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.

Original summary(for this chapter): Dawn—the memory an elixir to my waning soul. Feathers imbued with poison strike, as the illusions cede to dusk… Be I blighted?

Title: Second Try
Chapter Seven: Night
Word Count: 6,916
Anime: Yuu Yuu Hakusho
Pairing: HieixKurama, ?xKurama
Warning: Shounen ai, violence, language
Author: Kita Kitsune
Date: Sunday(sun-day!), September 6, 2009
Miscellaneous Notes: This is a weird chapter. It’s a cornucopia of everything! x.x Oya, oya.

[Ah, and I’m amused by the fact this fanfic’s gotten almost a hundred more hits since I posted the last chapter. xD 534 hits ftw? I have no idea where all these readers are coming from. Seriously? It’s strange. I know my writing can’t be that great, to pull in random people from out in Internet-land… but, reviews would be nice. I’d like to know if anyone’s OOC or if anyone thinks this fic sucks(especially after this chapter). (No, really, I would. I’m a masochist like that. D: Pander to my strange tendencies~!)]

BlueUtopiah-sama: Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaank yoooooooou soooooooo muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuch for your review. x.x It made me feel so much better(although I wasn’t in RAWR-mode by the time I read it, anyway, it was still very nice. :3). The ironic thing is, though—it’s been over a week since I last posted a chapter, and yours is still the only review I’ve gotten for chapter six(barring the fact that I’ll be posting chapter six up on my FF account, now, since I’m posting chapter seven up on AFF). xDD Ehe~ It’s funny. This chapter seems really, really weird to me, though… so if it’s not at all to your liking… (it’s WTFhard to keep Karasu IC in the situations I put him in—he always seems so… almost-wimpy, I guess, but… b-but it’s a weird situation, right? Gah. ._.;;; I just don’t want him to be OOC, because that’ll ruin the ‘realism’ of it all… ;.; ) please let me know!

On another note… I’ve got half of chapters eight and nine(yes, both of them) written, at least. xD Which is why I’m posting chapter seven up, now. Be happy you got an update! School’s started, and it’s pwning me(although the lack of TV is giving me more time, so that’s nice. ;3). I had no time during the week, and I was trying to get a job, but… I think my little introvert brain would explode if I have to pitter around and socialize with people more than I do on a regular(weekday) basis. D: Hurrah for the Labor Day holiday(and the fact we actually get off on Labor Day).

Oh. Also. Pet Shop of Horrors pwns the mangaverse(only four episodes in the animeverse, so it can’t pwn that field quite as well). Right up there with YYH and Air Gear.

Go find the manga—it’s available on Mangafox dot com.

Go now.

…or, after you read the chapter. Whatever works.

[Count D is awesome!]

That is all.

: : : : : : :

~Present Time~

“Kukukuku…” The eerie cackle resounded around the walls of the cavern. There was another there—face and form concealed by darkness, but they looked to be tall, broad-shouldered… perhaps bald. The figure shifted, and a flash of white revealed a wide grin, the hue shifting to grey as he tipped his head to better observe his companion.

“Your plan is excellent, you know. Reikai doesn’t suspect a thing…” That cackle reached the air, again, and a bulky hand waved towards the entrance to the cave, indicating the snow-tipped trees framing a lovely snapshot of the sprawling wilderness that was a characteristic of this particular region of Japan. Another grin, again only a sliver of unkind white in the obscurity as the first speaker turned his face to observe the bright sunlight streaming down, dappling the snowy dirt with patches of illumination.

“It was smart to move. I know you wanted to do it in the city where we would be noticed, however~” Another cackle.

“It will be so much more enjoyable, not to be interrupted…~!”

: : :

The small kit squatted at the edge of a tiny stream, staring solemnly into the clear water before him.

Mama is dead.

That silvery tail swished behind him, nervously. He placed his palms on the ground, fingers digging into the dirt. The young kit fisted his hands in the supple soil. There hadn’t been a trace of his brothers’ or sisters’ blood-scents all around, but…

Everyone is dead.

It was best to assume the worst, he decided, nodding firmly.

He didn’t need his family, anyway.

The kit shoved away the memories that tried to intrude on his mind. No. He didn’t need them. They were gone, and they didn’t need him, either. He frowned, fiercely, scowling at his own reflection, golden eyes tracing the outlines of the human-esque face.

I will be someone different!

Someone who doesn’t need anyone!

