She sat across from him in the little booth, finishing her ramen, chattering happily about everything and nothing - how his little brother was doing in school; how ’Tousan was these days; how she herself was feeling. Occasionally, she would fire a question about his life, one he would smooth over with the truth or a small lie. Like when she asked if he’d found anyone yet ... as much as he hated lying to her, he seriously doubted now would be a good time to tell her he had been entangled in a romantic attachment with his best friend. Especially since that friend was male.
Or maybe it was. She didn’t have all the time in the world, like he did. But how could he broach the subject to her? He knew she’d tell ’Tousan about it ... and as much as he had tried getting along with his stepfather, there had always been an air of nervous tension between them; Kazuya had watched “Shuuichi” carefully, monitoring every move. He knew, from the few times he had eavesdropped on his parents, that Kazuya had doubts about his sexual orientation, and had started implanting them in Shiori. She had wholeheartedly defended his case, insisting that he wasn’t ... he couldn’t be ... she’d be so disappointed in him, if she knew.
“Shuuichi? Shuu-chan, did you hear what I just said?” he heard her say, cutting through his contemplative haze. He startled, then readopted his usual accepting smile, shaking his head ruefully.
“I’m sorry, ’Kaasan ... what was that?”
His smile was returned by one that lit up her face, bringing to life the reminders of her youth. She never smiled as much as he would like her to; but now that he moved out, there wasn’t much he could do, in the ways of domestic life, to make her happy and ease the pain of loneliness. In his opinion, ’Tousan went on far too many business trips to make Shiori really happy, to be the husband she deserved. But he couldn’t tell either of them that - so he smiled and nodded, silently agonizing about it in the privacy of his mind. Her voice was light and teasing, more like an older sister than a mother, “Are you daydreaming about some pretty girl, Shuu-chan? Maybe that nice Ryoko from your office?” She attempted a wink that looked out of place on her motherly features.
He blinked for a few minutes, shock keeping her words from fully sinking into his brain. Shiori and Ryoko had bonded from the moment he introduced them, gossiping and talking about everything - including, he suspected, him. She had always been of the mind that he needed to tell Shiori about his relationship, and who he was having it with, but willingly kept her mouth shut about it, especially after he had pleaded with her not to tell. But the very idea of it - of Ryoko being his lover - once the idea set in, it made him, choking on the remains of his meal, barely able to force the rest down his throat.
And once that was done, he began to laugh. She was everything Hiei was not - cheerful, friendly, accepting, and a pacifist to a near extreme - but he could never see her that way. It was Hiei’s sulleness, his guarded nature, that had drawn Kurama’s natural curiosity; and it was the rare displays of affection, the few times Hiei would smile warmly at him, or hold his hand, or allow Kurama to hold him without protest - that and more was that that made Kurama so fiercely loyal to his Koorime lover. Ryoko was a friend, could maybe even be considered as a sister, but never, ever, as a lover.
He shook his head, trying not to show his amusement too broadly, lest she take it as an insult. “I’m afraid not, ’Kaasan. Ryoko-san and I are just friends ... besides, she already has someone.” He smiled warmly at her. “But don’t worry; I’m sure there’s someone out there perfect for me.” And he is closer than you think, he added silently, fixing a cheerful smile on his face as he set the money down for their meal. Ignoring her protests that she could pay for her half, he helped her up, leading her from the coolness of the restaurant, into the bright sunlight of the early afternoon.
Almost instantly, the feeling of a stranger’s you-ki flooded his mind, distracting him from Shiori’s pleasant conversation. He smiled and nodded calmly, agreeing with whatever she was telling him, sending out a small, probing tendril of his awareness, seeking out the source of the you-ki, searching to see if the stranger was a threat. It felt rather weak - a low A-Class, at the best - but he couldn’t risk a confrontation here and now, especially with Shiori by his side. He would have to try and avoid the other youkai, and hope he could lure it to a more private place, where there was no danger of any innocent bystanders - especially his mother - getting hurt.
“Shuuichi? Is something wrong?” She sounded so concerned, her gentle brown eyes searching his face with the same worry and love she had always displayed for him, her small hand touching his arm in a gesture of comfort. Once more, he flashed that winning, accepting smile that always seemed to quell her fears, shaking his head in a negative gesture, but not saying anything.
