Chapter Text
Hiei is acting peculiar.
Well, Hiei is always peculiar. But he’s a very specific kind of peculiar. Kurama makes it a point to pay close attention to all of Hiei’s particular peculiarities, because Kurama pays close attention to everything—especially Hiei, though he probably won’t admit it if you ask him.
To be accurate, Hiei is acting more peculiar than usual.
Different peculiar. He’s being strange and incomprehensible in ways that he hasn’t before, stuttering the comfortable rhythm of their partnership.
It starts on a spring evening as regular as any, with Hiei suddenly appearing at Kurama’s window.
This isn’t where things get strange. A visit from Hiei is, if anything, routine. Since Kurama moved out of Shiori’s home and into his own apartment, Hiei’s occasional visits have become increasingly frequent. Kurama doubts that Hiei would call them ‘visits’—god forbid anyone ever accuse him of going somewhere simply to enjoy someone else’s company—though that’s clearly what they are.
Hiei likes to have excuses for visiting Kurama, regardless of how flimsy they might be. He’ll come around for any number of ‘reasons’—for Kurama to tend to a wound, for a place to rest that isn’t a tree, to eat Kurama’s food and bother him. The fox suspects that the true underlying reason is usually a touch of loneliness, although he’d never accuse him of it. He doesn’t want Hiei to stop visiting over an imagined jab at his pride.
So Kurama asks no questions when Hiei taps at his window, merely smiling a greeting and raising his voice to say, “It’s open.”
Hiei pushes up the unlocked window and slips in, not bothering to shut it behind him. For someone as fearless as he is, he sure does like to have an exit strategy.
“Hello Hiei,” Kurama says, earmarking the page in the book he was reading and setting it down next to him on the bed. “What brings you here?”
“You shouldn’t leave your window unlocked like that,” Hiei says, completely ignoring the question.
Kurama chuckles. “Then how else would you drop in on me unannounced?”
Hiei clicks his tongue but says nothing, leaning back against the windowsill.
There’s a moment of silence, which also isn’t abnormal. Hiei’s always been a man of few (often rude) words, so a bit of quiet isn’t anything to put Kurama on edge. In fact, at this point, Kurama likes to think that he’s well accustomed to all of Hiei’s different silences and their assorted meanings.
Silences like this one—full of restrained energy given away only by the impatient tapping of his foot—generally mean that something is bothering him.
“I saw Yusuke today,” Hiei says suddenly, annoyance permeating his voice. (God, Kurama loves being right.)
“Oh? How is he?”
Kurama knows full well how Yusuke is. He speaks with him once a week at least, and just as much with Kuwabara, but that’s beside the point.
“He’s wasting his time,” Hiei says, foot tapping faster, “Lazing around with his human wife.”
Kurama raises an eyebrow. “You mean Keiko? I know you know her name, Hiei.”
“Yusuke said the same thing,” Hiei grumbles, looking chided but not particularly apologetic.
“You should start using it, then. And perhaps you could try talking to her, sometime?” He gives Hiei a meaningful look. “Yukina is very fond of her. And I know you trust Yusuke’s judgement.”
Hiei wrinkles his nose up in distaste. “Yusuke has been wrong before.”
Kurama notes the way he carefully ignores the mention of Yukina, but says nothing about it. He doesn’t want this to turn into an argument, not when Hiei’s practically just got here.
“I know,” Kurama sighs, soft and fond. “But I don’t think loving Keiko is one of his mistakes.”
Hiei rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Love.”
Kurama has to hold back a laugh—what a ridiculously Hiei thing to say. He isn’t quite sure if the three-eyed demon is being ironic, or simply approaching self-parody.
Hiei notices the grin Kurama’s attempting to stifle, and the corners of his mouth quirk up for a moment. Perhaps he is joking around, after all. Sometimes Kurama can’t quite tell, which is something he’s always enjoyed about Hiei—the perpetual puzzle that he is.
“It isn’t just love,” Hiei continues, brow furrowing as he goes on. “It’s—marriage. Settling down. Do you think that’s wise?”
“Settling down? Well, most people tend to do it sometime.”
“And do you plan on doing it?”
“Me? I suppose I already have, in a way. Long gone are the debauched days of my youth. Alas.”
“Are you going to get married, too?”
