An Interlude with Three Strangers

One | Earlier

"Jeez, mister! What happened to your face?"

Yusuke grimaced, looking back at the impertinent brat he'd walked past. Here he was being a decent citizen: looking both ways at the pedestrian crossing of a small street, a useful but undeniably ironic habit that had popped up after his incident at fourteen, when the kid had piped up behind him—loudly.

He couldn't have been older than five, maybe six, but Yusuke had never been good at gauging small, short, socially-awkward people—Hiei, after all, was several decades old. Judging by the array of marbles contained in sidewalk chalk, Yusuke had walked into the middle of a one-person game. He glanced down and lifted the bottom of his shoe. Alright, more like scuffed his way through the kid's game. Yusuke's mom hadn't let him wander too far off at that age, so the boy must have lived just up the stairs to the apartment complex that Yusuke was passing.

Tugging self-consciously at the ears of his hat, Yusuke scowled. "Didn't your mom ever teach you not to talk to strangers?"

The boy wrinkled his nose, sitting back on his haunches as he regarded the man. "Yeah."

Yusuke sputtered. Unbothered by his own forthright behavior, the kid rolled a marble on the ground with a flattened palm. "Did you get in an accident?"

His cheeks warmed, which didn't make the hair on the back of his neck feel any better as it continued to dampen from the sweat already accumulating there. Yusuke rolled his eyes upwards. "Uh, yeah. Something like that."

"Did it hurt?"

Clicking his teeth, Yusuke nodded. "Yup, a lot." He stepped backwards, looking over his shoulder, a fist coming to slam against the button on the pole. Traffic was light, but even Urameshi Yusuke had his neuroticisms and jaywalking was one of them.

It seemed to be enough for the kid, who bit his thumbnail with a considering look before going back to his game.

Two | On Time

There was a boy on the train holding a soccer ball in his arms, duffel bag on his lap to save space. He must have been middle school aged, or a first year in high school, and he seemed comfortable riding alone—well, as comfortable as anyone could get in the crowded car. Holding his soccer ball with one hand, he had a book propped up on top it with his other hand. Yusuke couldn't catch the title, but it was a modestly thick paperback with a worn spine. Good for him, the detective thought. At that age, Yusuke hitting the books had been the last thing- no, the furthest thing – from his mind.

It was either stare at the reading teen or stare at the whirling, balding head dangerously close to head-butting Yusuke if it leaned any farther back. Yusuke rolled his eyes, lifting his chin upwards to narrowly avoid making any further contact with the man holding onto the strap right beside his.

It must have been a good book, because the boy deftly flipped the pages with his thumb without loosening his hold like he'd done it a few dozen times already. Every so often his eyes would list away from the page, as if he needed a break or a second to digest whatever it was on the page.

No poker face. This was a kid who never had to adopt a mean mug to be unbothered on a train like Yusuke had cultivated years prior. The boy's eyebrows rose and furrowed, his freckled nose scrunching up while he re-read sentences and mouthed them; Yusuke would have craned his neck more to catch a glimpse of the title if not for the sudden jerk that announced the arriving stop. Like a toy brought to real life, the boy's actions became a full body ensemble as he hurried to shove his book into his bag and wiggle his way out of the seat towards the doors.

Yusuke slid his eyes away, catching the briefest bob of a black, cow-licked head before it disappeared.

Third | Later

He and Kurama had found themselves on foot away from the nearest station, now at the top of a hill. Below, winding with the steep and cobbled road rather than cutting against for ease of access, were a handful of modest shops and antiquities lining the street. Their shingled roofs all angled the faint sprinkling of rain downhill, each business another gradation that made the trickling water plink and change pitch.

It was quaint. Off the busier paths and certainly compact, foot traffic could hardly span more than two people side-by-side on the road.

"I would've remembered if we'd been here," Yusuke said, flipping his collar up. "I'm not saying it isn't Keiko's kinda thing – looks like – but this place don't ring a bell for me."

Kurama hummed quietly, a note of acknowledgement but little else. His finger tapped against the corner of a pamphlet absently as he surveyed the surrounding businesses. Shop fronts were still open, though many had slid their fronts closed or partially to keep the sudden breeze that came from the unexpected rainfall.

"I suppose I took a wrong turn," the redhead said after a time.

Incredulously, Yusuke cocked his head. "You?"

"It can happen." Kurama's mouth twitched, the barest expression of ruefulness possible. "I don't suppose it'd be worth it to-"

Ba-da-ping! Ba-da-ping! Ba-da—the tinny melody echoed under the little awning the two men stood in while waiting. It was a generic ring tone, and Yusuke patted his pockets to find his little brick.