There - there it was again. A small frown creased his forehead, and he dropped a little behind Shiori, one hand darting out with inhuman speed, snagging a few leaves off a nearby bush, palming them easily. It never hurt for precautions, and though he didn’t intend to parade any displays of power in front of Shiori, he would much rather have her alive and know his secret, then dead without really knowing anything about her beloved son ...
It was a woman’s scream that seemed to be the catalyst for everything; a cry of utter fear from the other side of the street. As if in slow motion, he turned towards the sound, his eyes widening as he saw the scene that lay open before him:
Three huge Makai plants, deformed by youkai standards, hideous by human ones, had broken through the asphalt of the street, rearing head-like seed pods, blindly twisting and turning in the sunlight. A young woman in a business suit lay close to the thing’s roots, staring in dumbfounded fear at the huge things, not moving when they loomed ominously close.
A sharp whistle cut through the air, hurting his ears, causing him to flinch. Eyes narrowed, he cast his glance around, searching for whoever could be there ... but he found nothing. The sound came again, cutting and loud, and suddenly the three plants jerked, their long stems weaving like a snake’s slender body moved to a charmer’s music. Almost hypnotic, the sound came again, and they swiveled around, focusing ... on him. He felt a beat of unease go through his entire soul as the plants edged away from the petrified woman on the ground, and started moving closer.
His brow furrowed in thought, calculating what he could do that wouldn’t seem to odd to Shiori, or anyone else who happened to see. There would be no easy way to explain to her where or how he had gotten his hands on a sword - especially one made out of a leaf - but he had to do it; had to make sure his mother would be safe. He concentrated his you-ki, encouraging the leaf to grow, sharpen, turn itself into something deadly - when the nearest plant struck.
Shiori screamed in horror as the thing writhed in the air, blocking the sun briefly as it jerked wildly, as if caught in violent death-throes. Then, it arched, like a cat, and sent thousands of tiny, nasty-looking thorns that shot towards the two of them like millions of tiny arrows. Kurama had no time to do anything but react; the leaves, forgotten, fluttered to the ground as he dropped them and moved, shoving his mother out of the range of the danger, feeling his footing slip out from under him. He stumbled, almost fell, caught himself on the fence ...
“Shuuichi! LOOK OUT!” he heard his mother wail, even as something, unpleasantly sharp, struck his shoulder and upper arm, sinking it with a burning pain that was worse than any knife cut. He sank to his knees slowly, feeling his entire body shaking, cold sweat breaking out all over his body, his vision darkening. He felt cold all over, and at the same time, burning up, terribly hot, painfully so, and he moaned as the dizzying pain struck, making the ground before him spin crazily, as if he were standing up on a high-speed merry-go-round.
As darkness overtook him, he could hear his mother calling his name, her voice desperate, full of worry; felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him roughly. And then, at the very edge of his fading senses, he could feel Hiei’s you-ki, close and coming nearer by the second. He wanted to smile at the realization though his facial muscles refused to obey him; but it was okay. Hiei was coming, and his lover could deal with these plants without having to worry about what Shiori would think; he would make everything all right ...
The darkness that surrounded him was gradually lightening. He felt almost weightless, like he was floating on a soft cloud; around him, he could feel the soft, embracing touch of sheets. He sighed happily, feeling lazily content, then reached out to draw his lover back into his embrace ... but met with nothing. Frowning, he opened his eyes, and blinked in astonishment. He was in his old room! And not only that, his younger brother was sprawled in a nearby chair, playing a Gameboy. He looked up and noticed Kurama watching him, and stuffed the machine aside, a smile brightening his face. “Oi, ’Niisan!” he said cheerfully. “Jeez, took you long enough to wake up, didn’t it?”
“Nani?” he replied, trying to sitting up, then abandoning the action when a wave of pain flooded through his skull. Rubbing his temple with two fingers, he gingerly shook his head, trying to clear it without jarring anything valuable loose. Other than the fiery throb that ran down his entire left arm, and the persistent jabbing behind his eyelids, he seemed fine. “What happened?”
Shuuichi shrugged, leaning back in his chair again, draping his feet on the edge of Kurama’s bed, folding his arms behind his head for a pillow. “Not quite sure. ’Kaasan says that after you passed out, this strange guy appears and kills the plants by slicin’ ’em in half. Then she says he comes over and lifts you up; gives you a once-over and tells her that you’re not going to die. When ’Kaasan was going to call the hospital, he stopped her; told her to just ‘take Shuuichi home.’ She says he didn’t seem like a guy you’d argue with, so she did. Then he disappeared. Poof! Just like that,” Shuuichi stressed his point by snapping his fingers, the sound painfully loud to Kurama’s ears.
