Second Try

Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuu Yuu Hakusho, or any of its characters. Those belong to Yoshihiro Togashi-sama, who made a lot more out of them than I ever could have. ^^;; I just do fanfiction for fun, and earn no monetary rewards for writing it. Reviews are, of course, worth as much as silver.

Title: Second Try
Chapter Three: Past
Word Count: 6,805
Anime: Yuu Yuu Hakusho
Pairing: HieixKurama, ?xKurama
Warning: Shounen ai, violence, language
Author: Kita Kitsune
Date: Sunday(sun-day!), August 2, 2009
Miscellaneous Notes: Wow! Fast chapter, right? Although I probably won’t post this for a little while. ;3 Gotta love those reviews~! Please don’t forget them~~ And by the way, this chapter takes place entirely in the past. Hope you guys don’t get too confused and lost! :3

To SirPsychoSexy: Thanks so much for the review! I was actually going for ‘roan’ as a darkish brown, but other words for brown are so over-rated that I got tired of them. Not going for ‘red’, per se. Aiming for that dark brown color we see on cows and horses, ‘cause it sort of reminded me of Yuusuke’s eye color. :3 So I know it’s mainly used for that, but—ah! And I subscribe to the opinion that Kubikukuri Island is half-and-half. A weird permutation between the worlds, ‘cause I figure there has to be a barrier somewhere, when there isn’t a Tournament going on, so hapless humans don’t stumble into Makai, and obviously so the demons attending the Tournament don’t go ransacking Ningenkai. Since it’s Reikai-sanctioned, too, I figure they’ve put an ‘official’ tunnel between Makai and Ningenkai somewhere on that island, as the demons have to come from somewhere, and of course Reikai wants all the youkai and bloodshed far removed from human contact. So, yes… perhaps I did make a bit of a faux pas, there, (forgot that Jin and Touya and Team Masho were fighting for the island, and they say in that instance that it’s part of the Ningenkai, I think…) but it can all be logically worked out(in my mind, at least… x.x;; ) !

Thanks for the review on ‘Cheat’(lol, mention of Sensui—and ‘Wild’, a while back!), too… I dunno what FL(…unless it’s ‘Friend’s List?’) means, but thank you so much for recommending me, somewhere. x.x I always appreciate (your) reviews, even if you’re being ‘nitpicky’ about some things. That’s good—‘criticism’ like that helps me grow as a writer! Thanks for letting me know… and I guess I’m going to post this chapter today, because I’m bad at waiting and holding chapters hostage for more reviews. x.o; And you reviewed it first, on both of my accounts(FF and AFF)! So this chapter’s posted so early because of you(otherwise I would’ve held out/forgotten about it for a few months until I had the next one fully written), ‘cause then I know someone’s actually reading and liking it. Feel special~!

...I just checked your LJ and it made me almost squee(and I don't squee). I have a fan~! I have someone who's reviewed more than one fic of mine in the past two years that isn't BlueUtopiah-sama~~!! *_* Nyey. So you get plugging at the beginning of this chapter. xD Anyone who's reading this, you like Sensui/Itsuki or the one Karasu/Kurama fic he's got over there on his AFF page, GO CHECK THE REVIEW PAGE FOR THIS FIC AND CLICKY ON HIS USERNAME(...there. Now we're all even for the plugging-ness. x.x;; Thaaaaaaank youuuu~! I have a fan, I have a fan...~! *___* .......and am running on no sleep. Can you tell? Thus the idiotic babble.).

REVIEW, PEOPLE(who don’t review), DAMN YOU, REVIEW! I don’t get paid for this(despite how much I love it, but still it’s good to feel appreciated), so I can at least entreat you for feedback. D: Grr. Show me it’s worth my time to sit down and settle and write fanfiction instead of occupying my time with other hobbies(and oh trust me, I’ve got a bunch of them)!

(Of course, mhmartini and Ayako’s reviews have been well-worn and much-loved, too. Thanks! ;3)

…in case anyone was wondering, this is why I don’t answer reviews, much(anymore).

I tend to rant. x.x

And take up pointless space in the beginning of a chapter.

...Ack.

: : : : : : :

~Four Months Earlier~

Step. Slash.

Parry.

Above.

Head open. Kill.

Side open. Kill.

All thoughts were trained on the motions his body followed through with.

Mindful training, at its most mindless best.

He could still see the sunlight playing against the outline of that slender, vibrant figure reposed silently upon the bed. It was dawn. The breeze was chill against his back, as he was yet only in his sleeveless shirt, cloak dragging slightly on the floor. He dared not move. He dared not leave until the kitsune had so given him ‘permission’ to leave, by way of the conversation coming to its mutual termination.