The question startles a laugh out of Kurama, loud and disbelieving. “Married? To whom? I don’t have a long line of suitors coming to knock down my door.”
That’s a lie, really. Kurama does have more than a few human admirers—women, men, and everyone in between—but he isn’t too interested in any of them. Hiei, he’s sure, would be even less interested in hearing about them.
Hiei huffs, crossing his arms. “I don’t think it’s an absurd question.”
“Why? Are you planning on marrying me, Hiei?”
Then, something truly strange happens.
Hiei pinks.
It’s a subtle thing—something you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t spend a lot of time staring intently at Hiei, which Kurama does, regularly—but it’s there, a slight flush dusting his cheeks. The touch of color is so delicate, it looks almost absurd on someone like Hiei, who has never been one to blush in all the time that Kurama has known him. Especially over something like this, a silly quip about marriage.
Unless.
Kurama swallows, with more difficulty than he’d like, and forces his most teasing smile.
“For the record, Hiei, if you’re asking, I’d like a proposal that’s a bit more romantic than this.”
That snaps Hiei out of it. He shakes his head, groaning, and turns away, hopping back up on the windowsill.
“Never mind,” he says, not looking at Kurama. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but the tips of his ears still seem red. “Forget I said anything.”
Before Kurama can protest, he’s gone, the window left open as the only evidence he was ever there at all.
___________
The thing about Kurama’s feelings for Hiei is that he knows that nothing will ever, ever come of them.
It isn’t that he’s confessed and been rejected. No, Kurama would never take that kind of risk, not with Hiei. He just. Knows. If something was going to happen, it would have happened already.
It’s just bad luck that Kurama happened to fall for perhaps the most emotionally unavailable person he’s ever met. So he cuts his losses and takes what he can get—trust, banter, a friendship as close as Hiei will allow. He takes what he can get and he doesn’t think about it.
Well, that’s a lie. He does think about it. But Kurama has always been excellent at neatly compartmentalizing all his thoughts and feelings, and those pertaining to Hiei are no exception. Any Hiei-related thoughts that breach the safe-territory of partnership and comradery are sent straight into a specific compartment in Kurama’s head that he mentally refers to as the ‘Hiei box.’
The lid is sealed tight, and he doesn’t open it.
Or at least he didn’t used to. Their last conversation keeps playing on loop in Kurama’s head, as he senselessly picks through it for some kind of greater meaning. What was bothering Hiei? Marriage? Kurama is, frankly, surprised that Hiei even has a full grasp of what marriage is. And Kurama getting married? What had Hiei thinking about that? Why does he even care, regardless?
The questions bounce around Kurama’s head in a dizzying kind of mental racquetball until they’re practically all he can think about. He’s in a fog. He’s started overwatering his plants.
Worse still, his mind keeps meandering back to the flush on Hiei’s face—how soft it made him look, how it might feel to ghost his fingertips across the warmth in his cheeks.
Silly. The whole thing is terribly silly.
Everything will go back to normal soon. Hiei will visit again and they’ll have a normal conversation. No one will mention anything about love or marriage and Hiei most certainly will not blush.
Everything will be fine.
_________
Hiei stops visiting.
This isn’t completely abnormal. The three-eyed demon is nothing if not restless and he’s always getting himself into new assorted mischief, not to mention the work he does for Mukuro. Weeks and even months can go by without a visit when he’s gotten particularly busy in demon world—Kurama is used to that. But the thing is that Hiei isn’t even in demon world.
Hiei is around. More than that, he’s nearby Kurama’s apartment almost constantly. He’s just not visiting.
Stranger still, he can tell that Hiei is trying, at least, to conceal his presence. He’s doing a piss-poor job of it, but an attempt is being made, for sure. The fruitless effort at hiding from Kurama is less a reflection on Hiei’s skill and more on how long they’ve known each other, how thoroughly familiar they are with the exact shape and sensation of each other’s auras. After everything they’ve been through, Hiei couldn’t hide from Kurama if he tried, and surely he knows this.
So why is he trying?
Kurama must have misstepped somewhere. Perhaps he should apologize—for what, he isn’t sure, but evidently he’s done something. Then again, the confusion and hurt make him petty. Why should he be apologizing to Hiei when he doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong? If Hiei has a problem, he should come out and say it, rather than lurking in the shadows of Kurama’s life like some kind of lunatic.
