Adult-FanFiction.org : YuYu Hakusho

Into the Gray	By : Dementian Category: Yuyu Hakusho > Yaoi - Male/Male > Kurama/Kuwabara Views: 2206 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho and make zero money off of it.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
In the dark of his room, Kazuma tossed a baseball upon his bed, thinking over all that had occurred in the past few days. Urameshi’s kiss had haunted him, making him lament at the fact that he had cheated on Kurama. It was silly really, when Kurama wasn’t his boyfriend and Urameshi had told him it meant nothing, but Kazuma couldn’t help himself. He was an incredibly loyal person, and he had allowed himself to kiss another when all he’d wanted to begin with was to hold Kurama. He’d been so lonely, so desperate to be liked and touched, that he’d allowed Urameshi to kiss him. That had been wrong, he knew it now, but he certainly didn’t blame anyone but himself. Urameshi was a wild fire, self-proclaimed as open to kissing particular people (Kazuma himself include in that group). Yusuke and Keiko had a very firm understanding of each other, and what their relationship included. Keiko kept him on a loose leash, allowing him to run amuck because she knew at the end of the day Yusuke would come home to her. Yusuke had proven that tenfold in his short life.
   But Kazuma... Kazuma had eyes for only one person, and every minute that he relived that kiss he wanted to punch himself in the face.
   How the fuck could he kiss Urameshi when he wanted to kiss Kurama?
   His phone vibrated beside his head where it lay on his pillow, and Kazuma caught the tossed ball before setting it aside and pick up his phone. It was Urameshi.
   “You need to tell your sister.”
   Kazuma made a noise under his breath, rapidly texting back.
   “Lay off, man.” He hit send and sat his phone aside. Yet before he could get off the bed to grab a coke, he heard his phone buzz again. He picked it back up.
   “Do it, or else.”
   The ‘or else’ spoke volumes, and suddenly Urameshi’s wicked smile filled his mind as Kazuma groaned and hung his head.
   “Fuck you, man,” Kazuma mumbled to no one in particular, unable to feel comfort even when Eikichi roamed past his leg and brushed up against his calve muscle. “Fuck you."
   ~*~
   The first Sunday of every month, the Kuwabara family had a tradition. Pulling away from their respective lives, father, son, and daughter would reconvene upon the Kuwabara family household to eat together in a large spread. Kazuma had to admit that after eating left over pizza and ramen for an entire week he was in the mood for some actual cooked food. His father, Jiro, was a tall man that worked record deals and played in a band on the weekends. A free spirit and wild like the wind, Jiro had allowed Shizuru to be the one to raise Kazuma for the most part as he brought in a steady income and ran amuck to his heart’s content. When Kazuma had gotten into turf wars during high school or vanished for spirit detective cases, his father had said nothing. When Shizuru had joined the precinct and Kazuma had moved out on his own, his father had just kept rocking. While Kazuma kept in touch with his father, he rarely ever saw him. He honestly just didn’t have time most days, though it made him feel incredibly guilty.
   Just what he needed, more guilt on top of everything else.
   Kazuma took his bike into the city, attempting to find comfort in the old and familiar sights of his childhood neighborhood as he pulled into his father’s driveway. Shizuru’s car was parked on the street, and the lights glowed warm from the kitchen window. Kazuma could hear classic rock music playing as he approached, and smiled as he thought of his childhood obsession with Megallica (a band his father had found and signed). There were some things he would forever associate with his father, and this house. Rock music was one of them.
   Jiro Kuwabara had a particular air about him, a sort of coolness that Kazuma had idolized in his youth and now attempted to mimic in his adulthood. In flannel and jeans, Jiro’s pierced ear and loose pony tail were heightened by the sunglasses he wore (despite it being seven at night and indoors). Padding around in his socks, Jiro threw up a friendly hand when he saw Kazuma step inside and swept him up into a tight one armed hug.
   Shizuru was at the stove, making miso soup as usual and keeping a firm eye on a timer that counted down the cooking vegetables in the oven. Shizuru cast a glance over shoulder and smiled as she saw Kazuma.
   It was weird, all they had endured together outside this house. It just made them stronger when they were inside it, closer in a way that normal brothers and sisters were.