Someone who won’t get hurt, ever!

He snuffed out the part of him that wanted to curl up and cry and cry for days, and tucked it far away into the recesses of his mind. The small kitsune stood, tiny hands fisted at his sides with effort.

I have to stay like this. If I go back…

He shook his head, almost violently enough to give himself a concussion.

No going back! I am a youko, now! Not kitsune!

Ears twitching, he heard the rustle of something far-off coming into his range of hearing. Saffron oculars narrowed, those same audits going flat on his head. He stayed for a moment longer, before turning and running into the safe embrace of the deeper, darker woods ahead of him.

: : :

~Two Weeks Earlier~

He had taken to visiting the kitsune, whenever he could. At night, when the shadows called to him, when the savage longing in his mind and heart could not be quelled, when his eyes were screaming for a glimpse, just a glimpse, of his fox…

He merely let it go, giving in, wandering the by-now familiar route to the redhead’s home. The dark-haired reincarnate thought that, having once seen his fox, he would be able to handle a good amount of time away from Kurama’s presence. But for—only, after that initial visit, a little over two months ago… something within him pulled and twisted and struggled to be free, anchoring him to the deadly routine of now allowing himself to linger at the kitsune’s bedside, almost nightly. He warred with himself, even on those nights he did not venture out—especially on those nights, was the desire so strong he could not nearly concentrate enough to finish the second seal. His mind was quickly turning from him, all thoughts locked on the youko, on owning him, on seeing him, on drinking in his beauty while it was to last…

In this frenzied, distracted state, he could not summon the proper concentration to finish his seal. It was a severe miscalculation on his part—he had not thought he would have… missed… Kurama so much, for the kitsune to become such a wild detriment to his carefully-wrought plans. And yet, it was all for his redhead, anyway…

Adjusting his previous plans, he instead quickly took to making the third seal—he wished, he so achingly wished to reveal himself, and while it was a tad reckless… he had least harbored enough common sense in this state to know that his fox would kill him on sight. That third seal—at the moment, it was more important than all the others, and time could not wait for him to begin sapping Kurama’s energy with his impatience nearly simmering over to heat his reason.

Images. Nights and nights of images, all with the fox in various sleeping positions, but the most common was on his stomach, curled under the sheets as though in a den—and the onyx-haired demon began to notice the nightmares, as well. A name, muffled into the pillow, or the mornings when he would inadvertently stay far too long and the fox would begin to stir into wakefulness while he was still very visible on the branch outside his room, and those days he would retreat in haste, lest he be spotted otherwise…

Kurama, Kurama.

Even on this night it was hard, too hard to focus his own reiki onto the brush as he painted the intricate kanji on strips of rice paper. With this changing state of affairs, he had begun to make smaller, lesser seals—like to the kind he’d meant to affix to his kitsune, with the second seal, but requiring not nearly so much power—that he secretively attached to the three humans he ‘served’. They had felt the effects, naturally, but all were under the impression they’d merely caught a cold(it was the season for it, after all), oblivious to the fact it was their energy that was being directed down to him, giving the crow demon the boost he needed to finish the third seal.

Soon.

He was almost jittery with anticipation, palms cold as fish scales—soon, soon. If Kurama could not kill him, he could afford to reveal himself a bit earlier than planned. There would be time, later, to affix the seal he’d meant to be the second one—there would be time to sap the kitsune’s energy if he could not be killed without the fox forfeiting his life, in return.

Soon. Kurama…

: : :

The silver fox cub glanced back and forth as he wandered, paying no mind to his lack of dress. He was still a kitsune, at heart, and kitsune did not think of such human necessities as clothes. Too soon, though, he began to shiver, hugging his bare arms around himself and wishing in vain that his hair was longer, so he could use it as a blanket… Soft vines draped around him from above, and the young youko blinked in surprise, the narrowed glare his eyes had taken since he left the gruesome sight(and his papa) many hours ago at last clearing. He even almost smiled, but caught himself in time—instead only allowing himself to pet the reaching vines, and sending a trickle of his meager youki into them, in thanks. They rustled in returned appreciation, and before he knew it they had scooped him up from the ground, cocooning him in a smooth cradle of broad leaves and began rocking him back and forth. He protested, at first, flailing a bit in surprise—but then a vine caressed the side of his cheek almost tenderly, and the kit’s protests fell quiet. He still didn’t smile, but gazed up at the plant with wide eyes, taking it all in.

