Echoes IV Wishes Hiei pulled his legs up to his chest, hugging them in a forlorn little gesture as he watched Kurama sleep, the dim light of moon and stars spilling into the room, changing Kurama’s peaceful face into something ethereal, fantastic and otherworldly. He felt that he was staring Perfection straight in the face, and the merest brush of it’s presence left him awed. To have the love and trust of someone who was both so innocent and cynical at the same time was strange, something that often left him feeling insignificant, unworthy of such attention. Kurama shifted in his sleep, murmuring something unintelligible, one hand snaking free of the covers and groping restlessly. Hiei leaned forward, sliding his hand to grasp his lover’s, noting the lazy smile that spread across his face at the touch. His gaze drifted lower, darkening slightly as he found the healing scars that ran down Kurama’s collarbone, across his chest in jagged streaks, like the swipe of long claws. The very sight rankled, a wordless reminder of his failure to protect the youko, keep the one centerpiece of his life safe. Hiei sighed heavily, rubbing his thumb across the center of Kurama’s palm, relearning the softness and warm strength of skin, the textures and feelings that he had missed for almost two months. His heart rattled in his chest, each breath a knife-thrust of guilt and happiness that pierced his soul. His thoughts tumbled amongst themselves in a jumbled blur, heedless of their direction or meaning. So he contented himself in merely watching; he could’ve stayed this way, forever, holding his beloved’s hand, the scene caught in a bubble of silver moon-etched glass. He felt when Yo-mawari entered, a dark presence of ki that slid smoothly in, embedding itself in his mind before he was fully aware that the black-haired man was standing on the other side of Kurama’s bed, facing him. He looked up, meeting the dark eyes that regarded him thoughtfully, darkly vivid from Yo-mawari’s pale face. For a moment, Hiei was struck with the wild notion that Kurama was dead, and this silent, black figure looking back at him was his ghost, come to say good-bye. “Meijin.” Yo-mawari’s voice was low and concerned, his eyes darting from Hiei’s face to Kurama’s and back again. “It’s late. We should both get some sleep, ne? We’ll be no good to kyodai if we just collapse tomorrow, when the others come over.” He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over Kurama’s curled body to rest a hand lightly on Hiei’s arm; he tensed, but didn’t move or speak. Yo-mawari sighed. “Meijin, please. You’re exhausted. I know the signs - I’ve been there myself. Get some sleep, please.” For a moment, he thought he would have to physically knock Hiei out, when the small Koorime’s shoulders slumped, and he nodded, once. He slid out of the chair, lifting Kurama’s limp fingers to his lips for a brief, brushing caress, then headed for the door, pausing only when Yo-mawari grabbed his arm. He turned, expressionless except for the slight lift of one eyebrow. “Last I knew, this was your bedroom too,” Yo-mawari said in a chiding sort of tone, pushing Hiei towards the bed, noting the reluctance with which the small youkai approached Kurama’s sleeping figure. “It’s not like he’s going to kick you out if he discovers you in his - your - bed. So what’s the problem?” He watched as Hiei blinked, then scowled, somewhat flustered by his question. “I don’t want to push him - crowd him. If he finds me in the bed with him, he might take it as ... as a ... well, you know ...” Hiei’s voice trailed off weakly, and an affectionate smile crowded it’s way onto his face as he reached out, clapping a hand onto the smaller youkai’s slender shoulder. For a moment, Hiei tensed, as if expecting some sort of attack, physical or mental, then slowly looked up, his expression guarded. It was hard to tell in the bleaching moonlight, but Yo-mawari could’ve sworn he saw the darkening hints of a blush on Hiei’s pale cheeks. “Meijin,” he scolded, putting all his concern and exasperation into the single word. Hiei almost seemed to wilt, shoulders slumping a little under his touch. “You know better than that. Kyodai’s mind is not stuck in the bedroom, contrary to popular belief.” He winked one onyx eye, then shoved Hiei towards his sleeping lover. “Get some rest, meijin. The others will be here in the morning, tomorrow - and do you really want Kuwabara-kun to see you as a sleep-deprived wreck?” That got to Hiei; he could see it in the way the smaller youkai’s back stiffened, the small snarl coming to his lips at the mention of Kuwabara’s name. Yukina had done her best to try and diffuse the tension between her brother and fiancé, but both men seemed