   “Damn, it feels good to have my children back in the house!” Jiro crowed, quite pleased with himself as he took over the miso soup to allow Shizuru to cook the rice. She was better at it than both of them, having a natural eye for when the rice was perfect for eating. Kazuma had a feeling her sense of awareness helped her out (which he considered cheating, but whatever).
   “So what have you two been up to?"
   “Just police work, dad," Shizuru said calmly, adding a bit more vinegar to the rice as Kazuma set the table.
   Oh nothing, dad, just found out I was gay. How are you?
   Kazuma’s ears burned with shame. He couldn’t tell his father.
   Shizuru would probably laugh at him and call him stupid.
   Kazuma set a glass down with unnecessary force, and had to take a minute to recompose himself as he focused instead on his father’s conversation with Shizuru behind him.
   “Just police work?” Jiro’s tone was coy with knowing.
   “Yeah.”
   “Coulda’ sworn a buddy of mine came ranting to me about how he saw you at a bowling alley with this gorgeous young thing attached to your hip-“
   “Dad, knock it off,” Shizuru growled, her infamous temper ready to rear its head.
   “What?” Jiro sighed, “Am I not allowed to know if you have someone in your life?"
   “Didn’t think you’d even give a crap,” Shizuru grumbled.
   “Hey. Come on now.” Kazuma looked over his shoulder to see his father was now flicking grains of rice at Shizuru, who was getting closer and closer to exploding. Jiro could press Shizuru’s buttons faster than a crane operator, working her nerves till they were as raw as minced meat, “What's her name?”
   Shizuru didn’t miss a beat as Kazuma’s heart leapt.
   Wait, was Shizuru gay too?
   Oh great, so Shizuru got to live her life and date the chicks she wanted while Kazuma was stuck in fuckin’ purgatory, never allowed to touch. That made perfect sense.
   ‘Of course it does,’ a nagging voice whispered in the back of his head, ‘Because you’re a loser.’
   “Who says it’s a girl.” Shizuru sneered, fluffing the rice as Jiro stirred his own pot with a loping grin across his face.
   “Cause my friend, who will remain anonymous for his own safety, said it was a girl,” Jiro sing-songed. Shizuru threw down a rag she’d been holding and stamped her foot in sheer irritation.
   “It was Kento. I saw him by the bar, I knew he was gonna squeal-“ Shizuru snarled, balling her fists as their father leapt back a little to whip his cell phone out of his pocket.
   “In that case,” Jiro murmured while texting rapidly, “I will tell Kento to stay clear of the fifth precinct for a little while.”
   Kazuma ground his teeth, close to popping a screw for the sheer frustration he felt. Why was Shizuru so fucking lucky in love? Why her and not him? What had she ever done that he had not? Hadn't he saved the world right alongside her?
   ‘No. That was Urameshi,’ the voice nagged him.
   But he had saved the world! He’d done good things with his life! He’d excelled just as much as his teammates and proven... proven...
   But what had he proven, in all honesty?
   Kazuma could not stop his voice from sounding so hollow.
   “Didn’t know you were into chicks,” he mumbled, shaking his head.
   “Yeah, you wanna make something of it?” Shizuru snapped. The anger in her voice just rubbed Kazuma even further, and he lashed back out at her instantly.

   “Just shuttup, Shizuru!” Kazuma yelled. Shizuru’s eyes widened for a second before her fingers curled into a powerful fist and she raised it in warning.
   “You want a piece of me, baby bro?” Shizuru demanded, “Cause I got a piece waiting for you right here-“
   Kazuma didn’t need this, his anger leaking out of him as he slammed his plate down.
   It cracked, breaking clean in two, and accidentally cut his hand. Kazuma winced at the sudden throbbing pain, suddenly struck by the similarity of his situation to this plate. Everyone seemed to think it best for him to be open, for him to push forward, but how could Kazuma do either when no one even believed he would succeed?
   Now that he thought of it, maybe that was the reason why Kurama would never love him.

   Kazuma gritted his teeth, a hot burning sensation filling his eyes and throat.
   He was not worthless. He was not worthless.
   But no matter how much he thought it... Kazuma knew he was worthless. He knew it because his gut told him as much.
   When had his gut ever been wrong?

   “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Jiro called out to Kazuma, eyeing the plate he’d broken warily, “Suck it up and be a man! Your sister likes chicks, so what?”
   Kazuma couldn’t handle it.
   “I need a fucking break,” Kazuma snarled, and in a rush he left the kitchen for the back door before anyone could stop him. The cold wind upon his face was stinging his skin as he took the steps down the back two at a time, heading for the wood shop which lay underneath his father’s music pad above.
   In the dark and quiet of his father’s shed, Kazuma lashed out. He kicked over a wooden crate, sending it flying into the far wall as he flipped a table covered in wood shavings and rusted tools. The sound was deafening as everything fell to the pavement, leaving Kazuma feeling alone and bare afterward.
   He didn’t want to be worthless.
   He wanted to prove himself.

   But it had always seemed throughout his life like his best was never enough, and now that he thought about it what chance had he ever had with Kurama? Why in the hell would Kurama ever want him when people like Urameshi or even Hiei existed. Kazuma knew that Hiei had some chick he liked, but dammit, people could change. If Hiei ever looked Kurama’s way, Kurama would be gone. He just knew it.
   Kazuma stood absolutely no chance. He was doomed.
   “I’ve lost my mind,” Kazuma whispered hollowly, unable to get the image of Kurama’s sweet face and gentle hands out of his head. His throat burned again, “Oh god, this can never work. This can never work.”
   Kazuma’s face was suddenly wet, and he wiped his tears away hurriedly before they could fall down his face.
   “Not with an attitude like that it won’t."
   Kazuma looked over his shoulder to see Jiro standing in the doorway, surveying the overturned table with disappointment. He shook his head, ducking inside the woodshed to set the table right. Shavings drifted through the air, and Jiro kicked the piles aside as he came closer to Kazuma. Kazuma did not want his father to see his tears, to see the state he was in, and so he turned his face.
   “What the hell is wrong with you?”
   “Shove off, dad,” Kazuma whispered bitterly. “This isn’t something ... I can discuss.”
   It did not matter if he hid his face. His father could hear the pain in his voice.
   For a moment there was quiet, then Jiro spoke.
   “Kazu, what’s going on?” Jiro asked for the second time. Kazuma held it in as tightly as he could, but suddenly there was a hand sneaking upon his shoulder, forcing him to turn around. The minute that his father saw his face, the game would be over. Kazuma jerked away, lashing out again as he grabbed a chunk of old wood laying atop the wrapping counter and hurled it across the room.
   “What's going on?!” Kazuma roared, spinning around to glare at his father in spite of the tears upon his cheeks, “What’s going on, dad, is that I am in hell. Okay!? I am in absolute fucking hell!” Kazuma kicked another box, this one full of old newspapers that scattered about the room in a flutter of motion and sound.
   Jiro was unfazed; he watched his son calmly.
   “Why are you in hell?” Jiro asked.
   Kazuma crumpled, slumping against the counter as he buried his face in his hands. He sucked in a haggard breath, unable to hold the tears in as he reveled at his disgusting mediocrity. At his lack of proof. At his lack of anything. At his sheer existence.