Teeth grit, and he forced his mind from such thoughts.

Dart. Flit.

Side open. Crouch.

DrawKill.

The unshed tears merely collected in the eyes, causing the bright irises to glimmer tragically against the sun that began to poke out from the horizon to greet his back. None fell. Kurama was far too experienced with holding his emotions in to the extent that Hiei was surprised the fox didn’t contract ulcers and migraines from all the stress it must be to continue his unflinching mirage of cool, collected dignity.

A loud curse interrupted the silence only previously punctuated by the sounds of a blade neatly cutting air.

“Fuck!” In a bad temper, garnet eyes cast about hotly, looking for something to ruin. Settling upon the nearest available tree—one with a trunk easily a few meters in width—he was upon it in an instant, hacking away at the unfortunate wood with his fists, little care to the splinters embedding themselves in his knuckles as he began to break the bark’s protective surface and thus started to rend the fragile growth beneath. He vented his frustration—not for all the reasons one might think, but for the sheer frustration of the sensation that buckled through him like hot electrical wire.

Stupid fox.

He did not care. He’d nearly seen tears. No. Kurama was smothering him. He couldn’t breathe. The damn fox was too clingy. Too desperate for company. Too content with dull routine. Unlike himself, Kurama was Weak. Becoming Weaker by the day. Weakness had no place in his universe. How he’d put up with the stifling affection for so long was beyond him. Likely that ‘love’ emotion the kitsune spoke of too often for his tastes—perhaps he had felt it, before, as he had with so very many others. And, as with them, it had faded when they had stopped ‘growing’ in the relationship. When everything was dull and familiar. Dolefully predictable.

Even the former youko had lost his edge, it seemed. The sharp wit was hidden by layers of covering humanity… in the end, he’d seen it. The fox had no identity. There was no sense of ‘self’. Only a mindless puppet that reacted to every situation differently, every person differently. Depending on how he was to manipulate them. No, perhaps it was not intentional. But the kitsune was so struggling to reconcile the two extreme facets of his personality that it left him blank. How the hell had Kurama survived as long as he had?! Why would he even pursue relationships if he knew nothing of who he was! Yes, yes, the kitsune was the King of Thieves, the Legendary Youko, adept at both botanical and psychological manipulation, as arrogant as the sky was dark during a solar eclipse at midday, stupidly vain, horrendously used to getting his way… but he was no one. In that ever-clever youko’s heart of hearts, he did not understand himself. Kurama did not understand his emotions, was jarred by the powerful after-effects of them, and sought to control them like everything else in his life.

A cool, calm, collected face even as his lover left him?! The hell! The kitsune hadn’t even tried to stop him! What was that about?! The youkai couldn’t understand not fighting to keep someone. It didn’t bother his own sense of self-worth—that was developed enough on its own, even as being a victor in the Dark Tournament had bolstered it a bit more sufficiently—but it further engrained in him the possibility that the tricky fox had only been playing with him. Not that Kurama would… but the Youko, for all his talent and power, was an unknown entity he did not perhaps wish to become any further acquainted with. Those stronger than he were not often welcome company—and while he saw himself to be on just about equal footing with the redhead, the cunning silver fox was too unpredictable for his tastes. Yuusuke was another beast entirely, and Kuwabara—even as he’d surprised everyone in his battle against Toguro Ani in the final round of the Dark Tournament, three months ago—, while he’d earned a bit more respect, was still too low in his opinion to count.

A calm face. Utter detachment. As though Kurama were watching Hiei leave from elsewhere, a place other than his own body. A thoughtless need to be close, signified by how the kitsune had quietly moved to touch his cheek—it wasn’t as though he had been affirming the situation was real. No. The kitsune had needed the contact. For precisely what reason, the Jaganshi couldn’t determine, but it likely had something to do with the fox’s Weakness.

Humanity had gifted the fox with a powerful new weapon to appropriate into his arsenal, indeed.

Human emotion.

Irrepressible, inconsistent, irrational and idiotic.

All more for the reason that Kurama did all of these things, when it came to his own emotions. He empathized with anyone, sympathized with those in need(or at the very least appeared to), and attempted to smile his way out of nearly any situation. He could neatly describe your own emotions and reactions to you almost clinically, if he so wished(not that the fox made a habit out of it—politeness had been too engrained into his being by that damned human mother of his), and give excellent advice on what would be the best course of action to take to remedy any emotional pitfalls you may be having in a relationship. His kind tone, patience and self-control won over everyone, in the end—and Hiei had to admit he’d fallen for that façade, at first.