"Ah," Kurama said, reading the number on the screen of his phone before lifting it to his ear. He met Yusuke's eyes and lifted a shoulder, mouthing my mother. Yusuke nodded, lifting two thumbs up.

The change in demeanor was always interesting to watch as an interloper – Kurama's upbeat, but respectful "Okaasan" a warm contrast to his more calculating nature. His voice became a murmur as he moved away into a nearby alley for privacy.

Well, that'll take a while, Yusuke thought. Absently, he scuffed his foot against the pavement while looking at the shop fronts across the narrow street.

His eyes skipped across the varied signs- a stationery store, herbal teas, a pawnshop – to land on the familiar soft glow of a vending machine tucked narrowly away.

"At least a drink wouldn't hurt."

The daytime sprinkle was still not letting up. It was after a light jog and fifty yen later that Yusuke found himself listening to the water rushing from a gutter as he popped the tab on a coffee.

Rainwater gushed and spluttered onto the pavement from the gutter. It was clean, and as it raced down the black stone road it left the impression of a glossy lacquer. Again, Yusuke was struck by how quiet and quaint the place felt. With the sound of rain, the traffic streets over could barely be heard.

When was the last time he felt like this? The feeling tickled, a corner of his mind whirring up as if to rifle through polaroid and film. The last peaceful place I visited…

He stared down at the blue aluminum in his hand, as if it might spark or jog the memory. Damn. It was an invasive thought, but he'd grown used to following his gut when it came to sudden impulses and this seemed…relevant.

Somewhere, a wind chime danced softly. It sounded familiar in the still peace, and his brain, again, tried to grasp at something out of reach.

Yusuke flicked the tab with his thumb, annoyed. Finding it satisfying, Yusuke flicked it again. And again. It didn't help his memory, and fuck is this what getting old feels like? but it scratched another itch in his brain to hear the tinny pl-ick echo in time to the rain.

A laugh, soft, and it wasn't his.

The back of his neck prickled, it was the familiar sensation of someone staring intently at him. Like a dangling spider web wafting in an errant breeze, it swept up against him and settled into awareness he couldn't ignore. Yusuke lifted his shoulders, touching the lobes of his ears as he dipped his chin to his chest. He lifted his eyes to the stranger who Yusuke found to be suddenly just there.

And it took something, these days, for Yusuke not to notice people walking up to him. He twisted his mouth into the familiar, gruff scowl that had successfully sent hundreds of people off to mind their own business.

The man blinked, smiling without a hint of embarrassment at being caught. It was a roguish flash of teeth, crooked and framed with dimples that looked like crescent moons carved into the corners of his mouth. It made him look younger, and he was already indiscernibly young and handsome.

"Something I can help you with?"

"No." But he was smiling. He said no easily, effortlessly, with the assuredness of someone who had plenty of time to waste at the expense of someone else. Yusuke clocked his attire; the jacket was as flashy and as buoyant as the rest of the man's demeanor.

"No," the man said, again, as if to confirm for himself. He cocked his head, which only brought attention to the earring dangling from his ear that brushed against his jaw. He regarded Yusuke with open curiosity, tan fingers coming up to frame him as if for a portrait. "No, not you."

"Alright, then move along – this ain't a free show or something." Yusuke scowled fiercely. The guy was harmless so far, but annoying. And as he was a young and handsome guy, Yusuke figured he was just a capital-Y Youth—which should have explained things point blank, considering Yusuke figured he himself was just an asshole out of touch.

Something must have been funny because the man laughed, shaking his head. He smiled, the lift of his mouth again neatly folding a dimple into his cheek. Everything about him, like his smile, was a touch crooked – from the lay of his jacket's collar, to the fringe of hair that was both stylish and windswept.

"I wanted to come see." Something flickered in his eyes and Yusuke had the fleeting thought that the sentence might have ended with a you. "But you're not how I thought."

Something about that, and the way the man's brows lifted, minuscule, had Yusuke bristling. "Hey-"

"Don't be mad," the man said, holding his hands up. His bracelets jingled. His palms were stained in blotches of blue ink. "Wrong number, ne?" His English was accented but understandable, and he winked before skirting around Yusuke airily.

"Wait – what the fuck-" Yusuke reared his head back, taken by the smooth action before his chin dipped down to look at the ground. Rollerblades. The guy was wearing rollerblades.

By the time he'd thought to grab an arm, Flashy Jacket was already gliding down the hill, daringly fast.

In no time the colorful speck was gone, and Yusuke felt as discontent as the coffee can now on the ground, its spilt contents mingling with the rainwater.

"Yusuke?"

His expression must have been stormy as he turned around. Kurama straightened in response, attuned.

"Something wrong?"

back again. 5.11.20.