   He was nothing compared to Urameshi.
   There was a hand upon his neck, moving in a soothing repetitive gesture. Kazuma could not stand it; he wanted so badly for there to be a shred of proof that he stood a chance.
   But there was none. There was nothing between him and Kurama that gave him even half a shot.
   “Why are you in hell, Kazuma?” Jiro murmured for the second time, persistent in his love.

   “I’m nothing,” Kazuma blurted out, his voice broken with bone breaking sobs, “I hate my major. I don’t want to be a scientist, I wanna be an architect so bad it kills me. That alone, I can deal with, people get majors in things they hate all the time, and I’m not above it myself. But...” Kazuma could not go on, he wept haggardly into his hands, “I can’t stand being so goddamn mediocre, being so worthless. I can’t stand not being worthy, at always being the odd man out or the dumb one in the room. I’m not dumb!” Kazuma could not help himself. He screamed it.
   “I’m not dumb,” he begged the air, sucking in another breath amid his woe. “But I love him and I can’t have him because I’m just not smart enough. Because he deserves better and I can't ever be better. Because I can only ever be me. And me is not enough.” Kazuma choked, breaking off his litany to cry openly into his hands.
   Jiro rubbed his neck.
   “I’m in love with a man,” Kazuma added, unable to keep the self-deprecation out of his voice, “If that wasn’t fucking obvious by now. Does that scare you?”

   His sobs lost their strength, but his tears just kept coming. Even so, Jiro never stopped rubbing his neck.
   “No,” Jiro said after a moment of quiet, “Seeing you break a plate and overturn a table scares me. That’s not like you. You’re too gentle for that.”
   Clearly not.
   “So it’s a guy, that doesn’t bother me. But seeing you like this does,” Jiro said. “What’s his name?”
   Kazuma sniffled, his face still tightly held behind his hands. “I can’t tell you,” he whispered. “You’re gonna tell someone.”
   “What’s his name?” Jiro repeated.

   Kazuma could not stand it.
   “K-Kurama,” Kazuma finally managed, a sudden hot wave of fresh tears sneaking out in the agony of saying the name aloud, “His name... is Kurama.”
   He could not stop himself. The words were coming out of him now.
   “And I love him so much, I’m gonna die,” Kazuma whispered, his cheeks burning beneath his fingers.
   For a moment, he thought he could handle it. For a moment he stopped crying, and sat up a little straighter upon the counter as he wiped his moist face upon the sleeve of his flannel shirt and tried to avoid his father’s face. But when he glimpsed at Jiro, he saw the worry there and all the parental concern Kazuma so desperately needed. He needed someone to give him direction, to believe in him.
   Because he was a loser.
   And suddenly the tears were back.
   “Hey- calm down!” Jiro caught him by the shoulders, rubbing his back as Kazuma bowed his head in shame and defeat, “Calm down. It’s okay... this can be fixed. This is easy.”
   Really? How? Kazuma sneered in spite of himself, angry at his father’s optimism. It was fucking foolish to think Kazuma stood any chance at all.
   “This is easy as pie, man! All we gotta do is get you back into your groove, yeah? Get you back into your swing. Fuck your major, take up architecture. I’ll deal with Shiz-fiz.” The use of Shizuru’s pet name made Kazuma laugh in spite of himself. “You just swap as soon as you get back in on the fifth. You’re done with your undergrad, all you need now are your major sections. Hell, if you were ever gonna swap, now would be the time!”
   His father had a point. Kazuma wiped his face hurriedly, trying to keep it together.
   “As for Kurama,” Jiro continued on, and Kazuma had to take several steadying breathes, “You need to man up and tell him how you feel.”
   “I can’t!“ Kazuma blurted out, shaking his head quickly.
   “Why not? Is he straight?” Jiro asked.
   “No.”
   “Is he taken?”
   “No?”
   “Then why the hell not!?” Jiro demanded in a thunder, amazed at his son’s lack of courage.
   Kazuma could not answer me, only able to shake his head.
   His father understood well enough though.
   “Oh, I see. That ol’ blocker again.” He rubbed Kazuma’s back, shaking his head.
   Jiro knew Kazuma’s confidence was as easily shattered as spun glass. He was his father after all. He had seen how often Kazuma had fallen in his youth, petrified of being labeled mediocre or not worthy.
   “You listen here, my man,” Jiro said warmly. “You are the smartest motherfucker I know. You got this. Kurama would be lucky to have you in his life. ‘Kay?”
   Well, clearly his dad did not know many ‘motherfuckers’. When Kazuma did not answer, Jiro just repeated: “Kay?”
   “I don’t know,” Kazuma muttered bitterly. “He could do better.”
   “Shuttup!” Jiro smacked him hard over the back of the head, and Kazuma winced at the slight sting, “You’re a fucking king among rats, Kazu. You’re gold. You’re dynamite. You’re the best goddamn hero that ever jumped off the page of a comic book.”
   Kazuma didn’t believe it, but it sure was nice to hear someone say those things. He wiped his eyes, his tears abating inside of him.
   Kazuma took a deep breath, steadying himself.
   He felt empty after such a hateful purge.
   “... Calm down, cool off. When you’re ready come back inside.” Before Kazuma could stop him, Jiro pressed a dry kiss into his hair (an action rarely taken), before slipping away from Kazuma and heading out of the shop. Alone and in the quiet, Kazuma looked around at all the things he’d tossed, suddenly filled with horrible guilt.
   He shouldn't have thrown things.
   At once, Kazuma set the shop right, picking up the papers and wood. He even swept the wood chips into a pile, making sure everything was as it should before splashing cool water on his face from the sink in the far corner. He dried his hand on his sleeve, wiping his hands hurriedly on his jeans as he took a few calming breathes.
   He felt like shit.
   He shook his head and left the shop.
   Back inside, Shizuru had set the broken plate aside, replacing it with a clean one. When Kazuma entered Jiro was whispering something to her, looking firm and unapologetic as Shizuru rolled her eyes and grumbled. Clearly something was being said, and Kazuma’s heart suddenly leapt at the idea of Shizuru knowing he was in love with a guy named ‘Kurama’.
   God, that would suck.
   But when Kazuma walked through the door, instead of looking pissed Shizuru looked calm and maybe even the slightest bit apologetic. She shrugged at him, offering him a slight smile as she passed him a bowl of miso soup to put by his plate. With dinner relatively finished, the three of them sat down to eat at the family table.
   After the scream-fest outside, Kazuma was starving. He ate slowly, though, not wanting to cause Shizuru to question him. His father, on the other hand, ate ravenously and slurped his soup with delight.
   “So, I wanna know everything,” Jiro goaded Shizuru. “Who’s this girl? Where'd you meet her? What does she look like? What’s her name?”
   Kazuma recalled with slight humor how he’d been so damn interested in Mukuro as soon as he knew she existed. He said nothing, smiling a little as Shizuru grumbled and shoved rice in her mouth to keep from answering. Sooner or later she'd have to come up for air though, and Jiro could wait.
   “I’ll answer all your questions at the same time: Mind your own business,” Shizuru snapped. Kazuma laughed a little, and Shizuru cast him a burning look, winking at him to show she understood his support.
   “Alright, I can start on you if you like,” Jiro warned, and Kazuma’s heart leapt into his throat again. He opened his mouth, but before he could stop his father-
   “What are you talking about?” Shizuru asked, and Jiro shrugged as he wolfed down the rest of his rice.
   “Your brother is in love with some guy named Kurama and is terrified of telling him-“
   “-NYA!” Kazuma blurted out, his hands flying to his mouth as his chopsticks clattered to the table. Shizuru looked to Kazuma at once, her mouth open as she glared at him.
   Shit, fuck, shit.
   Kazuma jerked up from the table, bolting from the kitchen and running upstairs. His blood rushed in his ears as he ran into his old room and took a deep breath that did nothing to calm his nerves. Shizuru knew; Shizuru knew. Kazuma should have never told Jiro Kurama’s name, but Jiro had worn him down and his defenses had dropped. Jiro believed that families shouldn’t hold secrets from each other, but sometimes secrets were healthy. If Shizuru knew, she was going to heckle him about it mercilessly, and now every time she was with Kurama, she would know. Oh god, she would know.
   Kazuma wanted to die. He flung open the window of his old bedroom and let the cold air calm his flushed face. Closing his eyes, he tried to steady himself. Tried to rationalize that Shizuru was understanding and wouldn’t go around telling people- but then again... Shizuru busted his chops with such skill and ease that it could have been an Olympic sport.
   The door opened behind him, but there was no reason to turn around. He knew who it was.
   Shizuru closed the door behind her, walking over to the window to take out a cigarette and light it up. He could not help but tremble with anger, wishing that he had the courage to threaten his sister into silence.
   But Kazuma wasn’t that kind of guy, and even if he was Shizuru would pound his ass with ease.
   “...If you say... anything,” Kazuma whispered, a trembling finger raised in warning.
   “I’m not, relax.” Shizuru took a drag of her cigarette. Kazuma let loose a breath, rubbing his burning face as Shizuru kept her eyes steadily upon him. “I’m your sister, not your enemy. I’m not gonna tell anyone anything.”