However, in his soul… in his soul, the kitsune was utterly barren. Centuries upon centuries of life had worn him down, and perhaps the only reason he was so accommodating so much of the time, now, was because his human life was so short, but instead of living it to the fullest extent as someone else might have, he was stricken by the thought of those closest to him dying in the blink of an eye.

There was no doubt Kurama was the oldest of them all. Where Koenma had seen decades of his current job, the kitsune had seen centuries. He had seen centuries of death in Makai, as well. Odds were that the youko hadn’t cared as much, back then—demonic emotions were very different. Wild, yes. Passionate, yes. But the vast populous did not hold themselves to such strict standards of control as the youko did, even back before he’d been reincarnated—although he most certainly had a better sense of self, then. Emotion was not the romantic vision the humans had. Lust. Greed. Gluttony. Sloth. Wrath. Envy. Pride. All those acts commonly condemned by human religions—religion, ha! Humans had religion. Demons had philosophy, but in its cheapest sense, usually.

His own philosophy was simple: Be Strong. Keep training to remain Strong, for then you will one day be the Strongest.

Or, at least, that was the philosophy he presented to the world. No need for everyone to know just how greatly he treasured his sister’s existence, or that part of the reason he trained so much was to protect her, should she need it from him, ever again. The Tarukane affair had instilled in him a nervous awareness he didn’t realize he could possess, and while it was easily converted into a more useful emotion—often anger—the fact remained that no one should hear it spoken aloud. It was safer for her, that way. He pointedly ignored the similarity this brought between him and the fox—where the kitsune enshrouded his mother in lies and subtle, protective plants, Hiei remained quiet and allowed Yukina to live as she deemed best. The difference was that Kurama took an active, almost smothering role in defending his mother, while the Jaganshi silently kept in the shadows, ready to leap out at a moment’s sign of danger, but otherwise continuing to live his own life and let his sister live hers. Free.

But Kurama’s philosophy? He’d managed to bleed something from the cryptic fox, and it wasn’t especially reassuring…

Jade depths had grown distant, a pencil idly tapping against his lips as the kitsune’s gaze wandered to the darkened night sky just to his left, as the hankoorime’d been settled on the right corner of the windowsill, per the usual arrangement(that was, the fox doing his schoolwork as Hiei quietly waited)—but this night he’d broken the companionable silence with a question.

“…Kurama.”

“—hmm?”

“What is living, to you.”

First, emerald had flicked his way—before then the redhead seemed to find the firm inquiry in Hiei’s otherwise unreadable stare, and his own trailed off, tone growing mildly absent.

“…’what is living’, you ask? Hm, well…” Here a smile, head tipping lightly towards the Jaganshi as eyes slid shut to crescent moons, and the hankoorime’s expression darkened a notch. Whenever Kurama smiled so easily, an inadvertent lie would doubtlessly be soon to follow. He questioned whether the redhead noticed that mannerism of his, or simply remained sadly oblivious.

“Living is different things to different people. To a child, living may simply be seeing their friends and family every day. To a teenager, living may be experiencing the moment and taking risks that seem worthwhile, at the time. To a young adult—“

“Shut the fuck up.” He was startled, at that, pausing obediently but casting a curious glance my way.

“…is there a problem with my answer? I’d have thought—“

“I said, shut up, you stupid fox.” Teeth grit behind my carefully impassive face, although I was sure my gaze was scorching, jaw clenched ever so slightly in frustration. The same types of answers, again and again. The last thing I wanted to hear was more textbook answers, more generalized answers from the being before me. “I asked what is living, to you. I don’t give a rat’s ass about what other people might think ‘living’ to be. Kurama. What keeps you going, every day.”

He paused, blinking at me as though he’d never seen me, before. Then the faintest of curves curled up the corner of his mouth in a lightly crooked smile. The expression sharpened my senses. Perhaps I would get a real answer—yes, perhaps finally, I thought, as he turned his sight from mine once more(yet another familiar idiosyncrasy), gaze hazing briefly before falling half-shut, still with that warm half-smile quirking up his lips… as though he half-regretted the answer.

“Then, I suppose… as foolish as it may sound, Hiei—‘living’, to me, is… being with those you love.” He cast me a glance, then, expression beaming slightly although I couldn’t help but wonder at the level of sincerity behind it—or if he was just being subtly ironic. But he continued, and I noticed his eyes slid from that brief contact with mine, once more. “…it is ensuring that those you love are happy and content. That you are living up to their dreams and expectations of you.” Something ugly was starting to shadow his response, in my opinion, although nothing in his manner or tone changed. I merely felt a growing sense of disquiet in my gut, traveling slowly upwards as he continued to speak.

