Disclaimer: YuYu Hakusho belongs to Yoshihiro Togashi

A three-part drabble series based on a similar theme: "Sometimes the scars you carry aren't even your own."

Scar
Flame

"Kazuma-san? You're staring."

Startled, Kuwabara's chin slipped off his palm as he realized that he had indeed been staring at Yukina. He flushed, stammering an awkward apology. The ice maiden gave him a curious look, then dumped another bucket of wet sand on the beach, freezing the water between the grains as she molded it to keep the castle's delicate shape intact.

If Urameshi had been there—and there were certain reasons why he didn't invite Urameshi and Yukimura with them—he would have made a snide comment about admiring certain parts of Yukina's swimsuit. But Kuwabara's eyes hadn't been lingering anywhere inappropriate at all, even if it embarrassed him to be caught staring.

Yukina pulled her hands back, laughing as the sand castle melted under the afternoon sun. She tried to freeze it into shape again, her hands flitting like her favorite little white birds as she shored up the sides and traced intricate towers with icy roofs. Watching her hands led his gaze back to her arms. They glowed pale in the bright light, no longer hidden under her kimono sleeves, the same healthy ivory as her shoulders, back, legs, and feet.

Being a hot summer day, they had decided to take advantage of the beach on Genkai's property, just the two of them, and put on swimsuits and sunscreen before packing a picnic and hiking to their spot. In the time between lunch and returning to splashing around in the water, he had declared that he, the great Kuwabara Kazuma, would make Yukina the finest sandcastle known to man, using only a flimsy bucket and his bare hands. As he watched her, though, he had to admit that her method worked much better.

He realized he was staring again, and lay back guiltily so he couldn't see, absently scooping a hole in the sand. He hadn't meant to stare, but it had surprised him, even though it shouldn't have, which startled and upset him even further. He hadn't forgotten, after all.

He couldn't forget, couldn't forgive Tarukane for what that bastard had done to Yukina. But his anger had drifted to the back of his mind all these years, buried behind the happiness and love, only to be brought jarringly to the foreground when she simply rolled up her sleeves or, like today, as she sat obliviously on the beach in her swimsuit.

Yukina waved a cheerful hand at him, giving him another glimpse of a pale forearm marred from burns. Kuwabara sat up to admire the finished sandcastle gushingly—she really had done a beautiful job, so talented and modest—all the while silently disgusted with himself that he could have possibly disregarded the years of torture she suffered. How could he have disregarded the scars, one of the first things he had noticed as they finally met face-to-face?

He had seen in her mind how wards had been used to burn the marks onto her skin. He had experienced, with his empathy, her pain and terror, her tears, and her helplessness. But Kuwabara had also seen her strength. Yukina continued to live life so simply and happily, holding no grudges and only seeking peace.

Still, he would never be able to forget or forgive that her first memory of humans would always be of Tarukane.

…

-Windswift