   Kazuma looked down, shaking his head at his disgusting situation. Why couldn’t he be brave and admit to Kurama that he loved him?

   “So that’s what you meant by relationship hell,” Shizuru said, and Kazuma cursed himself for that slip up the other night. He shouldn’t have said it. “You haven’t told him.”
   “No.” Kazuma confirmed.
   “Figured.” Shizuru shrugged. For a moment she simply stared at him, then she grinned and said, “It’s Yukina.”
   Kazuma looked at her. What was Yukina?
   “I’m seeing Yukina," Shizuru explained. Kazuma remembered how the pair of them had been wearing identical bowling jackets the other night and scoffed as he realized they must have been on a date. Well wasn’t that grand? His sister was dating a girl that had once captivated his dreams. “Do you mind?” she asked.
   “No.” Of course he didn’t mind. “Makes sense though," he admitted.
   Now that he thought about it, he could see it... Shizuru and Yukina. It kind of fit, in his head.
   “Yeah, well.” Shizuru sighed, taking another drag of her cigarette, “All I’m saying is I feel you.” She paused, casting Kazuma a glance, “How long have you felt this way for Kurama?”
   “....Years,” Kazuma whispered. Shizuru let out an irritated noise, glaring at him suddenly.
   “Goddamnit, Kazu,” she snapped, “You gotta tell him.”
   "I can’t.” Kazuma shook his head.

   “You can and you will. Man up and do it or someone else is!” Shizuru warned, “You could lose him, by being cowardly. Do you really want that to be your legacy?”
   “No,” Kazuma snapped back. “But what if he shoots me down?”
   A hollow, aching feeling started to bloom in his chest.
   “Can’t predict what he’ll say, but he won’t be cruel,” Shizuru said. “Plus you’ll never know until you try.”
   But Kazuma was almost certain Kurama was going to shoot him down and it did nothing for his nerves. He had nothing to offer Kurama; his hands were empty. His father might not believe that, but Kazuma did.
   “... I really like him,” Kazuma whispered, looking out at the dark skyline and wondering where Kurama was out there. He was probably at his apartment, or maybe he was at the library.
   “I can tell." Shizuru agreed.
   The soft moment, so rare between them, was broken by Jiro’s voice thundering up the stairs.
   “Y’all better not be smoking up there!” Jiro warned angrily. Cursing, Shizuru chucked her cigarette out the window, pulling a packet of mints from her pocket to pop two in her mouth though it would do little good. Kazuma closed the window, shaking his head as he watched Shizuru pull out a tiny bottle of perfume from her inner vest pocket to spritz her neck and clothes.