Either way, it doesn’t look like anyone is apologizing to anyone anytime soon, considering the fact that Hiei won’t talk to him.
Three (3!!!) times, Hiei makes an appearance to Kurama and leaves without saying a word.
The first time, Kurama is coming home with groceries.
It’s been a long day. He’s dead tired, overloaded with bags because it’s been too long since he last went shopping, he’s nearly home, and then he rounds the corner and Hiei is there. Standing in front of his apartment like he’s been waiting for him.
Kurama drops his groceries.
Don’t be mistaken, Kurama doesn’t startle easily. But the sheer surprise (and quiet elation) at seeing Hiei’s face sends his bags clattering to the ground, bruising his freshly bought fruit and certainly cracking at least one of his eggs.
Kurama curses—too late and far louder than intended—which is apparently the wrong thing to say, because Hiei makes a face, turns on his heel, and sprints off into the night.
The second time, Kurama is gardening.
Note, the term “gardening” is used loosely—considering he’s on the fifth floor, Kurama simply doesn’t have the yard for a traditional garden, but nonetheless, he dutifully tends to the ever-growing collection of plants he keeps in his apartment. His favorites are the eclectic assortment of flowers growing in the planters on his terrace, forming a brightly colored barrier between his home and the rest of the world.
He’s on the terrace watering them, checking to see how they’re growing, and, okay, talking to them, too. Yes, he talks to his plants. Considering everything else about Kurama’s life and who he is, he doesn’t feel like this is too weird. A little embarrassing maybe, but come on. Let him have this. It helps them grow.
He’s midway through cooing to a marigold about how big and handsome it’s getting when he turns around and Hiei is there, perched on the railing between two window boxes full of daffodils.
Kurama, ever graceful, drops his watering can.
The accursed watering can hits the ground with horrible tinny clank and then proceeds to spill all over the terrace floor, just to add insult to injury. Excellent. Kurama looks like a fool in front of Hiei, again, and now his slippers are wet.
“Hiei,” Kurama starts, a lackluster warning in preparation for the inevitable mocking he’s about to receive.
Which, normalcy be damned, doesn’t come.
Kurama snaps up from his now soaked slippers and finds Hiei thoroughly unmocking. He’s just looking at Kurama, the heel of his hand pressed to his mouth shuttering half his expression, but his eyes are crinkled at the edges like he’s—grinning? Holding back a laugh? But not in a “ha ha, nice job idiot,” way, just. Warm. Fond.
“Hiei,” Kurama repeats, strangled, emphatic, like a damn parrot. He’s off his game.
At that, Hiei seems to remember himself, because he goes rigid, eyes wide, half-smile vanishing. He opens his mouth to speak, and then Kurama does as well, but nobody actually says anything so they just stand there, looking remarkably like fish.
Just when Kurama is about to break the temporary stalemate, Hiei practically flings himself off of Kurama’s terrace and into a nearby tree.
“My—my slippers,” Kurama shouts at his retreating form, not really sure why that’s what he’s focusing on instead of, you know, where have you been, why are you acting like this? But it’s too late. In a flash, Hiei is gone. Again.
The third time it happens—actually, the third time is a bit different. Hiei does say something this time, but it’s. Well.
It’s late in the evening. Kurama’s just gotten out of the shower and is getting ready to go to bed, when he realizes that he’s left the wrap he uses to dry his hair in his bedroom. The Hiei thing is making Kurama forgetful, since he’s been dedicating all of his brainpower to overthinking.
He wraps a towel haphazardly around his waist and trudges towards his room to get it, and of course, because his luck is wonderful and everything has actually been going too well lately, guess who’s there when he opens the door?
Hiei is halfway through the window—Kurama left it open, he’s been doing that a lot lately, just in case—and he freezes.
This time, Kurama isn’t holding anything except his towel, and he doesn’t drop that. Thank god.
There’s an excruciating, impossibly long moment where they’re both rendered speechless and immobile by the stupidity of the whole situation, staring at each other. Which, honestly, isn’t very fair to Kurama, who has to endure all of this awkwardness wet and half-naked while Hiei’s wearing the same damn cloak he’s had for all the time Kurama’s known him.
