Old Habits
folder
Yuyu Hakusho › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,726
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Yuyu Hakusho › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,726
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I don't own YYH and am making no money from this story.
Chapter Three
---
Chapter Three
---
One of the benefits of staying in Gandara was that Yomi's palace had many, many places to go when one wanted to be alone. Meddling dignitaries aside, the castle was usually rather empty, almost deserted. Kurama imagined Yomi liked it that way; with hearing like his, the constant presence of servants, employees, and whoever else might otherwise be occupying the palace would probably be maddening.
Kurama enjoyed the quiet. And when his room or one of the many other hiding places he'd found since returning to the Makai failed to provide sufficient solitude, well. The roof of one of the towers offered an excellent view, and he had easy access to it from his window.
Perhaps Hiei had rubbed off on him. Just a bit. But he could lie on his back, watching as the yellow lightning sketched silent, jagged paths across the sky, and he was home. He knew this sky, knew it better than anything in the life he now lived. Any time over the past thousand years before he'd fled to the human world, he could have looked up and he would have seen this same sky. Starless, cold. Comforting in its painful familiarity, like long black hair and hot breath against his skin.
Yomi was often as silent as his palace, but his silence wasn't soothing. It was everything Yomi wasn't supposed to be, conflicting with memories of loud laughter and playful taunting. So many memories were packed into Kurama's mind that sometimes he worried he was mixing things up. Perhaps this was the way Yomi had always been.
He didn't like to think that it was his fault.
Yomi isn't the way he's supposed to be, Kurama wrote furiously to Yusuke after sitting in silence with the Gandaran king for what had felt like hours. It had been a nice, comfortable silence, and Kurama had hated every second of it with a fierce passion. I don't even run away properly.
Yomi seemed to sense Kurama's restlessness. He offered to spar with him after a particularly trying meeting, and Kurama accepted the offer with an eagerness that surprised even himself. It was foolish, he realized later, to think that this part of their relationship would have stayed the same, either.
Sparring with Yomi had, at one time, been one of Kurama's favorite pastimes. Of course, the fox's idea of sparring had been a few hours of forcefully attempting to beat some sense into the other demon's horned head. Kurama got the feeling Yomi hadn't been especially fond of their little sessions, but they'd been a great way for Kurama to work out his frustrations, at least.
About an hour after they arrived in Yomi's personal training ground, as Kurama pushed himself up from the dirt with shaking arms and stared up at his opponent – breathing easily, tilting his head in a mock gesture of concern – Kurama thought that this was all definitely some sort of divine retribution.
Later, they again sat together in that damnable silence, Kurama leaning against the wall and Yomi politely pretending not to notice that they were waiting for the redhead to find the strength to walk again. Kurama wasn't sure what prompted him to speak – whether it was simply to break the silence or a desperate attempt to vent frustrations that the sparring match had only served to aggravate.
“I hate you.”
Yomi tilted his head back, a gesture retained from the old days, when he'd had a habit of glancing up at the sky, as if for inspiration. Remembering the cold roof of Yomi's palace beneath his back and miles of sky stretched out above him, Kurama thought maybe he hated himself more than he could ever hate Yomi.
“You always have.”
It wasn't true. Kurama should tell him so. He knew he should.
But he didn't.
---
He loves me, Kurama wrote to Yusuke, brows creased. But which me?
He stopped at that, staring down at the last three words etched across the paper.
Green forests, power surging through his veins, death and pain all mixed with freedom and Yomi's warm laughter and Kuronue's smile and a thousand years of experiences that were an irreplaceable part of his soul.
His mother's eyes, soft in a way that nothing in the Makai could ever be. Hiei's smiles, rare but so, so beautiful. Kuwabara's hand on his shoulder and the inexplicable sense of comfort and companionship that came with it. Yusuke... frightening strength and incredible weakness and oh, so... human in a way that Kurama loved and ached for and had long ago resigned himself to simply watching and never tasting. All of them and so many others and the sense of security, of belonging that accompanied them all.
He set his pen down and rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes, the two opposing sides of himself seeming to pull him in separate directions. It felt like he would be ripped apart, torn in two, and he wondered if that was really what was happening to his soul.
The technique he'd used in order to be reborn was not something he'd ever tried before. He had suspected that there would be consequences, side effects, but he hadn't known what they would be or what could trigger them.
He liked to think that's what it was. It would be embarrassing if this was all in his head, brought on by nothing more than human emotions that he was still ill-equipped to deal with.
It was the first time that he was the one to seek Yomi out, instead of the other way around.
He knew Yomi woke the moment he entered his room, but the other demon was kind enough not to acknowledge Kurama's presence and the fox appreciated the gesture for what it was. He slept there that night, doing nothing more than taking comfort in the presence of something familiar to him.
In the morning, when he woke to an empty bed and a tray of breakfast on the nightstand, Kurama thought maybe Yomi had known all along the words scribbled clumsily at the bottom of his letter to Yusuke.