   There was no point. Jiro would know she’d been smoking.
   ~*~
   Kurama watched her for a good five minutes before approaching, using his time in the shadows to soak up every nuance of her being.

   Shiori was asleep on her outdoor patio, sunning herself in a white cotton dress and a wide straw hat as she slept peacefully. She’d called Kurama over, claiming loneliness, and so he’d come at once only stopping to pick up her mail before coming inside to find her here. Shiori’s call was a siren’s beckoning to him. Where ever she wanted him, he would be. Knowing of her frail condition set him on edge but she’d been ingesting powerful herbs for a while now. Kurama was growing hopeful that Hiei’s seeds and Kurama’s powers might have had an effect on Shiori’s condition. With luck, she would pull through.
   Kurama stepped out onto the back porch, quietly coming around Shiori’s side to look down on her. Her long brown hair, curled tightly at the ends, covered her shoulders and framed her delicately wrinkled face. She was as lovely now as she’d been in his childhood.
   “I’m gonna... buy Yukina a diamond necklace...” Kurama heard hiei’s voice drift through his mind.
   Suddenly he knew the feeling.
   He smiled broadly, crouching down to take up her lax hand and brush his lips against it sweetly.
   “Hmm...” Shiori smiled in her sleep, slowly waking up to open her lovely brown eyes. She smiled at him.

   “Oh, how wonderful,” she croaked, her voice smoothing out as she became more alert. “Could my day get any better?"
   Kurama offered her mail with the other hand.
   “Well, your magazines came in.”
   “Clearly it can.” Shiori laughed lightly, taking her National Geographic from Kurama's hands to set it aside on her side table where a half drunk glass of lemonade and her cell phone sat. “Have you eaten?"

   It was nearing noon, but Kurama had not honestly eaten in over a day. He’d been so stressed, so rushed-
   He shook his head.
   “You need to remember to eat, baby,” Shiori murmured, and as she sat up in her chair she kissed him lovingly upon the brow. “I’ll fix us lunch.”
   Rising up from the patio chair, Shiori made her way back inside, taking off her sun hat and setting it on the kitchen table as Kurama lay his shoulder bag down and began to rummage through it for more healing herbs. Hiei had brought some new ones, and Kurama was determined to try them out. Shiori fished through the refrigerator, pulling out sandwich materials, and smiling at him over her shoulder.
   “Your father is away on business, and your brother is at a swimming tournament. So it’s just us today,” Shiori explained. “I wanted to have you to myself while they weren’t here.”
   Kurama grinned in spite of himself, showing her the herbs which he’d put in a gold bag to make them look store bought.
   “I brought your something,” Kurama said. “I think it may help your headaches.”
   Shiori took it to smell, smiling pleasantly at the light aroma.
   “It smells divine,” she said, and Kurama moved to the stove to start a kettle boiling.
   “I’ll fix you some,” Kurama said, a small beacon of hope alighting within him as Shiori gave him back the bag of herbs to add. Kurama did so, watching them slowly begin to steep in the heated water.
   He prayed they would be enough, that Hiei’s hard work would pay off...

   “So, what have you been up to?” Shiori asked as she sat down two plates with sandwiches and chips upon them. She poured Kurama a glass of lemonade as Kurama pulled out one of Shiori’s favorite mugs to use.
   “Oh... running around. Trying to keep my head screwed on tight.” He poured her tea, and offered her the mug with she took with a happy smile.
   She blew on it once or twice, gesturing for him to sit down. He did so, eating his sandwich at once (he was ravenously hungry) as she sipped.
   “It tastes so... clear,” Shiori murmured into her mug, “Like I’m drinking pure sunshine. I love it. Where did you get it?”
   “I grew it,” Kurama lied. “It's white peach. I know you like the flavor.”
   Admittedly he’d thrown some white peach in there to help her not notice the bizarre taste.
   “I do." She set her mug down to bite into her own sandwich. “Thank you. You are the sweetest son a mother could ask for.”
   Kurama flushed with pride.
   “How does your head feel?” Kurama asked, slightly nervous as Shiori set her sandwich down and reached across the table to hold his hand suddenly. He squeezed her pruning fingers, remembering how they had once been smooth and whole in his youth.

   “Hurts,” she admitted sadly, and Kurama frowned. Her head should not be hurting. “I admit, I called over for lunch but I also called for another reason. I went to the doctor a couple of days ago and we ran some tests.”
   Suddenly Kurama could not speak, his hunger fleeing him as he felt Shiori’s grip tightening about his fingers.
   “He called me later that day, and asked me to come back in."
   Her eyes were not leaving his face. Why would she not look away? What was she trying to convey?
   “...Oh?” Kurama finally whispered, afraid of what Shiori would say next.
   He’d been giving her these damn herbs for months now. Surely something had taken effect; surely one of the combinations had been successful. It hadn’t been like he’d been giving her over-the-counter painkiller. These herbs were powerful!

   But Shiori’s eyes still weren’t leaving his face.
   “... It’s not good news, Shuichi.”