Kurama’s about to tell him so, when Hiei finally decides to break his weeks long silence and actually speak to him.
“Your,” Hiei starts, a little hoarse, “Your hair.”
Against his will, Kurama’s hand self-consciously flies up to his hair, fingers tangling nervous knots into the damp curtain of red. He isn’t sure what Hiei’s on about—there’s nothing wrong with his hair, it’s just wet.
“I showered,” Kurama says, because stating the obvious is now a thing that he does, apparently.
Hiei is still staring, wide-eyed. His face is very red. He must be angry, though Kurama can’t imagine why.
Kurama needs to say something, anything to break this bizarre tension, but Hiei looks away suddenly, like everything else in the room is now terribly interesting, like looking at Kurama is physically painful.
“Um,” Hiei says, intelligently. “Goodnight.”
And with those illuminating words, he’s out the window and disappeared into the dark. Again.
Kurama can’t even summon the energy to be confused. Disappointment grips tight in his chest and he’s reminded, painfully, of how much he’s come to enjoy talking to Hiei, how accustomed he is to the sound of his voice. Hiei’s brief words are almost worse than his silence—they’re a tease, a stilted caricature of the contact that Kurama’s been craving.
It’s been three weeks. Three weeks, and Hiei has barely given Kurama a full sentence.
He closes his window and locks it tight, knowing full well he’ll leave it open again tomorrow.
__________
The other thing about Kurama’s feelings for Hiei is that they’re making him stupid.
He had been perfectly happy keeping all his pesky Hiei related feelings hidden in the back of his mind. People are often fond of saying, “Life is short,” which is fine. For most people, life is indeed short. However, Kurama is not most people, and after living a couple thousand years, half-dying, and living some more, he is painfully aware of how long life can be. So Kurama has been playing the long game.
And by long game, he means bottling up his feelings for Hiei and never, ever telling him. Ever. Which is a completely reasonable and healthy thing to do, shut up.
But suddenly the shift in their rhythm has gotten Kurama wanting to “talk” to Hiei about his feelings, like some kind of lovelorn fool. Which—okay, perhaps he’s lovelorn, but he usually isn’t a fool.
There’s no point in telling Hiei how he feels, anyway. Kurama’s never been good at handling rejection, and Hiei’s never been good at handling emotions in general, so the whole thing is just a recipe for disaster that Kurama really doesn’t want to be a part of. He’d just like things to go back to the way they were.
That, unfortunately, is looking increasingly less likely as more time passes and the divide between them grows more cavernous. But Kurama is nothing if not a problem solver, and if there’s a way to mend things with Hiei, he’ll find it.
Everything traces back to their strange conversation that afternoon, the one where Hiei kept badgering Kurama about whether or not he was planning on “settling down.” As a competitive, Olympic-level overthinker, Kurama has analyzed (and overanalyzed) every beat of their interaction, and realized he’s missing a vital piece of information. Hiei came by because he was annoyed with Yusuke, because Yusuke said or did something that made him feel like he needed to talk to Kurama.
So Kurama must now ask the age old question that’s been puzzling scientists for years: What The Fuck Did Yusuke Do?
He finds himself in the perfect position to answer that question, grabbing a drink with Yusuke and Kuwabara. It’s a tradition of sorts, that they try to do every other Friday. Sometimes Hiei comes with them, which is always amusing, because no matter how much he (unwillingly) learns about human life, he still looks bizarre doing anything too mundane. Hiei isn’t there tonight though, because Kurama is, and being there would require speaking to him in complete sentences.
Kuwabara loses rock-paper-scissors so it’s his turn to head back to the bar and grab the next round of refills for the table. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Kurama turns to Yusuke, intent on getting some answers.
“Yusuke,” Kurama starts, carefully disinterested, “Have you seen Hiei lately?”
Yusuke hums, drumming his fingers on the table. “Hm. Not in a while? He stopped by a few weeks back, but he didn’t stay for too long.”
“Ah. Did you guys,” Kurama pauses, trying to figure out how to word it without sounding too accusatory, “Talk about anything interesting?”
“Not that I remember,” Yusuke goes to finish off his beer, then stops short, eyes narrowing. Kurama can see the gears turning in his head, the pieces snapping into place. “Wait—why?”
No use in lying about it now.