No. He didn’t need a family.

He murmured, happily turning in the living cocoon, curling up within it to get comfortable, as well as gain some much-needed rest.

Plants were so much better than a family…

: : :

~Two Months Earlier~

It had taken a good while to get up this far—even despite the money Genkai-shihan had given her, she dared not use it but for an emergency. As the air chilled, she found herself smiling a bit more with each step, feeling that warmth in her chest grow, directing her onward, over the tiny strait between the main islands of Japan and its northernmost isle. She walked without much rest—she was still a youkai, after all, and she had walked longer distances, before, in the Makai—there was no telling how long her brother would remain on this island, and so it was imperative she find him, soon.

He was so close… she could almost swear she saw smoke rising around the snow-tipped trees in the distance, indicative of a fire—foolishly, perhaps, her spirits rose at this and she ran towards the beacon, mind breathlessly calling his name. She’d never known it, nothing except ‘imiko’, and as that title held anything but good connotations, in her own thoughts she’d substituted ‘’niisan’ or ‘ani’ for his name. When she found him, she would—she would ask his real name, to be sure, but until then…

’niisan! Is that you? ‘niisan! Please answer!

“‘niisan!?”

: : :

When she reached the source of the smoke, however… it was only from a tree. It looked as though it had been torn into, but… it was most definitely youkai-related. There were traces of youki all about, and she kneeled, running her fingers over the warm grooves torn into the bark. Flames… she couldn’t tell the color, she didn’t know if her brother wielded a special kind of flame or only controlled what they called in Makai ‘ningen no hi’, or simply ‘human fire’… that orange-red concoction that shone so brilliantly with warmth, that no youki could ever hope to completely imitate.

But for… Hiei-san’s fire. Perhaps he… perhaps he had met her brother, after all. She sat back, struck by the thought. She had never thought to ask him—Hiei-san hadn’t been in Makai for a long time, so she hadn’t thought to… Perhaps Hiei-san knew where he was! In the confusion and aftermath of the Dark Tournament, she’d had the sensation he was very close to her, but as the stadium had been about ready to collapse—she hadn’t been able to summon much time to try to desperately sort him out from the throngs of demons that teemed to escape before they were buried alive in a combustion of rubble and fire.

The koorime kneeled, knees bent neatly together, hands quietly placed atop them as she stared quietly at the burnt grooves in the tree. After a while she closed her eyes, concentrating, trying to sort out the source of the youki… it was familiar, of course, but… it had taken her a few days to get to this very spot. The traces of energy wound about the abused trunk were old, too old to identify a demon, unless she was already intimately familiar with his ki. But, even if it had been Kazuma-san, or Hiei-san, or Kurama-san or Yuusuke-san’s energy, it still might’ve been too old to identify. Along with her own inexperience… The ice maiden had only seen them fight during the Ankoku Buujutsukai, of course, and while they had battled hard, there—she’d not seen them summon their ki much after or before that.

As for this place… She’d gotten turned around a few times, but thanks to the animals inhabiting this forest, they’d helped her to at least head in the right direction. Opening her eyes, she exhaled a soft sigh, rising slowly to her feet. Perhaps… she had best keep moving. She still sensed him close, he must be in this forest, but here in—Hokkaido, had Genkai-shihan called it?—the forests were vast, much like their Makai counterparts…

Her chin a notch lower than it had been, a few hours earlier, the soft-spoken demoness rose to her feet, quietly thankful towards the elderly master for lending her these boots, as they crunched over ice, fallen twigs or pinecones with each step.

: : :

A still figure, high above in a tree off to the side, watched her go. He blended in as shadow to shadow, darker than night itself but for the white starburst thankfully obscured by an overhanging branch. A crimson gaze followed the figure even as she headed out of sight, then switched to an imperceptible tracking of her youki, as she ventured on.

Yukina…

Why was she here?

: : :

It proved to be a sickeningly taunting end to a lifestyle they had both come to expect.