   Kurama could hear his own breath in his ears, short and low. He swallowed, his throat suddenly quite dry as he felt his hand quake in Shiori’s grip.
   How could it be? How?
   Hiei had done so much ... How had it not worked?
   His eye twitched involuntarily, and he blinked rapidly, trying to still his racing heart with slow deep breathes.
   “It’s a tumor,” Shiori whispered. “A very fast growing tumor, in my brain. They told me I have about... a year or so...” She tried for a gentle smile but it was like sandpaper upon Kurama’s skin. He thought he might bleed from where her fingers touched him, his skin suddenly screaming in raw agony. “Maybe a little more with love and care.”
   Kurama’s jaw was locked so tight, he thought he might break his teeth. The terror within him was building, a ball of howling pain so horrible and so intense that he could not tear his eyes away from Shiori for fear that it would lash out. For fear that he would break down and weep before her.
   “... Shuichi, it’s okay if I die,” Shiori soothed, and he jerked involuntarily. “Life will go on.”
   Kurama’s ashen face spoke differently though.

   How could it be? How could it be?

   Yusuke’s sacrifice, the Forlorn Hope, Hiei’s herbs, and every careful step Kurama had taken all these years to ensure Shiori’s health... how could it be that the very same disease which had been killing her to begin with, before Yusuke had ever been in the picture, was now back? Was this some sick twist of fate made to mar Kurama for all the cruel and unkind things he’d done as a yoko? Was this his punishment? To watch the woman he loved die in front of him?
   Was this his fate? To forever mourn her absence as so many had mourned after one of his murderous sprees? Was death ripping away her life like he had ripped away jewels and goods?
   It should be him. It should be him with the brain tumor... not her.
   “...Sweetie.” Shiori broke in on his train of thought, and Kurama realized his face had likely become one of stricken terror. She suddenly rose from her chair, coming around to hold Kurama from behind in her arms. Her hair spilled upon his shoulders, her lips pressed against his head
   Kurama shuddered, a shaky breath falling past his open lips as he kept an iron grip around the arms around his chest.
   “It’ll be okay,” she whispered in his ear, “I promise you it’ll be okay.”
   But it wouldn’t. It really wouldn’t.
   Kurama could not speak, and would not be able to for a very long time after that.
   Later that night, in his apartment, Kurama laid his face in his arms upon his desk and cursed himself for all his failed efforts. He suddenly found himself wishing that he had not run off to human world, that he had instead taken his punishment for his crimes and not put the pain upon another person once again. Yet it seemed that by escaping here, he’d placed the burden upon Shiori’s shoulders. Once again, he had let another person take the blow, because he was selfish and sick and in all fairness ought to burn in hell.
   Why Shiori? Why not him instead? Why her, when he was ready and willing? When his body was ripe for the ravaging of time? Would the world not be satisfied with his screams alone? Did it want more?
   Kurama knew that level of greed, that level of selfishness. He had played with it often in his past life. Once again he was bitterly reminded that these were his just deserts.
   He heard his bedroom window open, and his face screwed up in his arms as he sensed Hiei enter the room. That flame, usually so calm and warm, was now a burning heat to his flesh that he wanted to shrink away from.
   Hiei had sacrificed so much for Kurama, had risked so much by gathering those herbs for him. Kurama did not deserve Hiei’s friendship. Kurama did not deserve any of it. As Hiei approached and timidly put a hand upon Kurama’s neck, Kurama jerked up, trying to calm himself.
   He could not. His emotions flew from him, his pain roaring wide as he squeezed his hands tight upon the desk till his fingernails pricked through the tender flesh of his palms.
   “It’s back,” Kurama seethed through clenched teeth. He did not turn around to greet Hiei. He could not.
   “It’s growing. Nothing’s helping.” He knew his words were making no sense, and still he said them, “It can’t be stopped. This is my punishment. This is my-“
   But it wasn’t his. It was Shiori’s.
   The dam within him broke as tears suddenly slipped past his cheeks; the cards of fate were laced with poison, tainting all who dared to touch them.
   “There's nothing for it, Hiei. Don’t worry about... the rest. You’ve... You’ve done so much for me already. Please don’t stress yourself anymore. Nothing can be d-done-“
   Yet to admit it aloud broke him clean in two, and as Kurama sucked in a breath it shook with pain. Laying his head back down upon the desk, Kurama resolved himself to ride this damn ride as far as it could go. Ride it all the way to the end where Shiori’s death would blow him off track and destroy him in a final cataclysmic boom. Rip his very soul from his body-
   Hiei’s hands were upon his back.
   Inside Kurama’s screaming mind, where pity and self-hatred waged a war upon one another with all the fierceness of two shogun armies, a strange soothing calm began to grow. It was foreign, not of Kurama’s devices, and he couldn’t explain it as he felt himself falling deeper and deeper into sleep upon his desk.
   “... What ... are you doin’?” Kurama slurred, unable to speak eloquently.
   “Be still,” was Hiei’s only reply.
   Kurama went under in the darkness, a violet light bathing his mind in quiet and calm.

   When Kurama awoke again it was near dawn. He'd slept all night at his desk, and when he lifted his head his neck had a cramp in it. Grimacing, Kurama stretched his shoulders, looking about and wondering why on earth he hadn’t slept in his bed for gods-
   A black cloak was upon his shoulders. Kurama looked over his shoulder, pulling the dark fabric into his hands and catching a whiff of pine and smoke. He brought the cloak to his nose, smelling.
   He suddenly remembered Hiei stopping by, of weeping openly before Hiei like a child, and the calm that had taken him.
   Hiei had used his Jagan to bring him sleep on a sleepless night, and had covered him with his cloak. Now he was out there in the cold without it, god only knows where, and a new kind of pain was filling Kurama’s heart.
   He held the cloak close, wishing that he could soak up some of Hiei’s personal strength from it, find the will to carry on.
   If only he could be more like Hiei in times like this. He might stand a fucking chance at enduring the trauma. As Shuichi, he would crumple. Shiori’s death would end him.
   He knew that now. Shiori’s death would be his own. He could not deny that anymore.
   Bowing his head, Kurama took Hiei’s cloak and wrapped it about his shoulders. It was too small for him to wear it as it as intended, but as he rose up and observed himself in his standing mirror, Kurama tried to pretend for one minute that he was Hiei.
   The cloak only came to his mid-thigh, and Kurama’s sloping shoulders were an awkward frame to wear it upon. Still.
   Kurama tilted his head, regarding his tear stained face and wondering if Hiei had ever looked this way in the mirror. He had a nasty feeling Hiei had looked this way far too often to be healthy.
   Kurama hugged the cloak close.
   ~*~
   The placement into the school for Architecture and Design was a three hour test divided between short answer, charting, and safety guideline questionnaires. Kazuma’s late application enrollment had garnered him a hefty fee but he’d paid it with pride as he called upon Kurama once again for the biggest favor of his life: to help him study all day for his entrance exam. If he placed high enough, Kazuma could jump up in his class and carry on as though he’d always been an architect major. He prayed it would be enough, that he would be able to pursue his dreams... but when Kurama had shown up with bloodshot eyes and a withdrawn expression Kazuma had felt down heartened.
   Something was wrong. It was obvious.