“Hiei has been acting—unusual, lately. He’s refusing to speak to me.”
Yusuke groans. “God, I knew he was going to be stupid about it.”
“Stupid about what?”
Before Yusuke can answer, Kuwabara is back, drinks in hand. He sets them down on the table, grinning. “What are we talking about?”
Kurama is ready to change subjects, but Yusuke is quicker. “Hiei,” he says, all raised eyebrows and implication.
Kurama must make a face, because Kuwabara is nodding as though that one word explained everything.
“Ah,” he says, and Kurama would really like for everyone to keep their eyebrows in check, thank you very much. “Trouble in paradise?”
“There is no paradise. There’s never been paradise. I’m in hell, right now.”
“Hiei won’t talk to him,” Yusuke explains.
“What? You guys break up?”
“Break up?” Kurama isn’t spluttering. He’s never spluttered, ever, in his life. “We were never together.”
Kuwabara gives Kurama a long look, and the fox is rudely reminded that his friend is frighteningly astute. For all that goofy veneer, he’s got a good eye, especially when it comes to people.
After a moment, the serious look is gone, replaced by a lopsided smirk. “Heh. Had me fooled.”
Yusuke snorts. “That’s what I said!”
“What did you say to Hiei?” Kurama asks, calmly. He’s so calm. It’s amazing, how calm he is.
“Cool your jets, Kurama, jeez.” Yusuke is really lucky Kurama is so calm, and that he isn’t trying to attack him like a rabid animal. Yusuke’s luck might run out very, very soon. “He was giving me shit about Keiko so I gave him shit about you. Asked him when he’s finally gonna stop dicking around and settle down with you.” He shrugs, sips his beer. “That’s all.”
That’s all, he says, like the sky isn’t about to start crashing down around his ears, like he hasn’t just kicked down the carefully laid stack of cards that is Kurama and Hiei’s relationship.
Kurama takes a moment to remind himself that Yusuke is one of his dearest friends, whom he would definitely regret throttling to death in the middle of a bar. It’s a long moment.
“Yusuke,” Kurama sighs, “Why would you ask him that?”
Another shrug. “I think it’s a fair question.”
Kuwabara elbows Yusuke in the arm, shooting him a sidelong glance. “Sheesh, Urameshi. I didn’t take you for a meddler.” There’s a pause, and then he grimaces. “Actually, I take that back. You’re always meddling—it just usually involves more punching.”
Yusuke sneers at Kuwabara and elbows him back. Kuwabara responds, maturely, by elbowing him back again, harder. This continues until they’re essentially wrestling at the table.
“Yusuke, we aren’t—” Kurama starts, desperate to get this conversation—and by extension, his life—back on track. “Hiei doesn’t think of me that way.”
The wrestling stops at that, Yusuke loosening the headlock he’d gotten Kuwabara into so he can give Kurama a properly curious look.
“You sure about that?”
The thing is, Kurama was sure. He had been sure for years. But now, suddenly, everything’s been thrown off-balance and there’s a selfish, hopeful part of him that can’t help but wonder if his feelings might be returned.
Because honestly, for all their closeness, there’s a lot that he doesn’t know about Hiei. There’s a lot that they don’t talk about. He’s not sure when, but it seems like at some point in their partnership, they started to take for granted just how well they know each other. Being able to guess each other’s motives or predict each other’s actions doesn’t actually mean they always know what they other’s thinking—even if those guesses and predictions are almost always right.
If Kurama could hide his feelings for Hiei for this long, maybe Hiei could as well. It’s an interesting thought, at least.
It’s such an interesting thought that Kurama gets a bit lost in it and neglects to actually answer Yusuke’s question. Though judging by the smug looks on his friend’s faces, the silence is answer enough.
“You should ask him yourself,” Yusuke says, a bit more earnest. Then, with a laugh, “Assuming he gives you the chance.”
__________
Kurama is about ready to give up on ever getting that chance when it arrives the next night in the form of Hiei, injured, perched on the edge of his window.
There are a lot of things Kurama could say, should say, has been dying to say for the past month, but he settles for:
“You’re bleeding on my windowsill.”
Hiei takes a blasé peek at the blood running down his arm. “So I am.”
