Through His Eyes

“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing to MY song?!”

 

The silence that followed the little guitarist’s enraged outburst was palpable… so thick you could cut it with a knife.  No one moved or dared speak.

 

Kurama, his hand frozen just above the ‘com button, was the first to break the deadly quiet.  A slender finger lowered slowly to press the button; his soft tenor filling the outer booth.  “Forgive me, Hiei.  I meant no offense.  Please understand, though, that when I listened to the demo tape for Dragon’s Flame, the music and lyrics for this song seemed to speak to something within me.  After that, I could do nothing except try and create an arrangement that befitted the very primal force of that music and those words.”

 

“And did a damn fine job of it, too.”  Kuwabara muttered sotto voce to Yusuke. 

 

Unfortunately for the carrot-topped drummer, Hiei’d overheard.  Whirling around, he fixed his red-eyed glare on his taller band mate.  “And just how the hell would you know, Idiot?” he snarled.

 

“Listen runt-boy, just because you do the writing for us, don’t mean you’re the only one in this group who knows anything about music!”  Kuwabara shot back.

 

“Please.”  The quiet voice from the doorway startled the verbal combatants from their battle.  Two sets of eyes, one chestnut and one indigo, simultaneously looked toward the sound.  They were joined instantly by the other occupants of the small room; each of them staring in surprise at the redheaded figure that had just come through the open door, his arm tucked beneath their raven-haired producer’s.

 

It was a measure of their concentration on the argument between Hiei and Kuwabara that no one had heard Yomi leave the room, much less return with the blind keyboardist until Kurama spoke.

 

He gave them a small, apologetic smile now.  “There is no need to argue.  The fault is entirely mine.  I had no right to do an arrangement for ‘Darkside Stories’ without first gaining permission from the composer to do so, and I fear, by not doing so, I’ve caused unnecessary dissension between you.  And now I’m rambling and repeating myself.”  A soft sigh and then, “my sincerest apologies to you all, but especially, to you, Hiei.”  Kurama removed his arm from Yomi’s and bowed deeply to the room at large.

 

“Idiot!”  The harsh exclamation had Kurama straightening abruptly, his head cocked and sightless eyes honing in unerringly on the small guitarist who stood with his arms crossed over his chest.  And even though he knew the redhead couldn’t see it, Hiei fixed him with his trademark glare.

 

 “I did not say I was offended,” he continued, voice still harsh but not quite as filled with anger, as it had been only moments beforehand.  “But the next time you take it upon yourself to mess with one of my songs, you might just consider asking first!”

 

A soft smile found its way onto Kurama’s lips.  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied.  “However, in my defense, let me just say that, prior to today, I had not made your acquaintance, and therefore, could hardly have been expected to seek your permission before I’d done the arrangement… now could I?”  Again, the smile came, this time slightly mischievous in nature, and Hiei knew that if Kurama had still had his sight, those green eyes would have been sparkling as the redhead posed his question.

 

Meanwhile, unseen by Hiei (since they were standing behind the volatile guitarist), Yusuke nudged Koenma.  When he’d gained his lover’s attention, dark eyes widened and flicked toward the door.  Koenma caught the meaning behind the gesture and nodded.  His gaze shifted to Kuwabara, and he repeated Yusuke’s motions.  The carrot-topped drummer quickly nodded his own acquiescence and the three made their way toward the door.

 

When they reached the relative safety of the opened doorway, Yusuke finally spoke.  “Hey, guys… um, it’s gettin’ kinda’ late and since it doesn’t look like we’re gonna’ get anything else done today, Kuwabara, Koenma and I are gonna’ pack it in.”  His eyes sought their manager for reassurance.  “That okay with you, Boss Lady?”

 

Mukuro arched one elegant eyebrow, her lips quirking upwards in a smirk as she caught the intention behind Yusuke’s seemingly innocuous words, and she nodded.  “As a matter of fact, Yusuke, that’s an excellent suggestion.  Yomi and I have a meeting with Raizen in…” she glanced down at her watch, “about five minutes.  So we’ll see you all tomorrow….”

 

“….Bright and early!” she added, seeing Yusuke’s grin, and smirked again at the boy as that grin quickly turned into a scowl.  Their lead singer was most definitely NOT a morning person.