Wincing, Kurama forced a pained smile. “Did she remember what the boy looked like?”
“Huh? Uh ... oh, yeah. Said he was short - shorter’n me! - and that he was dressed all in black, like he was some sorta ninja-guy or somethin’. Oh, yeah, and she said he had weird hair. All black and spiky except for a white star right here.” He traced a crude, vaguely star-shaped pattern over the bangs that fell in the center of his forehead, then shrugged. “But then, ’Tousan says that ’Kaasan’s probably in shock from the ordeal ... and whatever did happen, it looks like you’re gonna be all right.” He shrugged. “So I guess we can stop worryin’ about you now, ne?”
Some of the pain faded, much to Kurama’s relief as he nodded slowly, taking pains not to move his head too quickly. “Hai. Arigato.” He settled back into the comfort of the deep pillows, pulling the blanket higher up his body. “I think I’ll go back to sleep now,” he said drowsily, hoping that his brother would take the hint.
He did. Swinging his legs down from the bed, the younger boy tiptoed from the room, shutting the door quietly behind him, leaving Kurama in peace. He smiled muzzily, trying to imagine the look on Hiei’s face as he told Shiori quite plainly that she would not be taking him anywhere but her home. That brought a weak chuckle from the back of his throat, even as his lids fluttered shut and he drifted off the sleep.
A soft breeze, almost like a lover’s whispered words, fluttered through an open window, the air parting with barely a sound to admit Hiei into the still room. Aside from a jagged rip down the sleeve of his shirt, he showed no signs of the earlier, brief fight; it had been Kurama who had been hurt, Kurama who had taken the brunt of the attack.
And he hadn’t been able to help him in time. For a moment, he allowed his fist to clench in frustrated anger; how the hell could someone as innocent as Kurama stay with him, if he couldn’t even keep his lover safe from those who attacked him! He crossed the distance from bed to window in a few large, quick steps, and knelt beside the bed, the movement bringing him on-level with Kurama’s peacefully sleeping face.
Many times during the night, when he knew for certain that his lover was deeply asleep, Hiei would watch him, would allow the hidden feelings he’d harbored for so long to surface; in the few hours between that time and dawn, he would lie there, holding Kurama gently, like a fragile item that could break with mistreatment, and watch everything about the sleeping human ... from the way his gentle breathing caused his slender chest to rise and fall rhythmically; the way his long red lashes created soft shadows on his smooth cheeks; the way a small smile would occasionally curve his full lips ... Hiei mentally grabbed the back of his shirt and shook himself firmly. Not now; not when there was a chance of him being seen!
Kurama muttered something unintelligible in his sleep, turning over onto his side, facing Hiei, his face still completely relaxed. In these fleeting moments, he looked like completely innocent; in sleep, the many crimes of Youko Kurama melted away, faded by obscurity, and all that was left was a sleeping boy who trusted far too much, far too easily, who was innocent of everything and anything. He smiled a little, then reached out to stroke a few rebellious strands away from Kurama’s face, noting the way his lover turned towards the touch, curling towards the warmth of his hand like a flower towards the heat of the sun. It caused a small, protective lurch in his chest, and he risked a quick brush of his lips against the exposed temple before drawing back to watch Kurama a little longer.
Sleep well, koibito, he thought, rising to his feet and vanishing through the window, his departure unmarked by the same breeze that had announced his arrival. Kurama stirred briefly, muttered something under his breath and turned to his other side, still deeply asleep.
The door cracked open, and Shiori peered in, narrowing her eyes to help her see better in the dusky atmosphere of her eldest son’s room. She saw nothing out of the ordinary; just her boy curled up on his bed, the dull white gleam of his bandages barely visible in the faded light. She smiled; she had been so worried, so terrified, when she had seen those things hit him; her mind had frozen in that instant, watching as he slid to his knees, clutching numbly at his shoulder, and it took all her willpower to run to him, to shake him and call his name. She had been so sure that she had lost him until that stranger showed up, the one who easily destroyed those plants and come over to her, checking Shuuichi over and telling her he would be fine, as long as he didn’t go to a hospital. That had confused her, but she had not argued with her savior; only bundled her son up into her arms as best she could, and stumbled home.
But when she turned around to thank him, he was gone. Shiori shook her head lightly, then stepped away from the door, sliding it closed and hurried back to her own bedroom, to where her husband was waiting.