It would also prove to be the first time in his life that he would take to wearing a filtering mask—to somehow rein in his power(his tutor had explained the nature of his ‘Quest Class’ talents to him, long ago), so it could grow inside of him, so he could hopefully at last defeat that damned hulking abomination that had enslaved the both of them(and marred Bui’s military face with a disfiguring, strangely-shaped scar on his forehead). Bui disappeared—supposedly to train, but Toguro Ani seemed to like the crow’s own company, and would hover around the onyx-haired demon, cackling and poking fun at his weaknesses…

There was some quality about the parasitic man he liked, but the crow could never quite temper his extreme annoyance of the man’s voice and appearance(like a bedraggled hyena with too many teeth, and a high-pitched, seemingly incessant chortle and illusions of power—thinking he was on par with his savannah-neighbor, the ‘lion’—who would have been Otouto in this comparison… oh, who was he deceiving, with that? Toguro would have been the ‘elephant’, here, untouchable and huge…) with that like enough to actively enjoy his company—most of the time, at any rate. So he was kept under Toguro Otouto’s forceful fist, and Toguro Ani’s jeering taunts, for the first time in his life experiencing terror and a feeling of utter helplessness. He learned to hide it, to let it simmer in his chest until it could be given a proper outlet that would not injure his pride with another embarrassing defeat by the towering younger sibling.

Bui would surface, now and again, only to challenge Toguro Otouto—but he never won.

For the first time in years, the sable-haired youkai began to actually train, accommodating himself to the raised level of power when he took off the mask—it filtered the same particles in, through his mouth and nose, but robbed them of their explosive qualities, and did not allow them to escape once they had passed through. He was perfectly capable of living without it, but when he did not wear the mask his body would constantly lose and gain only a minute amount of explosive material.

It was akin to a sieve, of sorts. If he wore the mask, the material(having no escape route once inside) would become stored in his body—when he removed the mask the flood of uninhibited air would activate those stored materials once more, enabling him to create greater and greater explosions. An odd after-effect was that this storing-up-and-sudden-activation of explosive particles tended to turn his hair wavy and blond the moment he breathed in his first breath without the filter in place. It was a strange quirk to become used to… but he quickly learned to live with it, when he saw how much more destruction he could wreak when he wore the mask for longer and longer periods.

He took to wearing it for days, then months, then weeks, then years on end, to try and build up his power to defeat Toguro Otouto. Eventually, he began to see that it was useless, that the younger Toguro brother would always defeat him—and while it didn’t quite break his spirit, it did spur him to bury his venomous anger at his situation(ever the spoiled child of a noble, perhaps), and put up a pleasant front to the huge demon, chatting with him amicably when the time called for it, but silently fuming and simmering just beneath the surface. There was little doubt Toguro Ani did not see past his congenial façade, but it seemed he saw fit to let the crow stew in his own helpless anger, and the only sign that the detestable man knew was a piercing comment now and then, and a constant cruel, amused glitter of his eyes when he remained silent.

He continued his assassin’s work when he could—when he wasn’t called on, rather gleefully, by Toguro Ani to assist them in some matter or another. The crow didn’t have the option to refuse—if he did, Toguro wouldn’t even kill him, he’d beat him down to within an inch of his life, and then he would have to spend an even longer time in shamed recovery. Here is where the differences between himself and Bui came to light—for Bui took it silently, but never gave Toguro any indication that he wouldn’t kill him if he could, and simply returned every few years to challenge him—only to be beaten to a pulp, again and again. The crow would watch from the sidelines, hands in his pockets, mask firmly in place although it had been a long time, indeed, since he had ever actively challenged Toguro. He was intelligent, there was no lie to that—he knew a fruitless battle when he saw one. All of Bui’s attempts were futile from the start, but perhaps out of some lingering camaraderie from their assassin days, he would watch the man’s struggles, giving him at least some quiet dignity in defeat by having a witness to his efforts. Where the ebony-haired crow had long ago given up over ever beating Toguro so long as the demon lived, he at least respected his former partner’s strong spirit and persistence—foolish though it was—in continuing to try.

Forty years after Bui and himself had lost to Toguro Otouto for the first time… they were forced into competing in the Ankoku Buujutsukai. For Toguro, it was his second time, and he had been growing more silent and curiously introspective as the date approached. As they sailed towards the island, the first words Toguro Otouto had spoken on the side of the ship gave at last some insight into his thoughts—and he had to think, that Bui or even Toguro Ani had no inkling as to the true momentous nature of this Tournament.

