Yu Yu Hakusho Fan Fiction ❯ Old Demons Die Hard ❯ Kurama's Manhattan Reflections - The Moth at the Lamppost ( Chapter 2 )

"Old Demons Die Hard"

~ A YuYu Hakusho Fic ~

By

Batwings

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Disclaimer: All things YuYu Hakusho belong to Funimation, Inc.

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Chapter II:

Kurama's Manhattan Reflections - The Moth at the Lamppost

Kurama's heels clicked along the pavement as he walked through upscale Manhattan, stopping for a few seconds to peek inside a shop window, or to admire a lovely home with pretty pink rosebushes just under the windows. He looked very much the mobster in his black hat and black suit. But his magenta pink necktie sort of downplayed the harrowing effect. His long red locks were tucked under the hat in a nice little bun, with only a few strands dangling in front of his face. He looked at his watch. "Five past midnight," he said to himself. Hiei had said something about meeting in Central Park, but Hiei was very unreliable. Besides, he didn't feel like going to Central Park and dealing with the hoods and shady-folk. And Hiei was probably all cozied-up in a nice hotel room somewhere. Kurama's hotel was only a few blocks away, but he didn't feel like going back there just yet. He had left four hours ago and had dinner at a nice little bistro just across the street. Then he had started on his leisurely stroll, which took him to the place where he now stood, four hours later.

Kurama felt like he was here for a reason, that something had compelled him to come here. He had this feeling a lot, and he didn't like it. His emerald eyes gazed up at a lamppost. A silvery gray moth flitted about it in a panicky dance, trying to come as close to the light as possible. Kurama smiled to himself. His mind drifted back to Tokyo, two years earlier…

* * *

"Kurama!" Hiei exclaimed, standing at the foot of the bed, clutching a broomstick in his right hand. "You're still in bed!"

"Yes, Hiei, thank you for that observation…" Kurama said softly, rubbing his aching forehead. He glanced over at the clock, which ticked merrily on the nightstand. 1:35 PM. Shit, thought Kurama.

"Are you going to get your lazy as up and help me?" Hiei said, putting the broom aside and squatting down to pick up the stray clothes which had been strewn about days earlier.

"What's gotten you into this mode of cleanliness all of a sudden?" asked Kurama, trying to sit up, but failing, and flopping back down on the bed.

"I'm tired of living in a mess!" shouted Hiei. "We aren't trash, Kurama, like Yusuke…" he sneered.

"Must you bring that up?" said Kurama, opening one eye.

"You may have gotten over it, Kurama, but I haven't." Hiei's voice had suddenly become more quiet, more wistful. He gathered the clothes up into one giant bundle, took them into his arms, and stood. "I'm gonna go get lunch ready. Will you be up soon?"

Kurama smiled and nodded. He rather liked this little "Housewife Hiei" … and it was remarkable how much it turned him on. Though whether it was Hiei, or just the usual morning woody, he couldn't say. He hadn't slept with Hiei in about a month, but they shared the same bed, so cuddling and an occasional snog wasn't too unusual. Did he love Hiei? Well, he couldn't answer that. He thought he did… but he didn't want to risk it. Not again.

The door closed behind Hiei, and Kurama threw back the covers and stretched. Too damn drafty in this apartment, he said to himself. His T-shirt lifted just barely enough to expose his creamy white tummy. He chuckled to himself as he looked down to find his erection poking through his boxers. Maybe he should start sleeping in briefs, like Hiei.

He stumbled his way into the tiny closet of a bathroom. He propped himself against the sink and looked in the mirror. His eyes looked tired. His hair was a mess. Maybe he should shower before lunch? Nah. . . He'd rather shower with Hiei later that evening. He missed having a bathtub. Baths were so much more relaxing and romantic. . . But with their income, they could only afford this tiny apartment, which unfortunately contained one tiny shower. He stretched again. Agh . . . he didn't want to do it, he hated doing it every morning, but it had to be done. He opened his mouth wide and inserted two fingers, letting them slide slowly down his throat. He gagged and choked for a moment, then last night's dinner came spilling out onto the white porcelain. He heaved a couple more times, then spit. "Yuck," he said, turning on the faucet and rinsing the disgusting essence down the drain. He put his mouth to the faucet and captured a mouthful of water. He gargled as he rinsed his hands, then spit once more. It was disgusting work, it really was. But he was too lazy to exercise, and he didn't like yucky diet food, so this was his only other option - his key to staying fit.