Beyond the subtle shift of his gaze, he doesn’t move. The stillness is deceptive—he’s coiled up like a spring, ready to speed away at the slightest indication that Kurama might do… something.
Normally, Hiei would be inside by now, making a nuisance of himself on Kurama’s bedroom floor. Nothing is normal lately.
“Are you coming inside?” Kurama asks, covering his wariness with a casual tone. They’re on the verge of an actual conversation, which is unfortunately impressive. He has to keep it going.
With some reluctance, Hiei hops down, folding his bloody arm over his chest to disrupt the trail of red from reaching the bedroom floor. In spite of everything, Kurama fights back a smile at the little act of consideration. Repeated scolding about bloodstains on his carpet must have finally sunk into Hiei’s head.
Kurama glances over Hiei’s injured arm. He can tell from a distance that it’s not serious—the cut isn’t too jagged, and it looks like it missed any important arteries. Kurama would guess that it’s deep enough to sting, but not enough to be any real kind of danger. Unless, of course, the blade was poisoned, but Hiei doesn’t look particularly poisoned. For someone as strong as he is, it would probably heal with a night of rest.
So this isn’t about the arm at all, is it? Kurama already knew that, really, but the confirmation sends a little thrill ricocheting through his stomach.
Though he’s graduated from the windowsill, Hiei remains on the edge of the room, backed up against the wall like Kurama’s got him pinned. For a quiet, feral moment, Kurama considers crossing the distance and pinning him for real, gripping him by the collar and demanding to know what it is that’s got him acting like this.
He slips that thought into the Hiei box and remains still, a statue seated on the corner of his bed.
“Want me to patch that up for you?”
Hiei shrugs, as though this whole affair is a terrible chore. “Fine.”
The nonchalance is forced. Hiei is—fidgety.
He’s usually quite comfortable in Kurama’s living quarters, both his old room in Shiori’s home and even more in Kurama’s new apartment. A bit too comfortable for Kurama’s liking, sometimes—because dirty, muddy boots don’t go on the freshly washed comforter, Hiei—but nonetheless.
Currently, though, Hiei stalks across the room like he’s scouting out a battleground. When Kurama pats the spot next to him on his bed, Hiei nearly jumps. With all the palpable dread of a man about to throw himself on a bear trap, he sits, keeping his eyes on the few inches of comforter between them.
Kurama takes Hiei’s wrist and begins examining the wound in his forearm, fingers feather light but clinical. Hiei’s breath catches when skin meets skin and Kurama pretends not to notice. It doesn’t mean anything; Kurama’s hands are probably cold, and Hiei has never really liked being touched anyway. Nothing more, nothing less. The fox has always told himself not to relish too deeply in these little moments of intimacy, to make sure he’s not looking for things that aren’t there.
After assessing the wound—nothing serious, as he’d guessed—Kurama grabs the medicine kit from under his bed and begins to clean and bandage it up.
“Who were you fighting?” He asks, smoothly.
“No one important,” Hiei says, closing his eyes. “A couple of overconfident fools. I killed them easily.”
Kurama smiles, gives Hiei’s hand a gentle pat. “Not that easily.”
“I got careless.” Something like a scowl plays on Hiei’s face, but gets chased off by a more confused expression, something vulnerable. “I’ve been—thinking about a lot, lately.”
“Thinking, huh?” Kurama lets out a soft huff of a laugh. “I wouldn’t advise it.”
Hiei scowls for real this time, opening his mouth with what Kurama assumes is a sharp retort on his tongue—and then he stops, suddenly.
“How long have we known each other?”
What a question. Kurama suspects Hiei knows the answer, but he’s asking anyway. Or perhaps he doesn’t know. Kurama has always had the better memory. It isn’t that Hiei is forgetful, per say. It’s just that he too is excellent at compartmentalizing information, though he has far fewer boxes in his head than Kurama. More specifically, he has two compartments for information—important and unimportant. Things that Hiei deems unimportant, he simply neglects to remember.
“A while,” Kurama says, after a moment. He pauses, waiting for Hiei to grunt in acquiesce. The silence indicates he isn’t satisfied with vagueness. Kurama sighs and starts calculating. “Well, we met when I was in middle school, didn’t we? This body was 14 years old then. And this body is—23 now, if I’m not mistaken. So that would be nine years, wouldn’t it?”