hell-bent on hating each other. Yo-mawari personally found the whole exchange amusing - as his brother did - and kept out of the way, for the most part. He slipped out of the room, pausing once to check on Hiei. The smaller youkai had slipped under the covers next to his lover, and now had his arms wrapped tightly, almost desperately, around Kurama’s slender waist, his face buried in the hollow of the youko’s neck. One of Kurama’s arms ghosted into view, draping itself over Hiei’s back in a light, but undeniably possessive, gesture. The tender little scene brought a wider, warmer smile to his face, and he closed the door silently after him before falling into his own bed. He lay there for a few moments, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, his mind full of a blend of images from the day - the fight at the inn; the young healer’s bright eyes as she smiled at him; the moonlit field where he found his brother; Hiei’s face as the smaller youkai cradled Kurama gently, the beginning of that beautiful, rare little smile on his face. The last thing that came to mind, before the healing darkness of sleep overcame him, were a pair of bright blue eyes, full of wry amusement, bringing an mirroring smile to his face as he drifted off. Knocking, loud and insistent, brought him out of warm, pleasant dreams, filled with laughing eyes that sparkled deep blue in some unknown source of light. He mumbled something under his breath as he tried to pull himself out of the cocoon of soft, warm sheets, a low growl that centered on unpleasant threats of pain and dismemberment. It took a few moments for his sleep-fogged mind to clear as he wrestled himself free, stumbling into the bathroom to splash his face before heading towards the door. On his way, he chanced a quick peek inside the other bedroom - Kurama and Hiei were still bodily intertwined, neither of them stirring. He smiled briefly, slightly jealous, though not in the way some would expect - he wished he could sleep through the insistent pounding from the door like that! With a soft chuckle, he clicked the door shut again and opened the front door, schooling his face into a pleasant grin. He blinked as Yuusuke’s fist came dangerously close to his nose, as if to knock again. The younger man startled as he realized the door was open, backpedaling slightly, almost bumping into Keiko as he did. “Oi! Don’t do that, man,” he complained, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I could’a busted your nose in by accident.” Yo-mawari rolled his eyes, amused at the statement, as he stepped aside, allowing the two humans to enter the apartment. Keiko smiled warmly at him as she walked past him, but he could see hints of worry in her brown gaze; both she and Yuusuke were visiting out of concern for him, and his invitation had only speeded matters up. He ushered them to the couch, seating them down, then padded silently to check on the two sleepers once more. Hiei was awake now, and was staring at Kurama’s face with an almost worshipful expression, unguarded and unaware of Yo-mawari’s presence behind him. The latter shook his head sadly; the brief loss had affected his meijin more than he had originally thought. He cleared his throat softly, but instead of startling and reaching for his katana, Hiei only lowered Kurama’s hand to the bed, gently slipping his fingers free from their intertwined state with his lover’s, then turned to look at Yo-mawari with an unreadable expression in his deep red eyes. “Nanda?” he asked calmly, folding his arms across his slender chest and perching on the edge of the bed. Yo-mawari shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if though he had trespassed on something sacred - and, in a way, he probably had. “Yuusuke-kun and Keiko-chan are here, meijin,” he reported in a low voice, mindful of the fact that Kurama still seemed deeply asleep. “And Kuwabara-kun and Yukina-chan should be here shortly. If you could wake kyodai up ... ?” “Don’t have to,” came a mumbled response, muffled by the pillows and thick with drowsiness. “I’m already awake.” Kurama turned slightly, an impish smile hovering on his lips, the merest sliver of burning emerald color visible from under the sweep of long red lashes. Yo-mawari flashed an answering smile as Hiei hopped off the bed and turned in one smooth movement, extending his hand to the redhead. Kurama lifted his hand in a languid, graceful gesture, allowing himself to be pulled into a seated position by his lover’s strength alone. There was a sweetly peaceful look on his beautiful face, an expression of sleep-sated happiness that was nearly contagious. He slid off the bed with the liquid, flowing grace of a cat, and Yo-mawari almost expected him to