It was the first time I would find myself doubting if I would ever truly know who he was, if he so fully gave himself over to the happiness of his mother… and, with a horrifying flash of insight…

For those he ‘loved’… that included all of the team, as well. He presented who was convenient for them to see. Who they wanted to see. Who they needed. The team needed a calm, analytical and intelligent fighter. He could be all those things, and so he was. To us. Altering his self around us so we would never see beyond it. Compartmentalizing his personality.

I suppose I was lucky to realize I had just now scratched the surface of who it was I was ‘in love’ with, at the time. Which meant—that all of the months previous, all the secrets that had passed between us… I might as well have been trying to get to know a stranger. He had locked himself away so adeptly, that even with me, he was acting. Showing nothing of his true self, but—there was a distinct possibility it was subconscious, at least—manipulating. Giving me what I wanted so I could be happy, and reflexively he would be content with making that happen.

But he did slip. Not verbally. But physically. I don’t even think he would have been aware he’d done it, if I hadn’t pointed it out to him. The constant touching. Affection. Far beyond my own needs. But he seemed not to want to take from me, and the first time I mentioned this he took it calmly—as always—but the next time I noticed he quietly refrained from growing physically close to me, at all. The only sign of the effort was that he smiled perhaps a little bit less, and that there was a sad, distant flicker in his gaze that hadn’t been there, before. It unsettled me.

I suppose I was lucky to realize it, then.

That I could never love the real Kurama.

Simply because he didn’t exist.

And if he did not exist, there would be nothing to stop him from giving up his life.

As with his human mother and the Mirror of Darkness.

As with every battle he had fought in the Ankoku Buujutsukai.

Every injury. Every scratch. It meant nothing to him.

Pain was nothing to him.

Because likely since the day he first became aware, he had shut off his inner self and gotten used to the pain of it, so as to be able to present an image people desired.

I suppose it was lucky I realized it.

Although he would never understand.

I could never love him, with him living that way.

It would only be one-sided.

And one day… he would go off.

The years of strict control would break him, if they hadn’t already.

The Youko—that dangerous, unethical, selfish, homicidal individual—would rise to the surface once more, with a terrifying vengeance for being suppressed for so long.

And when I think of that haunted look in his eyes—the only hint of emotion in his face as I told him it was over, that we were done, that I was ‘bored’—I know it was just because I couldn’t handle the pressure.

I couldn’t handle the pressure to hold him together, or the blame I would receive if he broke under my watch.

It was selfish of me, perhaps.

…But, then.

I’m not Kurama, am I?

I don’t sacrifice my independence for someone.

The most important person in my life is myself.

Be Strong.

…Someday I will be the Strongest.

: : :

~Three Months Earlier~

Dark, glittering stars in the dead of night.

The eerie glow of the city around them.

Two small figures, atop the roof of an apartment building.

One shadowed, hidden off to the side, seeming nervous.

The other held his arms aloft, murmuring a quick, repetitive set of chants under his breath. The upwardly-spiked, closely-cropped black hair easily provided a view of the many various metallic earrings decorated around the shell of an audit. His right hand was wrapped around a thin metal pole that looked like a Satanist mockery of a Buddhist monk’s wooden staff. Thinly-welded circles of black steel jingled against one another as he waved it about, his breath controlled, keeping the chants steady.

Innocent eyes widened behind him, the figure apparently unnoticed as the small creature huddled in the shadows, too terrified to step forward, due to the suddenly heavy presence in the air. To distract herself, telling herself that demons weren’t real and they were in no real danger, she fixed her eyes on her brother, ignoring the tears beginning to sting the corners. He’d been late, coming home—she’d feared he’d gone up to the roof to do another of his ‘Summonings’, as they called them. Nothing ever came of them, but they were certainly creepy enough to begin to worry her…

That is, ‘worry’ her until an eerily reddish glow began to coalesce from the air above the fire he’d made, and then she was just terrified as his lips curled upward in glee, gazing up at the lazily-swirling mist-like entity that descended towards him as though a languid hurricane from the sky.

When he tipped his face up, the reddish mist only a meter from his upturned expression of utter rapture, she found herself running across the blacktop towards him, the fear unfreezing her legs as she cried out, hot, sticky streams of tears running down her face as she outstretched her arms towards one of his, intent on grabbing him, bringing him back before that… that thing could touch him and she’d lose the only family that still—

She’d never thought he’d take it this far.