   The whole time they’d studied, taking breaks for coffee and walks, Kurama had been pleasant but detached. Kazuma had tried to make him laugh, and had succeeded once or twice but Kurama was clearly upset about something and it was dragging him down fast. Something had to be done. Kazuma had to make Kurama smile.
   When the library bell tower struck six, they decided to call it a day. After cramming for nearly twelve hours, Kazuma was exhausted and knew Kurama was too. Yet as the night had carried on, Kurama had grown more and more animated, perhaps detaching himself from his problem as he watched Kazuma gloat and gleam over his architectural knowledge. Perhaps he was even impressed; the thought gave Kazuma hope.
The snow was coming down now in a steady trickle, chilling the air about them till Kazuma’s hands began to burn with an intense numbing sensation. Side by side with Kurama, he walked down the outer platform of the Metro station, wondering how long it would continue on like this. Wondering how many days would pass with this tension between them, with this feeling of want and need exploding underneath his skin till he could barely breath.
Against the rail, waiting for the train, Kurama’s soft features were cast into a sharp light by the fluorescents above them. The tip of his nose was reddening from the cold, his lips shining as he wetted them and smiled at Kazuma. The tiniest appearance of his tongue made Kazuma’s heart skip a beat.
   He lit up the night, to Kazuma. The entire world revolved around him, and he didn’t even know.
   But he would. One day, Kazuma resolved he would.
   Maybe even today.
   Maybe even now.
   “Do you feel ready for your exam?” Kurama murmured.
   For the first time in a long time, architecture was very far from Kazuma’s mind. He smiled, shaking his head.
   “Thanks to you,” Kazuma answered. “I’d still be at the library if it weren’t for you. I feel bad that you spent your entire Sunday helping me.”
   “Don’t,” Kurama assured him. “It’s nothing.”
   But it wasn’t, at least not to Kazuma. Not when every minute Kurama spent around Kazuma lifted his soul up and set him on fire. Every second Kurama bequeathed him with his presence, Kazuma felt his soul grow and expand.
   “It’s not nothing,” Kazuma said. Kurama’s eyes lit up, his smile widening for a fraction of a second before relaxing once again. “Let me pay you,” Kazuma said, blurting out the words though they were completely ridiculous. “I don’t have much on me right now, but-“
   Kurama stopped him with a hand. They were so close, he almost touched Kazuma. Leaning against the rail, Kazuma braced himself close to Kurama’s loosely curled hand, needing a moment to steady himself.
   Had Kurama touched him, he was certain he would have broken like fine china.
   “Please, don’t be silly,” said with the softest of chuckle, his breath sweet upon Kazuma’s skin. “I’m happy to help. My pleasure.” There was something in the way he said it.

   Something very important in those two tiny words.
   “I won’t have you indebted to me, especially not over your dream. I want to help you pursue it.”
   There, so softly. So obvious.
   And in that moment, with Kurama before him, Kazuma knew he could no longer hold back. He could no longer weep to his father or beg to his best friend, could no longer fret over coffee with newfound company or throw a ball in the dark of his bedroom and wonder why. Wonder why he couldn’t have Kurama when Kurama was right in front of him. Kazuma was his own worst enemy, stopping himself every time he got close enough to make a move-
   But not anymore.
   Not tonight.
   Not now.

   He would know the taste of Kurama on his lips even if it killed him. Because he was a man, with a soul and a fire; because he was a human being and would die with dignity. Because he could no longer pretend he was not interested in Kurama when Kurama was before him and smiling so sweetly.
   To hell with it.
   “... Please don’t hate me for this, okay?” Kazuma whispered softly, eyes wide with fear and knowing as the seconds ticked by into a full minute.
   Kurama looked at him, quite confused, his perplexing stare pulling Kazuma down. Down deep... where the gray absolved him of his sins.
   He leaned in, and tenderly kissed Kurama upon the lips.
   It was not a long, languid kiss like the one he’d shared with Urameshi. It was short, and yet powerful, as all the emotion he’d refused to share suddenly poured from his body. His hands shook, his powerful chest wracked with vibrations as the cold of the wind about them and Kurama’s soft lips brought him to his knees. Kurama was not jerking way, was not yelling at him or screaming, but Kazuma was terrified that the minute he pulled back Kurama was either going to slap him or hate him, and suddenly the terror burst from his mouth, effectively ending their first kiss with a cry of fear-!
   “Oh god!" Kazuma cried out, jerking back from Kurama who was staring at him in such a way that he thought he might die; no hate, no fear, but confusion. Calm, comforting confusion. “I’m so sorry! Please forgive me, Kurama! I really, really like you is all. Please don’t be angry.”