collapse on Hiei, purring ecstatically. Hazy green eyes lifted to meet his, and an involuntary smile quirked his mouth. :Kyodai ...: :Hai?: he answered, keeping their voices mental, watching as Hiei swatted Kurama’s wandering hands away, laughing as his brother pouted, then turned to dig around in the closet. :Arigatou.: There was a wealth of emotion behind the single word, a thousand meanings that backed it up. :I mean it. For saving my life back there, for coming when I called ... for everything.: He turned briefly, their eyes locking for an instant. Yo-mawari was humbled by the weight of the acceptance in his brother’s eyes, the feelings that swirled within the misty green depths. Kurama returned to tugging his shirt over his head, as his mental voice continued. :And thank you for giving someone for ’Hana-chan ... she needs someone, don’t you think?: The tone was unmistakably teasing, and Yo-mawari had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing or sputtering a denial. :Kyodai, you’re imagining things,: he said sharply, crossing his arms across his chest, mirroring Hiei’s position as Kurama grabbed a comb and began to run it through his thick red hair. There was a ghostly chuckle that reverberated through Yo-mawari’s mind, before the connection was cut off. Hiei studied them suspiciously, blinking, scowling when Kurama winked cheerfully at them both, replacing the comb on it’s place on the vanity. “Shall we go meet our public?” he asked grandly, twirling a slim strand of hair around his fingers, his expression coy and sweet - except for the wicked gleam of humor in his eyes. Yo-mawari smiled, a double-edged grin that threatened violence if Kurama didn’t keep his mouth shut. “Hai. Kuwabara-kun and Yukina-chan should be here by now. They’ll be glad to see you, ne?” “I should hope so.” Yuusuke drummed his fingers impatiently on his jean-covered leg, eyes roving restlessly around the apartment. The place was tastefully furnished - Kurama’s touch, he decided - with old tapestries of foxes and dragons, and other intriguing little knickknacks. He had picked one up, earlier, until Keiko had slapped his hand, scolding him, taking it from him and setting it carefully down in it’s original place. Kuwabara’s head lolled back limply, the tall man seemingly on the verge of dropping off. His foot was twitching impatiently, a nervous habit he had picked up from his youth. The girls were talking quietly amongst themselves, totally ignoring them. He was ready to go out of their mind with boredom, when he heard Yo-mawari’s voice, more lighthearted than he remembered his voice being for a very long time. From the teasing edge to his voice, there was no way he could be talking to Hiei ... His eyes widened as an impossible thought sprang to mind. There was one person whom the black-haired youko talked to in that tone, but there was no way ... could there ... ? He gulped noisily, more out of nervous anticipation than anything else, twisting around to face the door from where the voices came from. He could see Kuwabara from the corner of his eye, straightening slightly, the soft sounds reaching the orange-haired man’s ears as well. The girls paused in their conversations, looking up ... ... the door opened, Yo-mawari stepping out, a broad smile on his face as he then turned to extend his hand to someone, someone else who was hidden in the shadows ... ... and when that figure stepped out, into view, jaws dropped and eyes bugged; Keiko’s hands flew to her mouth, and Yuusuke could see the sparkle of tears in her wide brown eyes. It was hard to swallow, hard to breathe around the lump of disbelieving surprise and hope that had built up in his throat, but he managed, reaching out incredulously, towards the slender figure who leaned heavily against his dark twin, beaming that beautifully tailored smile of his at them. “Ku ... ku ... Kurama?” he asked, the stammered word coming out in a terribly soft whisper. The figure smiled. That smile, that beautiful real one that only his friends ever saw; the same dazzling grin that no one Yuusuke knew could duplicate. No doubt about it ... “Konnichi wa, minna-san,” the redhead said politely, his emerald eyes twinkling with that same barely surpressed good humor, like twin gems in his pale face. “I’m home.” Kuraihana leapt easily from the cliff ledge, opening her wings and allowing them to catch the whispering breezes, winging easily to the forest floor. Despite the ripping scar that had long since crippled her to any long-term gliding, she could still break her falls that way, and used it to her advantage. There were various herbs that grew in these parts, high above the ground, hidden in the nooks and crannies of the stone walls, herbs