 

During the brief exchange between Dragon’s manager and their lead singer, Yomi had been quietly conversing with Kurama.  “Are you sure?” the producer asked.  “I think it’d be best if you let my driver take you home for the day.”

 

 

The redhead shook his head.  “I’d rather stay for awhile longer and work on one or two other arrangements.  That is,” and here Kurama raised his voice, his tone playful, “if Hiei has no objection.”

 

************************************************************************

 

“You hungry?”  The gruff voice broke the companionable silence that had fallen between the two musicians since they’d finished their latest arrangement. 

 

They had worked through three songs, and Hiei had to admit, the redhead had talent.  All too often as they’d worked throughout the afternoon – debating everything from lyrics to the music itself to tone and pitch of not only the instruments but Yusuke’s voice – the little guitarist found himself not only coming around to Kurama’s point of view, but also agreeing with the suggestions the redhead had proposed.  The man knew his music; that much was certain, and Hiei found that he’d thoroughly enjoyed their collaboration and was loathe to end his time with the blind musician.

 

He stifled a grin as Kurama’s stomach growled softly in response to Heidi’s inquiry.  Kurama blushed, and though he’d managed to hide his smile, Hiei couldn’t help but chuckle now.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said dryly and watched as the pink that tinged the blind keyboardist’s cheeks deepened to crimson.

 

Soft laughter answered him before Kurama lifted his left hand and with deft fingers, popped the crystal of the watch adorning his right wrist.  Thin, red eyebrows rose in surprise as those fingers slid over the watch’s face.  “I’m sorry, Hiei,” the redhead apologized, “I’d no idea it was so late.”

 

“Don’t sweat it.”  The barest of pauses followed before Hiei continued.  “So, you interested in blowing this joint and grabbing some dinner?”

 

The smile that lit the blind pianist’s face was radiant, and Hiei found himself blinking at the sheer brilliance of it.  “I’d like that,” Kurama replied and smiled again.

 

The smile quickly faded, though, the look on Kurama’s face becoming pensive as pearl white teeth began worrying at his lower lip.  “Something wrong?” Hiei found himself asking the redhead.

 

Kurama nodded, teeth releasing the lip.  “I should let Yomi know,” he replied.  “He’ll worry if he returns and I’m not here.”

 

It was on the tip of Heidi’s tongue to retort, ‘let the bastard worry’, but he thought better of it.  Instead, he walked to the couch, retrieving the cordless, in-house telephone from its cradle on the side table.  Quickly he punched in the extension to the president’s suite, knowing the man’s priggish personal assistant would not leave his desk until Raizen himself left the building for the day.

 

“Good evening…Mr. Tourin’s office.  How may I assist you?”  Hokushin’s coolly professional voice issued through phone.

 

Hiei did not return the greeting.  “It’s Hiei Jaganshi,” he stated flatly.  “Are Mukuro and Yomi still with the Boss?”

 

He could almost hear the stifled, exasperated sigh; just picture the eyes rolling, the thin lips pursing as Hokushin fought to maintain his composure.  “Yes, Mr. Jaganshi, they are still in attendance.  Is there a particular reason you require this information?” came the reply, the tone frigid now.

 

Hiei smiled devilishly.  Gods but he loved pushing this prick’s buttons almost as much as he did Kuwabara’s!  “Yeah, there is.  I need you to give our pretty-boy producer a message for me.  Tell him Kurama and I are done and that we’re leaving.  We’ll be getting something to eat and then I’ll take Kurama home.  Got that?”

 

The sigh became audible and Hiei’s grin widened.  “I shall deliver your message to Mr. Gandara.  Will there be any…..”  The click of the disconnect button sounded, and Hiei replaced the phone in its cradle before turning to find a merry smile once again gracing Kurama’s elfin features. 

 

“Pretty boy?” the redhead questioned, cocking one thin, red brow.  “Why Hiei, I didn’t know you held Yomi in such high regard?  I’m sure he’ll be quite flattered to learn of your admiration for him.”

 

“Kurama… Fuck you!”  The little guitarist retorted.

 

“If you think you’re up to it,” Kurama demurred and then laughed aloud.

 

Hiei’s eyes widened; his mouth dropped open, forming a silent ‘O’ of surprise, and he was very grateful at that moment that their keyboardist was without his sight.  A moment later and he’d schooled his features into their usual indifferent scowl.  