He wiped his hands on his shirt and surveyed himself in the mirror once more. A tiny piece of digested carrot stuck to his cheek. He grimaced and brushed it away. He couldn't keep doing this forever. But he'd stop. . . one day.

He suddenly noticed his right hand. He looked down at the gold band encircling his finger. The ring . . . Hiei had thrown his away months earlier. Kurama couldn't bear to part with his, even if Yusuke was gone. Hiei still teased him about it sometimes. Kurama had actually thought about having it melted down, made into something else. He sighed. "No," he said. "I'll just do it, damn it." He jerked the ring off, and flung it into the toilet. "Good-bye, Yusuke." He flushed. Hiei had told him once before, `You're like a moth at a lamppost, Kurama. You fly so close to the light, even though you know you'll never touch it.' Well, he wasn't anymore. He had just turned from the lamppost, and he wouldn't turn to face it again. He would make his own lamppost now.

"Kurama! What the hell are you doing in there?"

"Coming, Hiei!" he shouted. He didn't even bother changing, but jerked his green silk robe from the door hanger and slipped into it.

"Coming, eh? I figured that's what," Hiei laughed.

"Don't be so vulgar," said Kurama.

* * *

"And now I've returned to the lamppost," Kurama said to himself, smiling. "But it looks as if another moth has beaten me to it." He dug his hands into his pockets and started down at the concrete. That was one of the darker times in his life, and he didn't care to think of those days. Yes, his bulimia did come to an end, after he spent three months in the hospital from malnutrition. And Hiei had been right there by his side, bitching and griping, but helping and nurturing simultaneously. Hiei did love him. . . and he loved Hiei. But it was one of those things that he couldn't talk about, not only to Hiei, but to anyone. When they separated, it nearly killed the both of them. But. . . it just had to be done.

Kurama shivered. The combination of a sudden chilly breeze and sad thoughts did not abode well with him. "Perhaps I should head back to the hotel," he said to himself. But he didn't want to go back. . . and he didn't want to stay here. He just wanted to disappear, to dissolve into nothingness, and be nobody, nowhere. Kurama was pretty, he knew that. He never told himself that, though, but others did. But he was tired of being the pretty, quiet one, the background scenery. He wanted to do something. He wanted to be like Hiei. But he could only be Kurama. And he didn't like Kurama.

"Oh fuck, Kurama, you're going to make yourself depressed again," he scolded himself. He just needed a nice relaxing bath, then just to snuggle into bed with a good book. . . that would do a world of good for him right now. But he couldn't leave the lamppost. Why the hell was this happening to him?

He clicked his heel on the pavement impatiently, as if he were waiting for something. He could feel his stomach begin to churn. He blinked his eyes a few times. Compelled . . . maybe it was all in his head. No . . . these feelings were never wrong.

"Well," he laughed a bit nervously, "I suppose I should just wait here until I feel compelled to leave." He turned and looked around. Nothing unusual, just a normal Manhattan street. "I feel like a complete moron," he said, sulking. He would have sat on the stoop of one of the homes, but he didn't want to get his brand new suit dirty. He walked back over to the giant iron lamppost and looked up at it. He leaned against it and closed his eyes. "God help me," he murmured.

The moth flitted down from the top of the post and landed on Kurama's shoulder. Kurama opened his eyes and stared at it briefly. "Hullo, friend," he said, lifting his finger and petting it gently. "Are you looking for a light to touch as well?" The moth opened and folded his wings a few times in reply, then gracefully flitted off into the darkness, in search of his own light. "Maybe I should do the same thing."

Kurama straightened himself and brushed off his shoulder. He should really stop being so silly. How could standing outside under a lamppost solve his problem? He looked at the house in front of him to admire the rose bushes once more, and turned to leave. Wait! What was that? He turned again. He blinked. His eyes were deceiving him. Surely. . . he just wanted to think that he was seeing that. No, it couldn't be.

Printed on the house's mailbox in brass letters was the name "Yurameshi." Kurama spoke the name aloud. "Yurameshi." It sounded good, and it felt good, the way it glided across his tongue, his teeth, his lips. "Yurameshi." Well. . . surely there could possibly be another Yurameshi in Manhattan. Of course. But then. . . the lamppost. Oh God. . . it was true. He was here. It was so unbelievable, yet so relieving. He laughed softly. "Finally. . ."

He had returned to the lamppost. And he had found Yusuke. So his compulsion wasn't just in his head, after all. And Kurama Yurameshi smiled to himself, then turned, looking up at the lamppost one last time, and headed back for the hotel.

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