that could ease pain and breathing considerably; stimulants that relaxed the muscles to what could be described as a jelly-like state, narcotics that dulled pain and allowed her to work on a still-conscious youkai without worrying about the screams bothering her. A single droplet splashed wetly against her wrist, a warning of the oncoming storm. She glanced up in irritation, tossing the slender black braids over her shoulder, watching the boiling gray-black clouds with narrow blue eyes. Tucking her precious cargo neatly into her journey sack, where the rains would not reach it and set off the rotting process prematurely, she set off through the woods, steps light and quick, her presence unnoticed as she ran. The act of moving without being seen was a talent she had learned from Kurama - while her healer’s sensibilities made her refuse every offer he made to teach her to fight, she had learned everything she could of stealth from her silver uncle. He had often told her that the best way to win a fight was to avoid one altogether; that had been a piece of wisdom she had never forgotten, even when the jokes and funny stories he told her faded into the gray blankness of her memory. The tall, intimidating black rise of her house edged into view, and she sighed with silent relief, unconsciously speeding her pace. Her hand was resting on the curved bronze door handle, when her senses, honed by years as the daughter of a thief, snapped to attention, skittering the sensation of a stranger’s you-ki fluttering through her mind. Pausing, she turned, eyes narrowing into mere slits of bright color, the only blue in the rainy day, as she raked the fields and forests surrounding her home with a hard stare. Nothing. She was beginning to doubt she had felt anything, and turned to open the door. As the huge door slid shut behind her, she heard an eerie, high-pitched wail that rose the hairs on the back of her neck, sending tiny chills coursing down her back. She had heard something like that once, long ago, as her father and uncle ran from the scene of their most recent crime. It was a sound she would have been happy to only hear through legends, the myths that dotted the history of the wild Makai countryside. It was the scream of the Tamashii-Satsujinhan’nin. Kurama-ojisan, she remembered, had often told stories intended to frighten her, in her youth. He would make up wildly outrageous tales of saw-toothed plants that feasted on unwary little children as herself, or dark, shadow-like beings that would come and whisk her eyes away while she slept, so that she would never see the pale light of the Makai sun again. He seemed to delight in watching her eyes widen at his descriptions, laughing as she huddled as close to her father as she could, trying to press herself into his flesh, and hide from the evil ghosts he spoke of. But, of the Tamashii-Satsujinhan’nin, and others of it’s ilk, was one of the few things he would never mention. Once, while passing through a small village, she had heard whispers of such a creature, and went to her uncle to ask him just what, exactly, was this “soul-killer,” and just what horrible deeds it had done to earn it such a place of fear in a minor youkai’s heart. Kurama’s golden eyes had gone flat and dark at her question, a strange, haunted look that had worried her, even at her young age. She had tugged on his arm, called his name a few times, before he snapped out of his daze, hands closing almost painfully tight on her shoulders, eyes boring into her face. “Kuraihana,” he had told her solemnly, his face serious and voice deep, “listen very closely. This - this *thing* you ask about is a very real, very dangerous thing. It hunts alone, in pairs at the most, but a loner is more dangerous than anything else you might encounter in the Makai. Even a soul-eater isn’t as deadly, but it comes damn close. If you hear of one in the area - or hear it’s call, you come tell me, or your father, immediately. Do you understand?” She had nodded, awed by the sudden depth and serious tone her usually lighthearted uncle used. For a single, frightening instant, she was confronted with Youko Kurama, the heartless killer who cared for no one on the battlefield, not her happy-go-lucky, impishly playful youko who would play games with her, or the brilliant teacher who showed her the uses of various herbs, and other tricks of the healer’s trade. And Kurama-ojisan never used her full name unless he was serious. “Hai, Ojisan. What does it look like - sound like?” she asked shyly, afraid of this strange, cold thing that had stolen her loving uncle’s body. Kurama’s golden eyes were still harder than diamonds, brighter than the sparkling golden chain that hung around his neck. “You’ll