His new friends… those occult weirdos… they’d made him lose his job, and now—

“’niisan! Yame—!!“ A sickening squelch wet the air, and she coughed in the midst of her entreating plea for him to stop, pretty drops of red spilling onto paling lips as she stared blankly ahead, horrified but not quite comprehending at finding one end of the staff jingling merrily just above the place where her brother’s hand now grasped it—the closer end impaled through her chest, through one of her own lungs, no doubt, and clearly having hit her heart, because blood was quickly emptying out of her body as she fell to her knees, doubling over and hacking up more of the life-giving fluid, widened and pathetic-looking eyes straining as she writhed in agony, trying to glance up, to catch a glimpse of the man—but then the pole twisted in her chest and she wheezed for breath, back arching into an agonized bow and she gasped in pain as it was pushed further in… and only then, through the haze of pain, was she aware of a supernaturally smooth grin curling up the corners of what once had been her dear brother’s face, and doe-brown eyes struggled to stay open as that abomination of a visage drew nearer, close enough that most of the pole protruded out her back, another weak jingle of the circled hoops of black against silver steel tinkling out as it at last hit the front of her chest, the fabric of her shirt already drenched and sopping.

Her vision was fogging, but she caught a floating-red-sort-of-blur where eyes might have been and sickeningly sweet words whispered into her ear, ghostly chilled skin scraping the heat there, the utterance almost deafened with the pounding of her frantic pulse and what felt like cotton, stuffed in her ears…

“My, my… what an exquisite gift offered by my host. It is a shame to leave you here for them to find, in such a state… but currently, I cannot afford to be caught. Not when given such a breathtakingly rare chance.” It was her ‘niisan’s voice and yet it wasn’t—his usually gruff way of speaking was now eloquently smooth, and the usually warm tone now almost menacingly soft—although it seemed like the sentence cost the creature a good bit of energy, as his next comment was almost panted, as though he was beginning to breathe with more labor.

The last words she ever knew, alive, before that flicker of night departed without a trace, were—

“Do—give my regards… to Reikai.”

~An Hour Later~

“…are you ready?” The solemn lady in a black kimono stood just across from her, on the other side of the mangled body that had once been hers. Her own small, now-pale hands were clasped in front of her, tightly holding onto each other as she looked down at the bloodied form, eyes shadowed by soft ebony. Perhaps she was crying—but when she raised her head, the shinigami could see there were no tears. Nonetheless, she stood patiently there, awaiting the recently deceased little girl’s decision to go.

What surprised her was how soft and firm that little girl’s voice was, as she only inquired as to one small question.

“…Shinigami-san. Please. My brother might have died here, tonight… is he—“ Petite eyebrows raised, but the solemn woman bowed slightly, turning to leaf through her booklet. A slight crease in her forehead revealed the information she came across.

“…I am sorry, Kanisawa-san. But your brother is not yet scheduled to die.” She kept quiet that the girl’s fate had drastically changed, only a few hours ago, that she would ‘die due to an occult-summoning accident’. She took out her oar, regally seating herself upon it and floated around to the girl, extending a hand. Empathizing with small children was normally Botan’s job—her cheery demeanor tended to ease them into the realization that they were dead—but with the Ankoku Buujutsukai still wrapping up, her co-worker, Jorge Saotome the blue oni, and Koenma-sama were yet busied with—celebrating with, no doubt—the surviving championship team… which was Koenma-sama’s Reikai Tantei and the well-known psychic Genkai, amazingly enough.

A soft, too-thin pale hand in hers jarred her out of her thoughts and the sedate dark-haired ferry woman smiled as best she could—still coming off as rather reserved and solemn—pulling the girl onto her lap and locking her into a safe position with both of her arms, advising the preteen to hold onto the space of the oar just beneath the ferrier’s own hands, to keep from falling off. The girl nodded, following the instructions in a quietly obedient fashion, and the rest of the trip to Reikai would be uneventful.

Mentally, the older female checked off the list in her head, although careful to keep her arms secure around her new charge until they made it safely over the River Styx and into the Gate of Judgment.

Kanisawa Meirin. Age eleven. Resident of Tokyo.

That, however sad it may be, was not cause for worry. This was a simple open-and-shut case.