“I have requested that Koenma’s Reikai Tantei be the human guests at this year’s Ankoku Buujutsukai.” He recalled that scene—the bulky man dressed in his half-buttoned, long olive trenchcoat and dark pants, the usual sunglasses affixed over his eyes as he stared out over the rippling tides and crests of waves against the distant shores of Kubikukuri Island, just barely visible from where they were. The wind ruffled around them, a little, even as shrewd violet quietly locked on the taller demon between dark windswept tendrils of thin onyx, but Toguro remained silent for another few moments, hands in his pockets as he continued gazing out at the ocean—immoveable and eternal as stone, it seemed, in this one frozen instant.

“Before the finals of this Tournament, a fifty-year disagreement shall come to an end.”

Then, the huge youkai had turned and walked away, leaving the crow to be mildly perplexed—but it also gave his sharp mind something to work at, to figure out, to entertain himself with, as it was too likely(as a result of his intense training to beat Toguro) he would easily win all of his own matches—after all, just this past year he had finally climbed to low B-class—and while it would do nothing against Toguro Otouto’s high B-class, it would most certainly be idiotically simple to do away with all of his opponents before the finals.

: : :

~Present Time~

He tapped his foot in the air, impatient with the babbling oni giving him various reasons as to why—well, it had to be something about the fact he kept passing through Reikai, every year without fail on the day of his death, to see his wife and son and check up on how they were doing…

Or, perhaps it had something to do with the fact that this time, he’d loitered—well, not really loitered, more like expected to be able to meet with Enma about an issue pertaining to his own son. Suuichi… he’d watched him, these past two months, and he hadn’t liked what he’d seen. A suspicious figure was sneaking into the tree beside his son’s room on a near-nightly basis, and while it seemed he hadn’t done any harm… the boy’s ki is what set him on edge.

He’d caught a few glimpses in the daytime, observing from the clouds, unseen and unfelt by all those living by being that safe distance removed from their world. The boy would never sense him, however—there was something extremely off about the sense he got from the lad. He looked to be only a few years older than Suuichi, but… he knew quite well what regular boys’ ki looked like, and this boy… his spirit reminded him of the ghosts he saw, up here. It made him worry. Apparently, more than he should have, because when he went to cross the barrier into the Heaven reserved for those who had died many, many years ago… his thoughts of worry weighed him down, and he was unable to float across.

He was concerned for Shiori, yes, because a stranger with unknown intent could easily target her to get at his son—but his overwhelming fatherly anxiety for Suuichi was winning against it. His son had done so much to keep Shiori safe… he ought to do something in return. Of course, Suuichi was still his son, it was not all about Shiori, and he’d watch out for the redhead as best he could(it was not a coincidence Suuichi scraped by his last battle in the Dark Tournament—he’d had a little help, for that one, to ensure he stayed alive and well enough to return home), but this… this situation called for more intervention than he could afford to give, being only a spirit. It was simple enough—with the heavy distress weighing on his mind about Suuichi’s follower, he could not pass back into Heaven. Therefore, the resolution of this problem would both help ease his worries enough to crossover, this time, and put his son in a safer condition.

Which was why he had ‘loitered’ in Reikai, two months longer than he usually did, after visiting his own grave(and, indirectly, his family—as they never neglected to visit his grave on the day, every year since his death).

Which was why he had thus endeavored to score an appointment with Enma-daioh-sama.

…The two above reasons being why he was currently being scolded by the purple oni across from him. Eventually he got tired of the rambling, had heard enough to know that ‘Enma-daioh-sama was far too busy to have the time to meet with disgruntled spirits’ and shouted, quite impatiently—

“Then take me to Koenma, you babbling buffoon! This involves one of his tantei, anyway—my son! It is important, and if you lack the ability to grasp that I’ll barge into his office myself and breach all of your precious protocols!”

He was quite satisfied when the purple ogre went white as a sheet, shut his mouth and turned, hastily running in a seemingly random direction. Smugly, the ghost floated after his new guide, unperturbed.

You just had to yell at them a bit, and they listened.

He had learned that, at least, in his twelve years here.

: : :

Thin limbs, all wiry and toned with the growing muscle of youth, splayed out expertly as he sparred with one of his dearest plants—laughing, he bounded out of the way as the broad leaves of the Ojigi-Mimosa plant reacted to his body heat and lunged for him with its petal-like mouths full of razor-sharp leaves. The kitsune grinned impishly, winding around the deadly shards and instead hugging the back of the moving stalk, babbling in what sounded like a pretend language to the plant. Surprisingly, the plant then rustled its leaves in what might have been a return of merriment, slowly descending towards the ground so the young youko could jump off. Once with his feet firmly on the ground, he patted the mimosa’s curved ‘head’ sort of thing, bowing lightly toward it and to his surprise, it opened the pod beneath his hand, revealing the vulnerable lines of seeds sitting in neat serrated rows, nestled within a fragile network of tendrils. The kitsune hesitated, and only when the mimosa nudged at his hand did he venture forth to take one of the seeds, gazing at it curiously as he held it aloft between his thumb and forefinger.