know what it is, should you ever hear it - and I pray to Inari that will never happen. It’s a sound that will haunt your dreams forever, chibi-hana. It’s something that one can never forget.” He released her shoulders, straightening and looking down at her with something akin to sadness. “You’ll know if you ever hear it. You’ll know.” And she had. One night, as she slept, she had been aware of someone sweeping her up in strong arms, then take off running with her. Before her common self could assert itself, she panicked, believing, for a wild moment, that one of the bogey-creatures of Kurama’s stories had come to life, and were now spiriting her away, to some lonely place, where horrible things would happen to her. She struggled, kicking out wildly, a scream trying to tear it’s way past the lump in her throat. The arms around her tightened, and in her ear, she heard a familiar deep voice whisper her name urgently. “Kuraihana! Damare!” She had relaxed almost instantly, her small hands fisting in her father’s dark clothing. “Otousan? Na ... nani? Why are we running?” she asked, trying to open her eyes, confronted only with the swiftly moving landscape, and the brief flash of silver that ran alongside her father’s blackness. “Are you being chased again?” A large hand closed over her mouth roughly, telling her silently to keep quiet. Wrinkling her brow in confusion, she closed her eyes again, allowing the rhythm of her father’s long stride to lull her back to sleep ... ... when a hideous cry split the still night air, fierce, shrill, and painfully loud. Kuraihana’s eyes snapped open, wide, blank, and unseeing, feeling her father’s arms tighten convulsively around her. She whimpered, a small sound lost to the frigid air of the night, pressing as close as she could to her father’s body, wishing, as she had so many times before, that she could vanish, free her father from the burden she must’ve been. Her stomach dropped from her body, suddenly, as she felt her father gather himself and leap, soaring through the cold night air, the dark, leathery wings snapping open to catch breezes, holding him aloft as he soared. She opened one eye a crack, but saw nothing but a thin veil of white clouds in the gray sky. No Kurama. She was about to ask after him, to ask if he had been left behind by accident, when that same hideous wail rent the night again. Shuddering, she closed her eyes and turned her face into the warmth of her father’s chest, trying to block out the whole world, and especially that sound. Somewhere, some time during the night, they had landed, high in a cliff face, above the featureless expanse of a field. She was warm, and felt much safer now, risking a quick blue glance at her surroundings. She was wrapped in her father’s cloak, sheltered against the wind, and the yellow-orange-red sparks of a fire danced nearby. Crouched at the fire’s side were two figures, easily identified by the broad, graceful rise of dark wings and the clever, pointed arch of fox-ears and the bushy sweep of a furry tail. Kurama spoke first, his voice low, almost unheard of the fire’s merry crackle. “It’s hunting. It won’t let us go until the sun rises - and maybe not even then. We’re stuck.” “I know,” her father replied, sounding irritated and worried. She snapped her eyes shut, just in time to feel his raking gaze over her small body. “I’m more worried about ’Hana-chan. She’s still too damn young to be on her own, and there’s no one we could take her to, where she would be safe. Damn it!” His fist came crashing down, near the glowing embers of the fire, sending a bright shower into the gray air, illuminating his face and Kurama’s for one eerie moment. “I promised Kimiko I would take care of our daughter,” he growled lowly, “but now, in the face of a real threat, the only way I can save her from that ... that thing is to kill her and give her soul a chance at freedom ...” Kuraihana tensed at the words, fear coursing through her. This was not her father. This was some desperate stranger, much like the cold-eyed being that had stared at her from her uncle’s eyes not two days ago. She opened her eyes again, watching as Kurama reached out, settling one hand on Kuronue’s shoulder, a gesture of understanding comfort. “That’s a bit hasty, Kuronue,” he murmured, glancing at her. For a breathless moment, he stared at her face, then looked back at her father. She heaved a small sigh of relief, though a nagging part of her mind knew that Kurama’s sharp gaze had picked out the firelight gleaming off the blue glow of her eyes, but she ignored it, listening to the conversation. “I don’t want anything happening to the chibi-hana as well. We’ve beaten everything before; there’s a good chance we can