: : :

~One Month Later~

“Please, Ayame-san!” The little girl was tugging at her kimono sleeve rather endearingly, large brown eyes of a preteen who would never reach puberty begging her as much as her voice was. “Please! Something happened to ‘niisan, back when I died… didn’t I tell you?? Didn’t I tell you?! He was acting weird! Please, can’t you—“

“Kanisawa-san, please do calm down.” Her voice was somber, quiet, but softly focused dark eyes conveyed enough sadness that the girl did as she was told, clasping her arms in front of her and looking away. She was trying to adjust, really she was—the nice ferry lady, Ayame-san, had told her all would be well, now that she was on this side of the barrier between Reikai and Ningenkai. No one could hurt her, anymore, as she was a ghost, so said Ayame—and she had been here for who knew how long. Time was irrelevant, anyway. She wasn’t getting any older, wouldn’t grow up, and couldn’t peacefully move on to her final place of rest. It was impossible! Despite the fact that that nice Botan-san with the pretty blue hair and bouncy, happy face had walked in a day after she came in, glanced at her file once and cheerfully told Meirin she’d be reunited with her parents as soon as she moved on. It’d been too soon, still, and they wouldn’t enter the cycle of reincarnation for another fifty years or so. So, however long fifty Ningenkai years were in Reikai, she’d be able to see her mom, again, and dad…

She barely had any memories of them as it was. ‘niisan had basically raised her as far back as she could remember, as they were jostled from foster home to foster home… and now there was something seriously wrong with him, she knew. Of course, ever the loyal little sister, she hadn’t told the Reikai officials all that had happened—she didn’t want to cast suspicion on her brother, even if the Reikai wasn’t the Ningenkai police—…a-and after all, it hadn’t really been Takashi that’d killed her. It had been someone, or something—she was betting on the latter—else that had stabbed her through and ended her life. She’d had a lot of time to think about it for however long she’d been here—she couldn’t be sure, maybe it was two weeks? Time was so strange, here.

So, she had resorted to begging and begging Ayame-san to help her put in an appeal to find her brother’s soul—just to be sure he was all right. She was quickly beginning to see that she couldn’t rest without knowing what had happened, in its entirety… maybe that was enough? Maybe she could even get to meet with Koenma-sama, himself, and meekly tell him what had happened… maybe even Botan-san would be there? Ayame-san she clung to like a wet leaf(perhaps because she’d been the one to guide her to Reikai), but then Ayame-san did remind her of her brother—quiet, reserved, slightly protective with dark eyes and hair neatly pressed into whatever style she favored.

But… ‘niisan was a bit hard to think of, right now.

Especially since that last image of him was burned into her memory, forever…

She shuddered. Botan-san would make her feel better. In truth, the blue-haired ferry girl reminded her of her own friends, who she’d left behind… she felt tears well up, knowing they would get to live long, happy lives and so she wouldn’t get to see them again until they died—if she hadn’t reincarnated by then. She almost secretly hoped she would have… it would hurt less to forget everything and start over as a completely different person than see how happy they had become over a beautiful lifetime with husbands, and children, and grandchildren…

Suddenly she wanted Botan-san. She sniffled, rubbing at her eyes and a soft hand squeezed her shoulder, voice gentle. Ayame-san almost seemed able to read her mind.

“There, there, child. I’ll fetch Botan.” And before she could even mount a proper protest, the dark-haired woman had exited the room.

: : :

“Botan.” Caught with half a tsukume chicken kabob ball in her mouth, the blue-haired girl turned from her seated place at the gossipy lunch table—with that odd, pink-haired coworker of hers that absolutely loved to gather the souls of young bishounen looking a bit put-out as one of her stories got cut short at Ayame’s interruption.

“Mou, Ayame! I’d just gotten to the good part—“ The more serious woman cast a sedate glance towards her comrade. Sakura had been serving with Reikai longer than Botan, but not nearly so long as Ayame. She found joy in her work when she could, unlike Botan who wasn’t quite burned-out, yet, with the job. The three of them were quite the combination—herself better for consoling the elderly who had passed, Sakura doing a good job of the middle-aged(even as she preferred the bishounen) and Botan easily relating to the younger generations. It would likely shift after a few centuries, when Reikai saw fit to admit a fourth ferry girl to their ranks—their job was a recent addition, only a little over a millennium old—but for now it worked. The taller woman graciously motioned back to the room she had just exited from.

“Kanisawa-san. I believe she would benefit from your presence.” Her face held a lingering sadness, as it always did, but Botan immediately got the urgency and stood—

“Meirin-chan?!” –rushing off with a parting wave to her pink-haired friend as she stepped inside.

The little eleven-year-old was curled up on her cot, head buried in her arms. The youngest ferry girl sighed, stepping close with as bright a smile she could muster and sitting beside her, wrapping an arm around the trembling shoulders.

“…Meirin-chan? Is everything all right?” Bleary, tear-fogged brown eyes bore up on her and Botan smiled a little more cheerfully, happiness infusing her tone. “I know it’s hard, but when you cross over you’ll feel much better and get to see your parents, and—“

“Botan-san. Please don’t tell anyone—“ Instantly the blue-haired shinigami stopped. Even in her few years as a ferry girl, she’d learned it was usually good to listen to troubled spirits. It helped ease their pain. And so she merely offered a solemn nod, crossing her heart over her kimono’s chest with a confiding smile aimed towards the other girl as she silently urged her to continue.

