then came the masses. Quickly Shuichi moved out of the way and made for his locker.

***

On his way out of the school Hiei saw Yusuke, and with a swift kick deposited the toe of his boot hard into the seat of the other boy’s pants. “Fucker,” he muttered darkly as he kept walking.

“What the—?! See, Keiko? Every time I try to ‘apply myself’ it doesn’t matter, because when Genkai’s not kicking my ass he is. ‘Apply myself,’ thanks for the shitty advi—”

Smack! “Don’t you dare talk to me like that, jerk!”

Hiei smirked. Dick hadn’t been dicking around like usual today, so Hiei’d been ground by his custom battle-ax. In the military Genkai had been a drill sergeant, and neither age nor a civilian job as athletics director and school disciplinarian had mellowed her out. To the chagrin of the school slackers, delinquents, and neo-Columbine kids.

—Unless you were Yoko Kurama, lounging in the rafters while Genkai berated Hiei out of his catch-up sleep on the couch backstage in the auditorium.—

Apparently there was an assembly last hour, and he’d sure as hell better show his sorry lazy ass there if he didn’t want detention for the rest of the year!

Joke was on her: he’d already filled up most of this semester, so her threat was nil.

Astonishingly, probably due to some error in communication in the office, Hiei’s time served today was complete with the last bell. After paying Yusuke back for being a well-behaved bastard, Hiei walked toward downtown. No way was he going home yet—no fucking way in hell. Besides, he had a bone to pick with the owner (all right: renter, technically) of the porch he’d spent the night on.

Before he found her, though, he ran into an increasingly more familiar face, which turned around and revealed itself before he’d said anything. “Where are you going?” he asked. The Kurama, or Minamino, house was the other way from the school.

“Oh.” Shuichi shrugged. “I don’t have much homework and Mom won’t be home for a few more hours, so I thought I’d do some exploring. Would you like to come with?”

People he encountered in the street were usually afraid he’d mug them or something. “There’s nothing for me to explore,” he replied. Street fronts, back alleys, and the buildings in between: he’d scoped them all out before.

“Then you can be my guide.”

Fine, okay… “Hungry?” Hiei asked. Before Shuichi could answer he continued, “Because I am. So we’re going to Enki’s first.”

“Who’s Enki?”

Enki was a very large, very sunburnt, very good-natured man who co-owned the pizza place, Enki’s. “That blonde back there is Enki’s wife, Koko,” Hiei told Shuichi after they’d paid for the buffet and filled their plates. Hiei’s plate featured what looked like Enki’s attempt to wed gumbo and pizza, boasting shrimp and big chunks of pepper. Shuichi meanwhile had alternated between modest pepperoni and a vegetarian that resembled a garden on crust. “The liquor store’s thinking of renaming itself in her honor.”

“You gossip like a girl.”

Without looking at the third party Hiei replied, “You’re reliable as a coke-mom,” and took a bite of shrimp and pepper. After he’d swallowed: “I spent the night on your porch because you weren’t home.”

Mukuro rolled one blue eye. He wasn’t sure whether the cyberkinetic one rolled or not. “You should have called. I was out.”

Nineteen-year-old Mukuro Herru. Employee of Enki’s. Graduate of Reikai High. Former resident of the burn ward. Survivor of the foster care system. On-and-off kindasorta of Hiei. “With whom?” he grumbled. Mukuro had a few of her own kindasortas.

“She’ll kick your ass if you get nasty with me, or have her brother do it.”

Ah—Shizuru, Dumbass’s sister. “Bring it on,” Hiei replied, smirking behind a slice of pepper half-hanging out his mouth.

“You’re so brave, or impetuous. Now let me ask: ‘With whom?’”

Meaning, With whom was he eating? “Mukuro Herru. Shuichi Minamino.” He gestured toward the such-named boy, who quickly blinked, flushed, and managed a too-hasty Hello. It was the norm with anyone who’d never met—seen—Mukuro before, but Shuichi recovered with much more speed and grace than most.

She raised an eyebrow, but not at Shuichi’s reaction. “Didn’t know you had a thing for redheads,” she said to Hiei, amused. (“Fuck you,” the brunette answered, while the boy redhead looked slightly confused.) To Shuichi: “Yomi mentioned you. You’re Kurama’s cousin.”

He nodded. “You know them?”

“I work with Yomi. Consequently half the time he’s here, Kurama is too.”

The bell above the door rang. “What’s up, Iron Maiden? We heard Enki’s rigged up some new thing with tofu.”

Casting a consternated look Kuronue’s way over the nickname, Mukuro replied, “He did and it’s disgusting. Let me guess, you’re asking after his”—Kurama, who was trying to persuade Shura to come inside the place rather than just sit on the stoop—“tastes?”