 

“Hn.  It’s good to know that your piano playing’s better than your attempt at humor.  You should leave comedy to the comedians… and can we get the hell out of here, now!” he groused causing the redhead to laugh again.

 

“By all means, Hiei,” Kurama replied and held out his arm.  “Shall we?” 

 

 

Hiei stepped forward and took the outstretched arm.  He tucked it securely under his own then gently turned the redhead around and guided him to the door.

 

************************************************************************

 

The 2007 Yamaha Road Star Silverado stood proudly in its place, as sleek and graceful as a jungle cat.  Its mirrored chrome and high-gloss, dark, metallic purple-blue color gleamed beneath the dim lighting of the underground parking garage, and Hiei could not help but to smile as he guided Kurama toward the motorcycle, hand reaching into his pocket and pulling out his keys.  That smile never failed to appear whenever he saw the bike.  It was his pride and joy – his baby, and he was as enamored of it as any new father would be of his progeny. 

 

The smile quickly became a grimace, though, as they neared the Yamaha, for it finally hit him that the man whose arm was currently tucked beneath his own was blind.  “Shit!” he hissed, disgusted with himself, and stopped abruptly a few feet from his bike.  How the hell was Kurama supposed to ride the damned thing and why hadn’t he thought of that before he asked the redhead to have dinner with him?!

 

“Hiei?  Is something wrong?” Kurama asked giving the arm he held a gentle squeeze.

 

“Yeah!  I’m a fucking idiot!” Hiei shot back, somewhat harsher than he’d intended.

 

Kurama flinched slightly at the terse reply but quickly recovered and offered the smaller man a smile.  “Though you may be many things, I doubt that an idiot… excuse me,” he said, the grin widening, “A ‘fucking idiot’ is one of them.  So tell me, what seems to be the matter?”

 

“Hn.  You may just revise that thought once you hear this,” Hiei replied.  He let out a brief, but heavy sigh before continuing.  “You know that I told Hokushin to let Yomi know we’d be going to dinner and then I’d take you home.”

 

“You’ve changed your mind, then?” Kurama asked, disappointed as he’d been looking forward to spending more time with, and getting to know, the feisty little guitarist. 

 

Not only had Hiei proven to be a talented musician, but a damned good lyricist as well – if the three songs they’d worked on this afternoon were any indication.  He’d been especially taken with ‘Life is a Lemon and I Want my Money Back’ and was curious to know what had inspired Hiei to write that particular song.

 

“No.”  Hiei shook his head.  “But I forgot until just now that I don’t have a car; I’ve got a motorcycle…..”

 

“A bike?!”  The redhead broke in, excitement in his voice – lyrics and music forgotten for the moment.  “Where?  May I see it?”

Hiei was slightly taken aback by Kurama’s enthusiasm but decided, ‘what the hell?’, he’d go with the flow for now and worry about being an idiot later.  “It’s here… about 15 steps to your left.”  He guided the redhead to the bike then slipped his arm from Kurama’s and gently grasping the blind keyboardist’s hands, placed them on the leather seat.

 

Kurama ran his hands slowly backward along the seat then up, noting the small, raised ellipse of the backrest.  “Would you describe it to me, please?” he asked running his hands over the soft, padded leather of the backrest then back down and along the seat again.

 

Hiei watched those long fingers as they traversed the seat’s length.  The play of slender fingers along the supple leather had him wondering how those fingers would feel caressing length of a different sort.  Immediately, his brain supplied the image, and just as quickly, he quashed the picture as his mind registered a softly voiced, “Hiei?”

 

The query returned him to reality and Hiei looked at the redhead.  Kurama’s hands had stilled, now resting atop the deep purple blue of the gas tank.  His head was tilted slightly up and to one side; a look of confused inquisition gracing the elfin features.

 

“Yeah,” the little guitarist responded, glad to find his voice came out steady.

 

“Woolgathering, were you?” the redhead asked with a smile.

 

“What?” was Hiei’s rather intelligent response.

 

“I asked if you were woolgathering.  It’s something my mother used to ask of me quite often when I was younger.  It means to indulge in fanta….”

 

“I know what it means,” the little guitarist retorted glad for Kurama’s lack of sight as red flooded his cheeks.  “And I was not!”  Though, in point of fact, that was exactly what he’d been doing.  “I was deciding how best to describe my bike so that I didn’t come off sounding like some gods-damned commercial pitchman!”