Which Meirin did, after a long, quiet pause.

“…when I… died—“ Botan fought the urge to wince, here. She remembered reading that report—all gruesome details intact. “…it… wasn’t an accident.” The girl’s throat had gone tight, here, and shimmering roan again locked on the ferry girl’s bright fuschia eyes. “But it wasn’t ‘niisan! It wasn’t!” Tears spilled forth once more, and the preteen buried her face in the folds of her friend’s pink kimono—“Something was wrong with him, Botan-san! Something happened to him! He was calling something weird, and—and—the next thing I knew it was glaring at me with red eyes and then it hurt and then I was dead!” She started to sob, here, clutching onto the soft cotton fabric. “Botan-san! Botan-san! I can’t rest if ‘niisan’s soul is in trouble… ne?! Can’t I… isn’t there something I can—“

Throughout all this, Botan had remained quiet, soothingly rubbing the little girl’s back and casting a hesitant, almost apologetic gaze down towards her. It… wasn’t much of a hope, considering how many papers Koenma-sama stamped, each day… but it was worth a try.

So her voice, although slightly thickened with unshed tears, sought to reassure the crying girl in her arms as best it could.

“Well… Meirin-san—we can always appeal your case, and send in a form to Koenma-sama…”

: : :

Eyes closed, he focused. Breathe in, then out. Steady, steady.

The ramshackle hole-in-the-wall that passed as a cheap apartment on the outskirts of Tokyo would be all that greeted his sight if he even opened his eyes, anyway. My, but this was a far cry from his own usual taste of elegance… but then, who was he to complain? He was alive, after all. To this thought the dark-haired male smirked, dark brown sliding open beneath strands of ebony. He irately ran a hand through the too-short-for-his-liking ear-length locks. Humans and their styles these days were a mystery. Did all fail to comprehend that lengthy hair on a man was eternally attractive? Really, now…

At least Kurama defied those conventions.

At the thought of his beautiful fox a broad smirk danced over his face, and a breathy sigh of contentment reached the air as his gaze fluttered shut, revealing one of the ever-fetching images of the redhead that swirled over his mind’s eye when he allowed such a distraction.

His seals were almost complete. He had a series of four—one for each limb, that he believed he could affix a seal to while keeping its effect solid—but it cost a great deal of his own much-depleted spirit to write them. With his youki dangling down near imperceptible levels, he would easily be picked off by any nearby demon—including Kurama, were he to approach the fox too brashly—so the best method for now was concealment. He was thankful all human bodies possessed at least a small amount of reiki—a boon he made excellent use of as soon as possible.

Half of it had gone to the first seal. The intent was to affix an invisible ward—none too easy to fabricate without the use of his infamous ‘creating’ youki, mind you, which meant focusing unfamiliar reiki and using a plain brush and paper—that would render his own ki undetectable to the redhead. Once the kitsune would not be aware of this body’s energy signature(tailoring the seal to both the reiki this human form exuded as well as the intricate design of his own, currently-inaccessible, youki), he would be free to find ways to increase it as best he could.

The other half would be for the second seal. It would provide a unique bond that would allow him to sap the kitsune’s energy—although in its early stages it would not prevent the fox from killing him too easily, and so even until this point he had to remain in control, and keep his disguise up—until his new human body recognized his demonic spirit within, and began to at last produce youki for him to use to create the third, more powerful seal.

This third seal, once he had enough youki, would be to bind Kurama’s life to his. This was the most critical in his plan—for, once he revealed himself to the object of his affections, he doubted his revival would bring forth an initially positive reaction. Best to be safe. There would be no room for mistakes, this time.

The fourth seal, after these first three conditions had been met—rendering his spirit invisible to the fox in the initial stages as to avoid detection and probable elimination, stealing the fox’s energy to bolster his recovery, and ensuring Kurama could not kill him without dying, himself—would be to enable this body to accept his own natural youki. It was linked to his demonic soul as was every attribute of his personality. He wasn’t quite whole without the full command of it as he was used to—even as he basked in the freedom of not being required to wear a mask. There were positives and negatives to both scenarios… he missed the mystery and security—dare he admit it—the mask gave him while in the same breath drew pleasure from the novelty of being without it.