He’d always had an affinity for plants—perhaps part of it had to do with his kitsune upbringing—but to be offered this, a seed which was as good as a kit, to his dear friends… Curious, he sent a spurt of his youki into the seed, and let out a yelp as it germinated instantly, dropping the rapidly-growing plant and trying to step backwards, but not quickly enough as it tangled around his legs and lifted him clear off the ground—only about his height, as his youki was still nowhere near its potential, due to his young age—but he was rather relieved when the normally-aggressive mimosa didn’t try to bite him or burn him, only tickled around his sides once it gathered its bearings, recognizing his ki as the same energy that had germinated it and gently set him back on the ground.

Now, this mimosa was nowhere near as large as the parent mimosa that had given him the seed—the older one was easily hundreds of times the size of this small one, with roots and leaves and connections that spanned to the edges of the forest!—but then the youko laughed, again, finally understanding the reason for the given seed and pounced onto the larger plant, hugging it tightly around its stalk and again babbling in that strange(plant?) language, causing the upper leaves to rustle as the mimosa leaned over to pat his back with the end of one of its broad, purple leaves...

: : :

~One Week Earlier~

Yet another night, and here he was. He had tried to ignore the urge, tonight, he really had… but when the image of Kurama, asleep all these many nights for the past two months, called to his mind, painting him in all those different, yet equally lovely sleeping poses, unconscious, peaceful, and unaware of his spectator reclining on the branch of one of the kitsune’s beloved plants—a threat and yet not a threat, undetected as such by all the ivy, vines and roses that the fox had so cleverly woven around his home as deterrents against intruders, trusting their senses enough to protect him while he slept, all the while never thinking their protection had long ago been neutralized, when concerning this certain visitor…

Really, it was all the redhead’s fault, for being so exquisite.

Or at least that was one of the idle musings he allowed himself, fully aware that it was his own perhaps-unhealthy obsession with the former youko that caused his internal dilemma, and that it truly was of no transgression of the other’s, that Kurama was so painfully beautiful…

He sighed, fingering the sleeping draught in his pocket. It was always there, at this time of night—he trusted it nowhere else, suspected it might be discovered if left carelessly about, and so kept the finely powdered concoction on him at all times. It was the same drug he used to keep his humans sleeping, pitifully unaware, through the night as he drained them of energy to complete his seals. That seal still wasn’t quite finished, yet—and that was partly due to his heavy distraction, these past few months—but he couldn’t quite resist watching his lovely kitsune sleep, anymore. The fox was too tempting…

He needed a better glimpse. There was no moon tonight, it was early in the cycle and thus shed no light on the world beneath it… so he quietly stalked along the branch without fear of an errant beam illuminating him—but still, the shadows that kept him undiscovered also hid the fox from his view, and wandering fingertips brushed out, accidently hitting smooth glass sooner and with more force than they would’ve intended, if he’d realized it was so close—

To his great surprise, the pane moved—inward, just a bit, on the hinge—with only the smallest of creaks to announce its shift in position. He instantly froze, anxiety choking his throat… while his spirit could not be sensed, that did not mean Kurama’s experience and own attuned senses would not smell him, or hear him, if he was careless. He’d not meant, or expected, for the window to open. It was a surprise he tried not to dwell on—if he’d known the redhead slept with his window open… perhaps not only tonight, for that would be far too great a coincidence for him to believe… but… every night…

He cursed himself for not testing it, earlier. Two months’ worth of chances, to lock that next seal onto the kitsune’s breathtaking skin while he was at his most vulnerable… wasted. All that patience and discipline, unneeded. In his anger he did what would perhaps later be described as a foolish catalyst for the following events that would play out—he placed his palm to the cracked-open window, pressing it far enough for him to slip inside. Black boots landed neatly on polished wood, and he was immediately greeted with the intoxicating scent of…

…Kurama.