I don't really hate Yomi. I can't hate him any more than I can hate you.
---
Chapter Three
---
One of the benefits of staying in Gandara was that Yomi's palace had many, many places to go when one wanted to be alone. Meddling dignitaries aside, the castle was usually rather empty, almost deserted. Kurama imagined Yomi liked it that way; with hearing like his, the constant presence of servants, employees, and whoever else might otherwise be occupying the palace would probably be maddening.
Kurama enjoyed the quiet. And when his room or one of the many other hiding places he'd found since returning to the Makai failed to provide sufficient solitude, well. The roof of one of the towers offered an excellent view, and he had easy access to it from his window.
Perhaps Hiei had rubbed off on him. Just a bit. But he could lie on his back, watching as the yellow lightning sketched silent, jagged paths across the sky, and he was home. He knew this sky, knew it better than anything in the life he now lived. Any time over the past thousand years before he'd fled to the human world, he could have looked up and he would have seen this same sky. Starless, cold. Comforting in its painful familiarity, like long black hair and hot breath against his skin.
Yomi was often as silent as his palace, but his silence wasn't soothing. It was everything Yomi wasn't supposed to be, conflicting with memories of loud laughter and playful taunting. So many memories were packed into Kurama's mind that sometimes he worried he was mixing things up. Perhaps this was the way Yomi had always been.
He didn't like to think that it was his fault.
Yomi isn't the way he's supposed to be, Kurama wrote furiously to Yusuke after sitting in silence with the Gandaran king for what had felt like hours. It had been a nice, comfortable silence, and Kurama had hated every second of it with a fierce passion. I don't even run away properly.
Yomi seemed to sense Kurama's restlessness. He offered to spar with him after a particularly trying meeting, and Kurama accepted the offer with an eagerness that surprised even himself. It was foolish, he realized later, to think that this part of their relationship would have stayed the same, either.
Sparring with Yomi had, at one time, been one of Kurama's favorite pastimes. Of course, the fox's idea of sparring had been a few hours of forcefully attempting to beat some sense into the other demon's horned head. Kurama got the feeling Yomi hadn't been especially fond of their little sessions, but they'd been a great way for Kurama to work out his frustrations, at least.
About an hour after they arrived in Yomi's personal training ground, as Kurama pushed himself up from the dirt with shaking arms and stared up at his opponent – breathing easily, tilting his head in a mock gesture of concern – Kurama thought that this was all definitely some sort of divine retribution.
Later, they again sat together in that damnable silence, Kurama leaning against the wall and Yomi politely pretending not to notice that they were waiting for the redhead to find the strength to walk again. Kurama wasn't sure what prompted him to speak – whether it was simply to break the silence or a desperate attempt to vent frustrations that the sparring match had only served to aggravate.
“I hate you.”
Yomi tilted his head back, a gesture retained from the old days, when he'd had a habit of glancing up at the sky, as if for inspiration. Remembering the cold roof of Yomi's palace beneath his back and miles of sky stretched out above him, Kurama thought maybe he hated himself more than he could ever hate Yomi.
“You always have.”
It wasn't true. Kurama should tell him so. He knew he should.
But he didn't.
---
He loves me, Kurama wrote to Yusuke, brows creased. But which me?
He stopped at that, staring down at the last three words etched across the paper.
Green forests, power surging through his veins, death and pain all mixed with freedom and Yomi's warm laughter and Kuronue's smile and a thousand years of experiences that were an irreplaceable part of his soul.
His mother's eyes, soft in a way that nothing in the Makai could ever be. Hiei's smiles, rare but so, so beautiful. Kuwabara's hand on his shoulder and the inexplicable sense of comfort and companionship that came with it. Yusuke... frightening strength and incredible weakness and oh, so... human in a way that Kurama loved and ached for and had long ago resigned himself to simply watching and never tasting. All of them and so many others and the sense of security, of belonging that accompanied them all.
He set his pen down and rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes, the two opposing sides of himself seeming to pull him in separate directions. It felt like he would be ripped apart, torn in two, and he wondered if that was really what was happening to his soul.
The technique he'd used in order to be reborn was not something he'd ever tried before. He had suspected that there would be consequences, side effects, but he hadn't known what they would be or what could trigger them.
He liked to think that's what it was. It would be embarrassing if this was all in his head, brought on by nothing more than human emotions that he was still ill-equipped to deal with.
It was the first time that he was the one to seek Yomi out, instead of the other way around.
He knew Yomi woke the moment he entered his room, but the other demon was kind enough not to acknowledge Kurama's presence and the fox appreciated the gesture for what it was. He slept there that night, doing nothing more than taking comfort in the presence of something familiar to him.
In the morning, when he woke to an empty bed and a tray of breakfast on the nightstand, Kurama thought maybe Yomi had known all along the words scribbled clumsily at the bottom of his letter to Yusuke.
I don't really hate Yomi. I can't hate him any more than I can hate you.
---