It was luck that had drawn his spirit unwaveringly from its floating place above Kubikukuri Island to Tokyo, and yet more luck that had so easily fused his soul to a receptive body. Granted, he was stuck to this form, but he found he didn’t mind, so much… Toguro was dead, after all, and he was relishing in the sorely-missed freedom that simple truth granted him. Forty years of servitude weighed heavily on him, and to be relieved of it so suddenly was an amazing thing. As an added plus, he found that since he’d entered this body, its reiki rejuvenated itself after only a few days, if he used it to its full extent(then again, he’d never been too aware of how quickly humans recovered reiki on their own, so…). He had been sure to quickly craft the first seal as soon as he had properly adjusted to this new form—now the only missing piece was finding Kurama.

Without his youki, and in a city full of humans, that would be no easy task, however…

“TAKASHI-KUN!” He was startled quite rudely out of his musings, and he sat up, quickly—too quickly, apparently, for his vision protested, lurched and he was struck with one of the most annoying human maladies he was hastily beginning to loathe—a headache. The dark-haired teen hissed, brushing strands of fine black from his eyes and moving to prop himself up on the dirtied mattress that passed as a ‘bed’—(he couldn’t think of why anyone would come here, but he’d found a key in his host’s pocket and simply tried every door in the building until one opened… but if the boy had had relatives besides that ‘unfortunate’ girl who’d startled him when he’d first appeared… perhaps taking this form would be more problematic than previously thought. Not that he had much of a choice… )

Before he got too far, however, there was a loud bang as the metal door buckled and all-too-soon he found himself on the receiving end of a vile, unwanted embrace from an all-too-fat plump log of a woman. She was wailing. He nearly twitched, but held himself in from displaying such an inelegant gesture.

“Oh, Takashi-kun, Takashi-kun! We were so worried when we heard about Meirin-chan on the news!” …Ugh. He was pressed between her ample bosoms, and the human female wore far too much perfume for her own good. Likely seeking to cover up the overwhelming odor of sweat practically dripping off of her… He tried to speak, politely, but she cut him off as though she’d not even heard his attempt.

“Takashi-kun!” He was vaguely aware of her head tossing this way and that, as though she were looking around the room. “This will simply not do! You are a Kanisawa! No wonder poor Meirin was murdered! In this neighborhood, it’s no surprise! No! You are coming to live with us! You’re old enough to be out of high school, and you’re wasting your life here! Well, no more! We shan’t risk losing another Kanisawa to this ruffian neighborhood with all its trash!” She sniffed arrogantly, and before he could somewhat wistfully contemplate doing away with her with one of his dear bombs, they were out the door and down the stairs, and he was pushed into the waiting limo without so much as an edge-wise comment, on his part.

He had just met Kanisawa Kumi, sister to his host body’s own mother, and thus his biological aunt.

In ordinary circumstances, he would have killed a fool like her without a second thought or glance.

However… unable to use his youki, limited to only small bursts of a teenage human’s reiki (that, sadly, looked to hold no inklings towards anything yet remotely linked to his old Quest Class level of power), and bound by the need for concealment of his true identity from both Reikai and the Ningenkai law enforcement agents(it simply complicated too many things to be wanted for murder when he was trying to lay low—and if the Ningenkai became involved, Reikai may look into it if they sensed something odd about the situation—yes, they were nearly all incompetent up there at the Gate of Judgment, but there was no sense in taking needless risks at this point in the game)… it all prevented him from merely ripping the woman’s head off where she sat and strolling briskly away.

Kanisawa Kumi, her daughter, and their rich business tycoon of a husband and father figure were about to make his life more of a hell than Koenma could ever have hoped to achieve, now that his soul was bonded to their ‘dear Takashi’s body, quite formidably.

Perhaps it was because he had the faint impression of Toguro looking down on him from Reikai—from whatever personal hell he had designated for himself—and still smiling that same damned, all-powerful, all-knowing smirk he’d when he and his older brother had defeated the crow.

Perhaps it was because this was the first time in his life(experience, not counting the fact he had quite recently taken over a human teen’s body and lifespan) where he could not kill the source of his problems in order to best(as in, quickly and efficiently) resolve them.

Whatever-it-was, had he known the horrors and indignities he was about to suffer at the hands of the Kanisawa family triad, he may have perhaps reconsidered if the objective of finally winning Kurama was worth it all.

. . . . . . .

…oh, but how foolish of him it would be to even entertain the notion.

This was Kurama.

His scathingly beautiful, exceedingly graceful, breathtakingly tempting object of an unhealthy, fixated, possibly insatiable-to-the-point-of-insane obsession—whose clever actions had quite amazingly killed him in the ring, that first time they’d actually fought, one month ago in the finals of the Dark Tournament.

Of course any sort of hell he would be put through would be worth it, when compared to the reward of owning his pretty fox.

~*~To Be Continued~*~