beat this thing now. Don’t give up hope.” Kuronue’s voice had been troubled, even as he tossed a handful of dirt on the flames, extinguishing them. “I sincerely hope you’re right, Kurama,” he muttered, getting to his feet and pulling Kuraihana close to his heart. “I don’t want to loose this child - she’s all I have left of what my life used to be. You know how precious memories are ... and she’s just a perfect image of Ame-chan.” She felt him rest his cheek against her hair, heard the heavy exhale of breath in her ear even as Kurama’s footsteps began and stopped close by. It was a long time before she fell asleep that night. She was tense and shivering, expecting at every moment for the thing’s soul-tearing cry sounded again, and her father went mad, ripping at her with his knife, spilling her blood for the new sun to brighten. She even cried a little as she waited through the long night for the dawn to come, and wished, for the first time in her whole life, that she could be a normal child, one with both her parents and the usual boring, routine, safe life ... “M’lady! M’lady!” the voice called loudly in her ear, and she started to life, staring blankly at the frantically dancing skeleton-youkai before her. Lost in the memories of her first horrifying encounter with that thing, she had failed to notice it’s mad capering, and tried to gather her scattered thoughts as it reached out with it’s clawed little hands and tugged at her limp arm. “Nani?” she stammered, trying to make it sound brisk, like she hadn’t been severely shaken by the sound. It still seemed to echo in the quietness of the gray hallways, terrifying her, sending a remembered throb of pain in the long-since healed scar of her left wing. “What’s wrong now?” “The creature, the creature!” the skeleton wailed, yanking itself away from her and clutching it’s skull. “A being with a thousand heads and souls, with more twists and turns in it’s personality than all the pathways of the world. It eats for all eternity, yet hungers for what it cannot have: the secret, the secret that you have so recently discovered. It hungers, m’lady, it hungers, and what it desires you have, you have it and it wants it, will try to eat and kill and plunder you to gain all you have, all you are. Beware, be wary, watch your back in the darkness of night!” It fell to it’s knees and shivered, violently, staring at her with unseeing bloodshot eyes. Kuraihana, shaken, pushed past it, the memory of that cry and the skeleton’s words mingling in eerie harmony, sending a jolt of uneasiness through her. She entered the relative sanctuary of her bedroom, locking her door and then almost running to her bed, sinking into the softness of sheets and burying her face under the mounds of pillows, trying to block out the noises that rang insistently in her mind. Faces danced in her mind’s eye - her father’s; Kurama’s; the delicate redhead human who shared Kurama’s mind and memories; the red-eyed youkai who held and loved her uncle like none other she had ever seen; the midnight-hue twin of her uncle’s human half, with his identical dazzling smile and black eyes, dark and bright all at once. “Kurama-ojisan ... Yo-mawari-san ...” she muttered, trying to use the sound of her own voice, saying those two names, to drown out the still-ringing echoes in her mind. “Otousan ...” It was no use. The dorei’s voice still spoke to her in her mind, replaying the words in a continuous hum that was counterbalanced by the shrill, grating scream. “It hunters ... and what it desires you have ... kill and plunder you to gain all you have, all you are ...” “What is it?” she asked herself, burrowing under the covers, listening to her heart add a thundering rhythm to the voices in her head. “What does it want so badly that I have? Is it still hanging around? Am I trapped in this stupid house?” She pulled free slightly, only to smash her head with her fists a few time, trying to get her memory working again, trying to puzzle out the dorei’s prophetic-sounding words. “What do I have that it wants? What do I have that it would kill me and rape my soul to posses?” Yo-mawari allowed himself to slide down the wall a little, leaning heavily against it as he idly watched the rain patter down outside. It was a pleasant, mind-numbing pastime, something to do that didn’t require much action or thought on his part. His mind was free to wander as his eyes were kept occupied by the swirling droplets of moisture outside. He had no idea where either his brother or master were; judging from the locked door of their bedroom and the flaring of both auras, he could make an educated guess. Making up for lost time, he decided, then smirked at his thoughts. Kurama would kill him, if he said