There he was. The same as he slept, every night, only this time curled around his pillow as though around a lover, carmine tresses spilling messily everywhere, like blood, around his neck and shoulders, a few flirting with those beautiful, flawless cheeks, draped over the rosy skin like silk…

He took a quiet step forward.

Kurama. The same as every night, he was observing him… but now… now he had stepped into that dreamworld, into the same room—the room where the kitsune crafted his human façade, relaxed, tended to his plants without worry of being discovered, always expecting a knock at the door to warn him of his human mother’s approach in time…

A few near-silent taps echoed over the wooden floor.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away. Every moment, he was growing closer… those months ago, at the Ankoku Buujutsukai, seemed so far away, right now… that brief touch of ivory, perfect skin too far removed from recent memory, after having waited so long…

The reincarnated demon stood beside the kitsune’s desk, obscuring what faint dim light penetrated the shadowy night and filtered into his beloved’s room. Only a meter… only a meter more, and he would be touching the fox. His blood heated. To touch the fox… it was the luxury he had not allowed himself, during the Tournament—he knew what happened to those he touched. It was a burned-in mechanism. He would destroy Kurama, if he touched him… it was his greatest desire as well as his greatest fear.

To kill Kurama… he would keep him, as he couldn’t, before. To have the kitsune’s life become his, to keep… he trembled to think of the high that would greet him in the aftermath of the murder. As though he could… the redhead could… possibly—be the one individual who would top the high after his own mother’s death. It was what he had sought for, all these centuries… and yet…

To kill Kurama… the kitsune would be gone from his sight, for an indefinite period of time. Even unto death, even if he were to make it into Reikai, to track down the fox’s soul—there was no guarantee the youko would be waiting for him, there. If he killed Kurama… the spirit would run, clever as it was, and find another host, and begin again. Throughout the three worlds—Makai, Ningenkai, Reikai—if he killed Kurama, now, it was possible he would lose him, never find him again. The crafty youko had already escaped death, once…

Torn, he moved with just a hint less care, and bumped the leg of the chair, tearing the silence with a bone-shattering ‘creak’. He froze, instantly terrified that he’d given himself away, violet retreating behind the dark brown hues of his human form. His fears were confirmed when that reposed body on the bed tensed, fingers curling into the pillow as a nearly-indiscernible glint of green opened from behind slightly mussed scarlet bangs.

That gaze was suspicious, immediately on guard, the kitsune’s entire body tense as he tried to feign sleep for a few moments more, observing all he could about the intruder…

: : :

He hadn’t sensed anything.

His plants hadn’t sensed anything, or they surely would have warned him…

There was a dark figure in the room before him. By the sound he’d heard, they were just by his desk. Close. Too close for comfort, yet far away enough that he could call to the fern at his bedside and have them incapacitated easily before they could do any harm. It warred with his senses. He knew someone was there. The moment he’d awakened to that sound, he’d known someone was there.

But, his senses told him there was no ki. Not human reiki, not demonic youki. Not holy ki. Nothing.

Every living being had ki. He could sense the squirrels nesting in the tree outside, could feel his mother sleeping in her room down the hall, could almost reach out and touch the tree, roses and ivy that made up his outer perimeter, with his own ki. The fern would react seamlessly to any command he gave it, in less than a moment—and its life force beat quietly on the edge of his subconscious. He knew it was there without having to look.

But this…

Confused by his senses, he slowly creaked his eyes open, gaze no doubt steely and full of taut suspicion.

What greeted his sight was unexpected, and the kitsune felt his eyes grow wide as the impossibility of the situation fell upon him. The window was open… that alone jarred too many memories, causing his mind to spin at the possibility. The other could easily be suppressing his ki, so he couldn’t feel him. It was dark, he couldn’t see his face, he wasn’t quite close enough to smell, but…

The being before him couldn’t be human—

“H… Hiei?”