 

“My apologies again, then,” Kurama replied, ‘both for the interruption and the assumption.”

 

Though the tone was apologetic, the amused note in the pianist’s soft voice told Hiei that Kurama didn’t quite believe him.  Nevertheless…

 

“Hn,” the little guitarist sighed, and then in a voice only slightly rushed, continued on. 

 

“It’s a 2007 17 V twin Yamaha Road Star Silverado with a 40mm carburetor and a five speed manual transmission, making it a nice bike for cruising.  And just WHAT is so funny?”  He finished with a huff, hearing a soft chuckle coming from the redhead’s direction.

“I’m sorry,” Kurama replied, laughing outright now, and then biting his lower lip to contain the sound.  “But with that last line – ‘making it a nice bike for cruising’,” he imitated the little guitarist, “you sounded exactly like one of those ad men.”

 

Hiei felt heat rush to his face.  Kurama was right.  That remark had sounded just like something from a car or motorcycle salesman… and a ‘used’ one at that.  Still, a comeback was in order, so, “You suck,” he retorted.

 

“I’ve been known to swallow as well.  Care to find out?  ” Kurama teased, having sensed the little guitarist’s embarrassment and seeking to defuse the situation.  “Seriously, though, Hiei, I’m familiar with this particular bike.  Kuronue owned the 2005 model.  His was silver and black.  What color is yours, if I may ask?” he finished, long fingers tracing along the top of the gas tank.

 

“It’s a custom job.”  Hiei answered a bit smugly; Kurama’s teasing soothing his wounded pride.  “It’s a metallic dark purple, with blue undertones.  I also had all the regular chrome on the bike replaced with custom, mirror finished chrome.  And along each side of the gas tank is an arced lightning bolt in pearl white.”

 

“Twins to the one in your hair, no doubt,” the redhead commented.

 

“And just how would you know that?!” the little guitarist demanded.

 

“I take it you mean the white starburst arcing just above your bangs?  Kurama asked.

 

Hiei rolled his eyes.  The look, though Kurama couldn’t see it, conveying his doubts about the new keyboardist’s level of intelligence.  “Hn,” he said aloud.

 

Kurama smiled.  He found he was not only beginning to like the sound of that monosyllabic reply but was also becoming conversant in what it meant in a particular situation  This one was definitely, ‘only an idiot would state the obvious… but I like you anyway.’

 

He shrugged gracefully as though it was no matter.  “The same way I know your hair is jet black except for the starburst, and you are five feet, two inches in height with chestnut colored eyes that in certain light, look red.  Also, the same way I know Kuwabara is six feet tall with red hair which is more orange than red and his eyes are blue.  While Yusuke, at five feet, eight has dark hair… as dark as yours, though his eyes are a rich brown color; and Koenma is just an inch taller than Yusuke with light brown hair and hazel eyes…. I asked Yomi to describe all of you to me.  You really didn’t think I’d brave the lions’ den without knowing a little about those lions, now, did you?” he finished, raising an elegant red brow in amusement.

 

“You do realize the orange-haired oaf’s more of a jackass than a lion?”  Hiei retorted, his tone conversational yet somewhat sullen. 

“And yet, some day – perhaps sooner than you think – you could very well be related to that ‘jackass’!”  Kurama shot back; his smile serene but with a hint of teasing to it.

 

He was baiting the little guitarist, and Hiei knew it, yet he couldn’t help but respond to the provocation accordingly.  “Che!  I’ll choose to ignore that for the moment,” he said.  “Know though, that if you allude to that particular topic again this evening, I won’t be held responsible should you find your ass unceremoniously dumped from my bike in the middle of nowhere!”

 

Kurama laughed outright, quickly biting his lower lip to stifle the sound, though sightless green eyes were still crinkled in mirth. 

 

“And just what have I said that you find so amusing, now?” the little guitarist huffed, crossing his arms.

 

“I’m sorry, Hiei,” Kurama apologized again.  “It’s nothing, really.  No, that’s not true.  It’s…”  He shook his head.  Sightless green eyes honed in on Hiei’s own chestnut, and Hiei found he could not look away from that non-stare as Kurama spoke. 

 

“Thank you for not treating me with kid gloves just because I’m blind,” he said, no trace of teasing in the soft alto this time.”

 

Hiei felt heat suffuse his face again, though this time it was with pleasure at those words.  “Hn.  You’re welcome.  But I still think I’m an idiot!”