“Oh ha-ha, is that supposed to be a dish at me or something? Speaking of dishes, we need a personal one of those of the tofu, one large vegetarian and one large Hawaiian, all to go, and we’ll be using your dishwasher’s discount.”

At least he was to the point. “Right, you want a drink with that or anything?” Before taking the order back to the kitchen she told Hiei, “I’ll be off at six if you want to talk about last night later.” He gave a noncommittal grunt, though odds were that he would.

When she’d left Shuichi asked, “Was she in an accident?”

Figuring it wasn’t his story to tell, Hiei just said “Not really,” and got up for another plate.

In the kitchen Mukuro paused while Yomi moved back and forth with a cart of clean dishes before returning to the sink. Having worked here for a few years, he was able to navigate the place sightless easily enough. “Your family’s here,” she told him.

“Oh,” he muttered, sliding a rack of plates into the machine and slamming the lever down. “Guess the high school’s out, then?”

School could be a touchy subject with Yomi. He was still recently blind and still had bitter moments. “I guess, unless they, Hiei, and Kurama’s cousin are all skipping.”

Unsure of Shuichi Minamino’s habits, they could very well be. “They’ve got Shura, right?”

“That would be one of the motives behind the word ‘family’.”

“Good; I can count on them keeping an eye on him, instead of just paying lipservice to parenting.”

Ah: Mukuro knew what was up now. Earlier there’d been a family with two boys that had shoved a chair right in Yomi’s path, which since Yomi didn’t use the cane in Enki’s, had almost sent him flying. “That’s what little boys do—be big pains in the ass and try everyone’s patience to the point of homicide. What’re you going to do when Shura’s the age?”

Dead serious: “Kick his ass.”

Out front the bell above the door rang again, and this time Shishi Wakamaru and Suzuka Kyougi entered. Kurama watched both as they went to the counter and he returned from the fountain with a glass of water, then caught Hiei’s eye and smirked. Would Ms. Enshutsu hear about this encounter?

Fuck you, Hiei mouthed. He hardly knew either of them.

Switching sophomores now, Kurama looked at Shuichi and asked, “Am I expecting a phone call from your mother?”

“Maybe. Probably.”

“Fine, so long as she doesn’t come knocking all of a sudden. Especially given that I’m unsure she’s been in that part of town; though it appears that you’re branching out. How did you get Mr. Misanthrope to be your escort?”

“Fuck you,” Hiei voiced this time. Shuichi watched while Yoko smirked at Hiei, leaning leftward when the boy in black threw a crust his way, and resumed his former position, still smirking.

Still smirking when he nonchalantly said, “I’m a little caught up right now to add a dwarf to my repertoire.”

Opposite him Kuronue choked, tried, failed to suppress a series of chuckles. “Sorry,” he said to Hiei, biting his lip as he doubled over—

—Which gave Shura an adequate moment of negligence to crawl off Kuronue’s knee, onto the table, and knock over the glass of water.

Right onto Kurama.

Now Hiei smirked and Shuichi went bug-eyed as the flaxen-haired boy lunged to his feet with a loud gasp. Kuronue meanwhile was howling. “YOMI!” he bawled, wiping his eyes. “Come see what your kid’s done!”

“Put a cork in it!” Koko barked from the kitchen.

“Yes, please, Kuronue,” Kurama concurred tersely. It’d be unwise to try Yomi’s boss and their landlady just because she and Enki didn’t have any direct leverage on Kuronue himself. When the Man in the Floppy Hat managed to stifle himself to spare snorts, and had pulled Curious Shura off the table (amidst waving toddler arms and emphatic “Mamamamama!”s—Shura for “Nonononono!”), Kurama emptied the napkin holder of most its contents and, after reducing himself from dripping to damp, began cleaning up the table.

Not long after he started Kuronue objected: “You’re wiping counterclockwise. It’s supposed to be clockwise. Doing it counterclockwise is going against the sun.”

Smiling a little Schadenfreude smile, Kurama said, “Oh, is that bad luck?”

“Yes!” Despite a pretty level head most of the time, Kuronue was a touch, or maybe more, superstitious. Certain little things had to be done in certain little ways or it spelled potential disaster, from the classic avoidance of stepping on cracks (on Skid Row Road, where most of the sidewalks were broken up, Kuronue commonly walked either on the grass or in the street), to the more obscure clockwise circular wiping strategy. Not that Kurama was going to accommodate him—asshole had practically just pissed himself laughing at Kurama’s bath courtesy of Shura, hell if he was going to alter something that was nipping at said asshole’s OCD-ness. Looking up, Kurama’s Scadenfreude smile broadened when he saw Kuronue clinging to his security blanket, a bejeweled red pendant on a thong around his neck. His hand, the one not holding Shura back from climbing up on the table again, turned it over and over, fingers worrying the edges and facets (for as much as he did it, Kurama was surprised that the bauble still had facets). Ass! accused indigo eyes as they glared down at Kurama’s rebellious fingers, as though doing it long enough would result in telekinetically correcting the fiends.