: : :

The oculars across from him were too wide and innocent, too lit with blossoming hope as they took him in—clearly, Kurama couldn’t see him well, in the darkness. Blessing it once more, he slowly moved forward, catching a glint of light off of his cautiously-brown-colored eyes, narrowed as they were, trying to determine just how far… he heard another gasp, and was quite unprepared when a body suddenly was pressed against him and he couldn’t help a grunt as he bore the weight of them both to the polished floor, back against the cool wood and form heating pleasantly as warm arms wrapped around his own waist, and he fought the urge to flip Kurama onto his back and ravage him as that half-obscured jade stare locked with his own, scarcely a few bare centimeters away… it was still too wide, for a mere moment, and then it thinned, and he found his own long fingers clinging to the kitsune’s pajama top as the redhead suddenly moved to violently push himself off of the intruder—ah, Kurama must have registered the smell, at last, must have finally come to realize that the form he’d tackled was not the short, wiry, birdlike one of his former team mate and lover…

“Y-You’re not—! Who are you!” The whisper held all the violence the former youko’s actions could not, lest he risk waking the other human in the house. It was low and cutting, chips of emerald ice furiously burning into his own face, his soul. Out of nervousness he’d retreated behind the original features of his human host—his eyes were rounder, features less fine, and more fitting to a human of his host’s age as opposed to the demon he was. Best to hide himself, for now… it was too foolish of him to believe Kurama would not sense him entering his room, it was his mistake, he could see it now—

But would the error really be enough to put all his careful planning to waste?

Thin, spidery digits yet clutching a handful of the fabric of the fox’s long-sleeved silken top in one hand, he pushed himself up, watching as Kurama took the slackened pull as a chance to move yet further away.

“I…” His voice was surprisingly unsure, he hadn’t meant it to come out that way, but—he was in such a precarious position, the redhead was easily within arm’s reach, the kitsune could kill him if he had such an urge to…

: : :

The boy before him was clearly human. It showed in his face, his eyes—a common brown, and for a moment he couldn’t believe he’d mistaken them for the Jaganshi’s dark red. The youth on the other’s features could be the only thing that’d led him to accidentally identify him as his former lover… that, and too many nights since he’d last seen the fire youkai, too many nights pining and wondering and dreaming over seeing him again—and then to wake in the night, with the window pushed open just as Hiei’d always enter, to find a dark form silent and hesitant in the obscurity of midnight(not attacking him, or threatening him to silence as a Ningenkai burgler or other sort of robber might)…

It had been his mistake. The dark-haired boy across from him was clearly human, that gaze was too obviously desperate—he could see the desperation, and while could not determine the source of it… he began to relax, despite himself. The human clearly meant him no harm… perhaps it was merely a boy, running from someone, and he’d jumped in the first open window he could find, to hide.

I should really stop expecting Hiei to come here. He told himself this, mind’s voice firm.

This would have never happened, if I had… closed that final door.

By leaving the window open… even after all this time, nearly six months since the Jaganshi had left… this moment, now, revealed to him just how deeply Hiei had scarred him. Just how deeply… the kitsune was still bound to him… merely by keeping that same breathlessly stupid hope alive, even after so long.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, he took a slow breath—returning his attention to the boy, smiling mildly and reigning in his initial anger as he at last registered the half-begging, pale fingers clutching onto the fabric of his shirt, just above the elbow.

: : :

“…What are you doing here?” That tone was considerably calmer than it’d been, before, and the reincarnated demon started, staring forward at the fox as though he’d never seen him quite properly. What was… ? What was his kitsune thinking of? His mind worked, showing him—no, no, Kurama didn’t suspect it was him. Obviously. But why would… why would he… be all right with someone barging into his room, like that? Surely the fox would’ve killed anyone who dared…

Suddenly acutely aware of his almost-desperate grip on the fox, he let go, wrenching himself back and forcing himself to keep his sudden hard breathing to himself—he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it. Wide eyes watched the redhead, watched as the smallest of smiles echoed forth on that face—watched as the kitsune slowly began to approach him, stretching a hand, fingers reaching towards his arm.

“It’s all right, now—I’m not going to hurt you. Did something happen? Are you running from someone?” That voice was all Minamino Suuichi, surely—it reeked of warmth and help and easy solutions to any problem. It make him quake, inside. That tone couldn’t ever be meant for him. Kurama offering him his help? The mere notion was ludicrous! As though he’d ever need the kitsune’s help, ever need his pity—he would kill him. He would kill Kurama, given the chance, and to have the youko so blindly offer help without even knowing who lay behind the human mask he saw…

…He had to leave. Lest he give himself away, run out of the luck he’d apparently accumulated from nowhere… he had to leave. Now.

Not giving an answer, the reincarnated demon turned, palms pushing himself from the polished wood of the floor in a graceful, quick movement as black boots swept cleanly over the same surface an instant later, propelling himself out the window and into the darkness, blending into the inky night and disappearing without another sound to betray him.

~*~To Be Continued~*~