   He shook so badly he thought he might fall to the ground, lips quivering as Kurama gave him a sympathetic look. “Kazuma,” he whispered, not unkindly, “I’m afraid you’ve set your standards terribly low.”
   So confusing was this statement, in regard to their current actions, that Kazuma had no idea what to make of it. His tremors stopped, and now he was the one to gape as a weird noise slipped past his lips.
   “Whu-?”
   “While I’m flattered by the gesture--“ Kurama’s cheeks were quite pink, and suddenly Kazuma realized it was not from the cold as Kurama even dared to smile at him, “--Your affection is misplaced.”
   Misplaced? Misplaced?!
   Did Kurama honestly believe himself to be unworthy? Did Kurama imagine himself to be a low standard? That he was somehow a poor example of what love could be? The truth couldn’t be farther from- Kurama was the epitome of truth and light. He was a burning torch, setting fire to Kazuma in such a way that nothing could put him out. His beautiful hair, spilling in waves over his shoulders and down his back. His deep green eyes, sparking every now and then with mirth as he smiled.
   Kazuma had lost his mind. He was in love with this man, utterly captivated by the most mundane nuances of his body and soul.
   “You’re a huge dork, you know that?” Kazuma could not help but snort as a laugh passed through his lips. Kurama was taken aback, “It’s not misplaced. You’re perfect.”
   And as he said it, he poured all the emotion he could into that word. All the nights he’d spent tossing a ball and thinking of Kurama’s smile, all the days he’d wept into his writing desk or his books, begging god to give him some sort of sign... every moment that he’d imagined Kurama beneath him or beside him, pushing onward towards the future with that smile which told Kazuma all things were possible. That he was loved, and smart. That he was worthy.
   Kurama smiled wider, shaking his head in disbelief.

   It took Kazuma a moment to realize that he had just kissed Kurama and that Kurama was smiling, that he was not angry or afraid- but-...

   “Does this mean... you’re not angry?” Kazuma asked, nervous for Kurama’s answer. If he said ‘yes’, Kazuma might die on the spot. He could just throw himself out in front of the train when it came, that would be a satisfactory death.
   Kurama shook his head, and Kazuma did a double take, a grin suddenly leaping to his face.
   Kurama wasn’t angry? Did that mean... oh god did that mean-
   “Angry is not descriptive of... how I feel right now,” Kurama said, like only Kurama could. Kazuma didn’t know whether to laugh or to jump for joy and instead simply stared in awe. Love was wonderful; Kazuma suddenly wanted to shout at total strangers, to tell them of the explosion that was currently going off in his chest.
   “What is?” Kazuma tried for a flirtatious tone, and probably failed miserably.
   Kurama shook his head, grinning openly now, and in a completely unexpected move stepped slightly closer to Kazuma. He reached up, toying with the black scarf about his neck. His heart began to pound as faint scent of green tea filled his nose and made him feel numb.
   “I’m a dork, am I?” Kurama murmured, looking up at Kazuma. His eyes lit up, reflecting deep emerald green as they captured the light from above. It was the most incredible sight that Kazuma had ever seen, and he was overthrown with emotion as Kurama smiled even wider.

   “I mean, uh-“ Kazuma was hoarse, his voice like a whisper against the crown of Kurama’s dark red hair, “What I mean to say is-“
   “I didn’t take you for the type to kiss dorks.”
Kazuma snorted.
   Kurama lifted his chin; their mouths met again.
   So soft, so tender. Kazuma could feel every bit of stress melting away from his body. Kazuma knew it was divine magic, a prophecy that foretold only Kurama could have such power over him. Suddenly every moment he’d spent chasing after Yukina felt very foolish.
   His tongue found its way into Kurama’s mouth, and his hand buried itself in his thick mane. Kurama was angling to kiss Kazuma deeper, his lithe hands sneaking their way up Kazuma’s back to grab tightly upon his coat-

   A screech resounded through the air, hot air blowing past them as the metro arrived. Kurama flinched in his arms, the sound shocking him from their hidden moment as he quickly touched his mouth and looked way.
   Kurama’s breath was shaky, Kazuma could hear him attempting to regain his composure.
   “Shit-“ Kazuma cursed, glaring over his shoulder at the train. If only it had been late; if only it had never come at all!
   “We’d best stop,” Kurama said, and he pulled back from Kazuma to sit patiently upon the rail with his arms crossed across his chest.
   Kazuma’s pulse was hot and thick, his heart pounding as he watched Kurama’s expression slip into one of benign boredom... as if they hadn’t just been kissing. Kurama looked straight ahead, giving nothing away as the doors of the train open and passengers spilled out. As they walked forward and took their place on board, Kazuma could not help but wipe his sweaty palms on his jacket and curse himself repeatedly.
   The doors closed, Kazuma gripped the hand rail and bitterly lamented the train they were on.
   “Fuckin’ train blocked,” Kazuma cursed himself, unwilling to meet Kurama’s eyes. He no doubt thought Kazuma was an idiot. “I’m such a fool.”
   A sudden touch upon his hand made him jump. Kazuma looked around, shocked to find Kurama reaching out to hold his hand.

   With a blush, Kazuma allowed Kurama to slip his fingers through his own.
   Kurama was smiling at him, as if the world existed for only the two of them. To be fair, they were alone on the train, but even if they hadn’t been... he had a feeling Kurama would have been looking at him just the same.
   It was incredibly empowering, to see Kurama smiling up at him in such a way. It was a look that made Kazuma feel unstoppable. He felt as if he had a shot, as if he truly (deeply) had a chance to be with Kurama.
   He knew it was utterly insane to think such things. Kurama was not his. Kurama was too beautiful, too wonderful, to ever belong to anyone.
   Still. He could dream, while Kurama squeezed his hand...
And he damn well would.
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Into the Gray