No such luck, and Kurama had adequately tipped the scales by the time Yomi came out with the personal tofu, large vegetarian, and large Hawaiian, all boxed up. “What is it I was supposed to ‘see’ Shura do?”

“Little pervert entered Kurama in a wet t-shirt contest,” Kuronue answered with a grin, distracted now from the sun-defiantly cleaned table. “I’d be careful if I were you; this could be an early sign of an Oedipus complex.”

“You know Freud was a closeted bisexual and a self-hating Jew, right?” Kurama inquired, opening the personal box and taking out a piece of tomato saucy tofu goodness. Half the slice was consumed before he concluded: “Doesn’t strike me as someone worth investing an exorbitant amount of esteem in.” Maybe Ms. Enshutsu should consider that, before making speculations as to why Kurama did what.

“Save me some Hawaiian,” Yomi said. Meaning, I have to get back to work.

“Score us some leftovers,” Kuronue replied. “Kurama, you wanna carry the food or the kid?”

In light of recent wetness the decision was obvious. Kurama stuffed another piece of tofu in his mouth and then picked up the stack of boxes. Looking Hiei’s and Shuichi’s way, he shrugged one shoulder, having no available hand to wave, and forced open the door with the other shoulder. Kuronue caught it with a leg so that it didn’t shut on Shura and him.

This entire time Shuichi had been unable to watch without staring just a little. “You didn’t know about him,” Hiei guessed.

“Who is he?”

“His name’s Kuronue Koumori.”

“Are they … Are all of them…?”

He shrugged. Yomi and Kurama were fucking. Kurama and Kuronue were fucking. But Hiei didn’t know if this was an “a equals b and b equals c, therefore…” scenario, and if a also equaled c and Yomi and Kuronue were also fucking, he didn’t know if they ever squashed the formula into abc’s—Moreover, he didn’t want to know and he shouldn’t know. He was a mere acquaintance by consequence of Kurama and he both making Principal Daio nervous; it was probably fucked up that he knew more than Kurama’s own cousin. Hiei thought it was fucked up enough in his own personal life that he knew who all his kindasorta’s kindasortas were (himself obviously, Kiren, Shizuru, there was that fling with Natsume, that one he was pretty sure happened with Koko, and he was never quite sure about Yomi, though he did know that Mukuro wasn’t whatever “cold, steely bitch” was co-responsible for spawning Shura…).

Or maybe it wasn’t as fucked up as it seemed, and Hiei was simply a lot less open than everyone else. Since that option made him the stranger anomaly, it was probably the accurate one.

Suddenly Shuichi laughed. “So much for today’s exploration. Mom gets of work soon, so I should be going. Thanks for bringing me here, though. Now I know where to come for dinner and a show.”

Hiei snorted. At least this one didn’t go into all-out corniness like Kuwabara and Yusuke could. “See you at school.”

Luckily for Hiei, “Mom” was cold in the ground feeding worms, so he had no maternal figure to worry and keep waiting while he sat here, munching on Enki’s concoctions and waiting for Mukuro to get off.

***

Yoko Kurama. Milky moonlight hair. Alabaster skin. Full lips the color of palest pink rose (and the texture of, he knew from brief—terribly, teasingly, brief—experience). Long slender limbs on a long slender body. And those eyes, two points of cold light, foreboding but drawing your attention to the fact that there was a secret inside, that he would never give up and you would never figure out.

Exciting.

But like glittering snow or a silken rose, with Kurama’s appeal there came a bite, a sting. It was his chilly personality in particular that made Karasu grow hot. His fervent attempt to know Kurama had been cut short with an impersonal shove, a few curt words—end scene. The keeper of the unanswerable question was also something unattainable.

Exciting.

Today, though, he was absolutely tingling. He had met the earthly sensuous counterpart to Kurama’s alien changeling from the moon: Shuichi. Abundant, thick, wavy magenta hair. Wide, glittering eyes that looked—looked, at everything in a manner more receptive than Kurama’s manipulative. Rosy complexion. Chubby adolescent physique. Lush, ripe, demanding to be plucked up like Ganymede and devoured and lauded for every full, sensational detail, and Karasu had already authored dozens of scenes by which this could be accomplished.

It was art.

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

A/N: More surnames…

Mukuro: Herru = Hel—one of the three children of the Norse god Loki; split vertically, half gorgeous woman, half rotting corpse (“Mukuro” = “Corpse”).

Shishiwakamaru: duh, right?

Suzuka: Kyougi = Vanity

Koenma: “Daio” seems to be part of his father’s title in the show, and since he’s Enma Junior, it seemed like a logical surname candidate.