Kurama expects Hiei to make some sort of crack about not wanting to do the math—he set it up for him, really—but he presses on.
“And how long,” Hiei starts, with some difficulty, “have we been—doing this?”
Ah. That’s not where Kurama thought he was going with this. He thinks of rejection, a partnership lost, a friendship ruined. He thinks of the Hiei box, straining at the confines of its lid, threatening to tip over.
Kurama decides, abruptly, to be deliberately obtuse.
“Talking?” he says, not looking up from bandaging Hiei’s arm. “Why, since the beginning—though I will admit, I do a great deal more of it than you do.”
Hiei tenses. “That’s not what I—I mean—” He sighs, presses the fingers of his uninjured hand to the bridge of his nose. Kurama glances up from his work, studying him. Hiei has never been good at expressing his feelings, but he’s trying to say something and say it right, trying harder than Kurama’s ever seen him.
They’re at the precipice of—something. Kurama isn’t sure what. His heart stutters, traitorous and human.
“I mean,” Hiei restarts, “Doing this. Me staying with you and you bandaging me up and us—spending time together. Like this.”
Kurama hums, running a hand through his hair. “Since the beginning, too, I think. Remember? I healed you after that fight—the night we met. You slept over in my room.”
The memory is crisp in Kurama’s mind, soft around the edges from fondness. They’ve grown since then, haven’t they? Before becoming human, Kurama had thought he was done growing. How delightful, to be wrong.
Hiei takes a breath and captures Kurama with his gaze, garnet eyes desperate and searching. “And when did it become so—comfortable?”
It takes a conscious effort for Kurama not to lurch back at the question. This isn’t—this isn’t a conversation that they’re supposed to have. They don’t talk about things like this. If you don’t talk about it, if you let it stay in the shadowed safety of ambiguity, then you can’t screw it up. Kurama can’t ruin this if there’s nothing to ruin.
For years, they’ve been standing on the edge of a cliff together, and now Hiei is threatening to throw them off.
“Hiei,” Kurama starts, carefully, very carefully, “Have you come to the conclusion that we’re friends?”
There is a pause, and then Hiei groans, as though Kurama’s missed the point entirely.
“I already knew that, fox.”
Kurama knew that already, too. He’s also known that Hiei knew. He’s known it in a million gestures, big and small, of complete trust. Still, hearing it out loud makes a warmth seep through his chest, the open wound of affection pulsing with a familiar ache.
Hiei shakes his head. “The detective is my friend. The oaf… could be considered…” he grimaces, lowers his voice, “Something akin to my friend.”
“I’m sure Yusuke and Kuwabara would love for you to use their names while you’re having this revelation.”
“I was saying,” Hiei gives him a glare. “They are my friends. You are something else.”
Kurama’s mouth is dry. “Your mortal enemy, perhaps? I’ve always wanted a nemesis. Although, actually, you might have some competition for that one.”
“Friends,” Hiei says loudly, bulldozing over Kurama’s quip. It wasn’t one of his best, if he’s being honest. “Don’t act like we do.”
Conversationally, Kurama is on the ropes. Caught. A rare and irritating feat. He can’t run from this, can he? Better to just get it over with.
“Elaborate,” he says, only half succeeding in keeping the edge out of his voice.
Hiei inches closer. “You keep your window unlocked for me.”
“I do,” Kurama says softly, fingers digging into the bed to keep them still. Being this honest is unfamiliar, a thrilling knife’s edge. “Sometimes I leave it wide open.”
“That’s dangerous, fox.” Hiei’s voice rumbles low in his throat. Kurama isn’t sure when he got this close, Hiei’s breath ghosting across his face, but suddenly all he can think about is how easy it would be to close the distance altogether. He could do it in a heartbeat.
Kurama wills himself to look away, before he gets reckless. “The only thing I’m in danger of is catching a cold on a winter night.”
He should get up. He should—Kurama doesn’t know. Make an excuse about getting more bandages? Jump out the window? Feed himself to one of his own plants? His strategist brain is paralyzed as the Hiei box overflows, years of carefully restrained emotion spilling out and drowning every corner of his mind.
He makes a move to get up, but Hiei’s hand shoots out to grab his own, holding him in place. The grip is gentle, lacking any genuine threat of strength. It’s his injured hand, Kurama thinks, numbly.