 

“Why?”  Kurama asked.

 

“Because YOU’RE blind, and I have a MOTORCYCLE,” Hiei snapped as though the dilemma should have been obvious – Kurama’s lack of sight notwithstanding.  “How the hell are you supposed to hold your balance while riding when you can’t see?”

 

“Ah.”   Understanding dawned on the blind keyboardist.  “That won’t be a problem,” Kurama assured Hiei.  He smiled softly in remembrance.  “I used to ride with Kuro all the time, my eyes closed just so that I could feel the sensation of the elements unencumbered by my sight.”

 

“And,” the smile turned mischievous as he leaned across the bike to purr into the little guitarist’s ear, “I do know how to hold on!”

 

Inwardly, Kurama smirked as he felt the heat that suffused Hiei’s cheeks and the involuntary shudder that ran through the man as he’d spoken.  He realized then, that he’d just been flirting with the little guitarist; and what’s more, he found that he was okay with it.

 

“Now who’s woolgathering?”  Hiei’s deep voice broke into his thoughts, and Kurama grinned sheepishly.

 

“Guilty as charged,” he acquiesced with a good-natured nod.  “But you do realize that you all but admitted just now that you had done the same earlier, don’t you?”

 

“Kurama… just get on the damned bike,” was the surly retort, and Kurama laughed outright.

 

“Your wish is my command, Dark Lord,” he said, executing a rather abbreviated version, due in large part to his close proximity with the motorcycle, of a sweeping bow.  “Though I believe I’ll need some assistance, if you don’t mind?”

 

“Hn,” the little guitarist answered, and quickly walked around the bike.

 

Kurama cocked his head slightly to the left, hearing the distinct sound of a snap being popped, and then leather being thrown open followed by a ‘swish’.  He remembered feeling a saddle bag when he’d run his hands over the bike and knew that Hiei had just opened the bag and taken something from it.

 

“Hey, Rapunzel,” he heard, “let down your hair.” 

 

He laughed and reached up, pulling the tie from his hair and shaking the red mane out.  It cascaded down the middle of his back; a scarlet waterfall that made Hiei’s breath hitch.  Shaking his own head to clear it, he touched the red-head’s arm, gaining Kurama’s attention.

 

“Here,” he said, taking one of the blind pianist’s hands and placing the helmet he’d removed from the saddle bag against his palm – Kurama’s other hand immediately coming up to grasp the other side, “put this on.”

 

While Kurama set about putting the helmet on and securing the chin strap, Hiei lifted his own black one from its place on the handlebars and put it on.  He threw one leg over the bike, straddling it, and then threw back the kick stand with his foot.  He straightened the bike, looking over at the red-head as he did so.

 

“Here,” he said, twisting slightly and placing his hand on Kurama’s arm, “give me your hand.”

 

When Hiei felt the hand grasp his, he continued, “Okay, now place your other hand on my shoulder.  It’s right about 10 o’clock.  Good,” he nodded, feeling the hand on his shoulder.  “Now slide your hand across my back until you can grip the other shoulder… right about 2 o’clock.”  Again, he felt the hand move across his back to settle against, and then tightly grasp, his right shoulder.   “Okay, now I want you to lean into my back and then raise your right leg as high as you can.”  He felt the taller body against his, Kurama’s breath tickling the back of his ear.  “You okay?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” the red-head answered.

 

“Good. “  Hiei turned a bit more and placed his right hand gently atop the calf that was almost at eye level.  “Now, lean into me a little more and let your leg follow the movement of my hand.”

 

Kurama did as he was told, feeling his leg being drawn forward then down slightly.   “Okay,” he heard the guitarist say, “now lower your backside onto the seat.”

 

Again, he did as he was directed, settling himself on the rear seat and distributing his weight evenly.  Instinctively, he raised his feet from the ground and placed them down on the small rests.

 

“All set?” Hiei asked.

 

“Ready when you are,” came the red-head’s excited reply.

 

Hiei grinned.  “Then, as ‘The Boss’ once said, ‘strap your hands ‘cross my engine’, and let’s get the hell outta’ here,” he said as he turned the key, the bike’s engine roaring to life.

 

Kurama laughed and leaned forward.   Hiei felt thin arms encircle his waist, the keyboardist’s lithe body settling at his back as he put the bike in gear, and roared out into the night.