it aloud, and Meijin would probably give him one of those pissed off glares he so specialized in. But, as much as he teased the relationship, as much as he pretended amusement when his brother attempted to write poetry about his lover, or something else equally mushy, he knew that the small twinge in his chest every time he saw the two of them together wasn’t imagined. His brother was lucky, he thought wistfully, to have someone like Hiei - to have anyone, period. His own life had been dedicated to Watching the borders of Yomatsu until recently, and he had never given affairs of the heart a second thought. Now, though, in the face of something so real and tangible, he could admit he was jealous. Could admit silently, to himself, when no one else could see and read his face and thoughts, that he wanted something like that. He wanted someone who could inspire him to do ridiculous and hopelessly romantic things, someone who could be everything Hiei was to Kurama, and vice versa. He sighed, watching the rain rush from the cloudy sky, splashing in puddles on the ground, on rooftops, in the nooks and crannies of statues and spurting out from the mouths of stone gargoyles. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture who he would like, the person he might one day find himself paired with. Strangely enough, all he could see were a pair of iridescent blue eyes, strangely familiar, sparkling from the darkness of his mind’s eye. Frustrated, he opened his eyes and stared into the rain. The silence stretched out, almost unbearable in it’s weight, broken only by the gentle patter of rain, and muted sounds from behind the door. Something akin to a small scream slid through the barely-open door, and he muffled a laugh with his hand. Kyodai ... he shook his head tolerantly, with the smallest of smiles, his dark mood banished. It was several hours later when the door opened, and a bedraggled, happily content-looking Kurama slid out, his slender body wrapped in a thin white cotton robe, his red hair mussed and green eyes full of sleepy satisfaction. His smile was smugly alert as he sauntered towards Yo-mawari, his entire bearing of acute happiness. He grinned back at his brother as the redhead moved to stand beside him and yawned, sleepily. “Enjoy yourself?” he asked dryly, watching as Kurama’s secret smile widened, more sensuous, like a cream-stuffed cat. Kurama blinked and nodded vigorously, twirling one hand in a stray lock of red hair. “Hai. Very much.” He stretched lazily, then looked straight at Yo-mawari, his green eyes suddenly deep and serious; a sign that his brother was about to broach some Deep Subject. He sighed mentally, more than slightly sure of what Kurama was about to say. “Kyodai,” he murmured, breaking eye contact to watch the rainfall outside. “I wish ... I wish that you could find someone ... someone else. You’re my brother; I want you to be happy.” Yo-mawari leaned forward, clasping his brother’s shoulder in a warm, affectionate gesture. “I *am* happy. You are the first family I’ve known since Obasan died; and I’m grateful for everything. You make Meijin happy, and he does the same for you. That’s enough for me, for now.” He smiled, the intended cheer of his voice contradicting the faint sparkle of tears as his own painful thoughts were dredged up once more. Kurama eyed him suspiciously, pulling his robe more tightly closed around his throat and shoulders. “Try and find someone, kyodai,” he advised. “If you think you’re happy now, with Hiei and myself, just wait until you find someone to love. Then you’ll understand.” There was a soft call from the bedroom; Hiei’s voice, sleepy and muddled, calling Kurama’s name. Instinctively, the redhead turned, his gaze softening and the smile reappearing as he leaned slightly towards the sound. He began to head back, then paused, looking worriedly at Yo-mawari. The latter smiled indulgently, making a wide, sweeping gesture with his hands. “Go on. Go back to Meijin before he looses his temper and wrecks your bedroom,” he advised dryly, noting the small flush that appeared on Kurama’s cheeks with a smug satisfaction. Kurama stuck his tongue out at his brother in the teasing way of sibling rivalry, then vanished into the bedroom, closing the door behind him as he went. Yo-mawari sighed, and returned to watching raindrops. In his mind, he could see Kurama’s face, pale and serious and worried as he spoke, those deep green eyes searching his face with a frightening intensity. “I wish that you could find someone ... you’re my brother; I want you to be happy ... I wish that you could find someone ...” He sighed, to himself, to the falling gray rain and nodded ruefully. I wish I could too, kyodai. I wish I could too ...