Hiei rakes his eyes over Kurama’s face, at once fiery and unsure. “Do you miss me when I’m not here?”
“What are you getting at, Hiei?”
This conversation is feeling more and more like an interrogation, and Kurama is rapidly losing his patience. Why is he answering questions when Hiei was the one acting strange? He can’t be expected to say all of this on his own.
“Hiei, if you have something to say, you’d better just say it—”
There is the sensation of being dragged downwards, and then. Oh.
Hiei is kissing him now. How very, very peculiar indeed.
It’s not a great kiss, really. It’s clumsy. Very brief. Kurama barely has time to close his eyes, but that’s alright, because Hiei picks up the slack by scrunching his so tightly that it looks like he’s in pain. None of that matters, though, because it’s Hiei, he’s kissing Hiei, and Kurama’s brain completely short-circuited the moment his chapped lips met his own.
When Hiei breaks the kiss, he (of course) tries to slip back on his usual mask of indifference, but the stern set of his mouth is betrayed by his burning cheeks and the way he’s avoiding eye-contact. Kurama loves him so much it feels like he’s been hit over the head with it.
“I miss you,” Hiei says, red-faced but steady. “When I’m not here.”
Kurama attempts to sift through the dizzying haze of just discovering that his stupid, unrequited crush is in fact a stupid, requited crush for some semblance of coherent thought. Somewhere along the way, he remembers that he’s actually still pissed at Hiei.
“Then why did you disappear and then—” Kurama will admit that he is definitely spluttering now. “And then avoid me for a month?”
Hiei, the bastard, looks faintly amused. “Are you going to ignore the fact that I just kissed you?”
“Oh, I will kiss you later,” Kurama says, like it’s a threat, like his heart isn’t about to hammer right out of his chest, “But I’m still angry right now.”
Hiei shifts uncomfortably, which means he’s sorry, even if he isn’t going to come out and say it. “I didn’t realize how I felt about you until Yusuke pointed it out to me,” he says, grimacing like this is very embarrassing, which it absolutely is. “And then it was all I could think about. I wanted to talk to you about it sooner but it never seemed like the right time.”
Kurama smirks. “So you chickened out.”
“It was a tactical retreat.”
“It happened three times.”
“Three tactical retreats.”
The anger rushes out of Kurama like air from a helium balloon, and suddenly he’s laughing, harder than he has in years. By the time he collects himself, Hiei is grinning too, loose and light in a way that Kurama now knows is reserved for him.
There’s something soft and reverent and familiar in his expression that Kurama suspects has been there for years, but he simply refused to see.
“We’ve been very stupid about this, haven’t we?”
Hiei snorts. “And we’re supposed to be the smart ones.”
“Well, I’m the smart one,” Kurama drawls, resting his head on Hiei’s shoulder.
Hiei swats at him half-heartedly, a gesture that is made even less convincing by the fact that he’s still holding Kurama’s hand.
“Never mind, I take it back, I take back everything I said about my feelings for you—”
“Your feelings for me,” Kurama pulls back, half-teasing, half serious. “And what are those? You’ve mentioned them a lot but you haven’t actually told me what they are.”
Hiei goes pink again, and it’s a glorious thing to see. Kurama will never get tired of it.
Scowling in earnest, Hiei huffs, “Isn’t it obvious?”
And it is obvious, now. Kurama suspects that it’s been obvious for a long time, to everyone except him and the Hiei-shaped blind spot in his head. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t still like to hear it out loud.
“Humor me,” he says, because despite all his protests, Hiei usually does.
There’s a moment where Kurama honestly thinks he’ll be that stubborn and this will just be another hurdle they’ll have to get around, when Hiei takes a deep breath and says, “I love you, you idiot.”
He says it half-grumbled, low and pissed off in the way the Hiei only talks when he’s saying something embarrassing but true.
“Great! Happy we cleared that up.” Kurama knows he’s on thin ice, but he really couldn’t resist that one. Then, softer, “I love you too, by the way.”
Hiei is valiantly fighting off a grin, but it’s a losing battle.
“Didn’t you say you were going to kiss me?”
Kurama laughs, and when he touches Hiei it feels like coming home.
“Of course. We’ve got to make up for some lost time.”