A/N: Ah, yeah, another one bites the dust! More Yura (and Rikuo) for your palate, and this one's my baby! It will be my first (published) multi-chaptered story, so I really hope you all will give me your honest feedback. A huge heartfelt thanks to all those who have read and/or reviewed my stories. Your support means the world to me. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Nurarihyon no Mago in any way, shape, or form. Consider yourselves lucky. ;)

Revised on June 18, 2013.

The way he looks at you? It's strange. Very few people gaze at you so openly, as if they're perfectly entitled to do so.

But he's always looked at you that way. That's not the strangest part of this scenario.

Even more bizarre is the way you return his look, a comfortable contentment spreading through your chest.

If your response were in any way like your classmates describe, you wouldn't worry. You can deal with fireworks and electricity, shortness of breath and vertigo. These sensations are normal, almost laughable in their familiarity. They should be nothing to one who has experienced the life you have.

But this feeling of safety? Security? The overwhelming urge to remain here, in this place, with your feet curled against your side and a hot cup of tea in hand, while he lounges against the opposite wall, telltale smirk on his features?

You aren't used to that. Not with a boy who isn't your cousin or your brother or your grandfather.

There is something wrong with the way you sometimes have to remind yourself that he is not human, that you should care that he is not human.

You don't. You haven't for a long time. And perhaps that's the strangest part of all.

The next day, you should discreetly pull away when he drops a casual hand on your shoulder and offers you a smile, glasses perched on his nose and 'good morning' alight on his lips.

Instead, you gift the same greeting, smile just as warm, words just as genuine.

It's easier to forget when he looks like this, talks like this, acts like this. Normal, if a little overzealous. Nura-kun.

Then again, it's not like you have any sound foundation in whatever 'normal' is. But it's easier.

You go to class, copy the homework assignment, meet for lunch and study hall, converse with the others while Oikawa-san dotes on him like usual, pretend to pay attention as Kiyotsugu-kun plans another youkai rendezvous.

It's good, great, until he invites you to dinner. With a chuckle, he informs you that his mother added eggs to the menu, just for you.

How can you say 'no'?

Easy. Open your mouth.

Instead, you nod, as if the thought of refusing never came into your head.

How can you say 'no'? You could have, but you didn't. Just like all the other times, ever since you came back to Ukiyoe the previous spring.

You return to your apartment and head to the roof like every day, where you alternate between homework and target practice. Later that afternoon, you convene with the others at a nearby shrine, where Kiyotsugu-kun insists an evil spirit resides. You share a look with the others, catch the tolerance that echoes on all of your faces. There are no apparitions here, unless you count the dust bunnies prowling the shadowed corners. But Kiyotsugu-kun's passion has always been admirable, if a bit obsessive, and none of you see the harm in allowing him his happiness.

Two hours before the sun sets, you exchange your goodbyes and go your separate ways. You follow Nura-kun to the manor and listen to his easy conversation, lift your brow amusingly when he promises that Oikawa-san is only responsible for the dishes that are supposed to be cold. He removes his glasses and places them in his pocket, and you ask why he still bothers to wear them. He shrugs.

"I guess I've gotten so used to them, it would feel wrong to just get rid of them." He shrugs again with a smile. "I'm not hiding behind them anymore, but it would still feel weird to just leave them home one day, you know?"

He looks to you, seemingly expecting understanding, and you nod. You do understand. The fact that you ride the bus, wear the uniform, attend school at all, is for the same reason.

With so many oddities in your lives, it's nice to have something normal to hold onto, a school uniform or a pair of glasses you don't really need.

Nura-kun seems confident that you would empathize, and it gladdens you, the idea that he can confide in you, and you in him. That you can lean on each other, if need be.

Two years ago, you never would have considered such a thing. Now, you can't imagine doing anything less.

You hear the ruckus of the manor's inhabitants before you see the front gates, and you shake your head. It's always the same here, no matter the time of day, no matter the circumstances. It's such a different atmosphere from the Main House, where the din of the city is the only thing to puncture the quiet.

As soon as you enter, crowds of youkai appear along the veranda, voices raised in greeting their young master. He offers a wave in reply, and Oikawa-san appears at the forefront to welcome him home, along with the rest of his personal entourage. Surprisingly, they acknowledge you with what seems to be genuine welcome, and you can only nod to each in turn with a little confusion. Despite your teamwork in Kyoto those few years ago, none of you can be called friends, so their easy acceptance surprises you.

It's…okay, you decide, that you can at least be friendly with these people, despite a history that stems back millennia.

Soon after your arrival, the crowds disperse to their various rooms, and the parties resume without a hitch. Nura-kun leads you to the kitchen, Oikawa-san and Kejourou-san in tow. Delicious scents waft down the halls, and you breathe deeply, your mouth threatening to water. You've always had a healthy appetite, and you haven't eaten since lunch earlier that morning. The doors open to the sight of simmering pots and sizzling pans, and his mother turns to the group with a bright smile and cheery welcome. You remember how lively the woman is, and barely stiffen as she gathers you in an embrace, yellow kimono shining under the fluorescent lights as she exclaims how glad she is you decided to come. She tenderly cups Nura-kun's cheek before spinning in place, wooden spoon coming down with a smack on a wrinkled hand.

Even in his own house, Nurarihyon strives to empty the cabinets with no care for the consequences.

You can't help but smile at the spectacle as the others laugh. The former commander sullenly rubs his hand before greeting you with a smirk.

"Ah. I see the onmyouji girl has decided to grace us with her presence."

Your cheeks warm at his regal tone, and you roll your eyes when he laughs at his own jest. "Hi, Jii-chan," you reply, and you wonder when the familiarity between you became so comfortable. It's almost like you're with your own grandfather and not face-to-face with the youkai you once swore to defeat.

You choose not to think on it too hard. Not on an empty stomach, at least.

"Dinner will be ready soon. Rikuo, why don't you take Yura-chan," Wakana-san treats you with a smile, "to the sitting room for a cup of tea while we finish up in here?"

"Alright." Nura-kun rises from his seat at the counter and reaches out to clasp your hand. You eye it for a moment before taking hold, and just as you retreat into the hall, Wakana-san reappears with a small platter in hand.

"Here are some treats for you to snack on until dinner's ready." And she disappears again with a wave and the clack of the shoji doors.

Nura-kun eyes the tray before turning to you with a shrug. "Mom's a natural-born host."

You nod, remembering the hospitality the woman never failed to provide, no matter how many times you visited. That she can offer such a normal experience in a house full of youkai is amazing.

But it also makes sense, you think, glancing at the back of Nura-kun's spiky head. How else could he have grown up to be so kind and well mannered, with a grandfather who made a hobby of stealing into people's homes and eating their food?

Nura-kun slides the door open to a nearby sitting room, where a fresh pot of tea already awaits. With a playful flourish, he ushers you in, and you sit at the kotatsu with an eye roll, tucking your sock-clad feet underneath you. He sits across from you, places a ceramic cup within your reach, and pours the steaming green liquid into its depths. The earthy scent is calming, and you relax completely for the first since entering the manor gates as you take a careful sip, watching as he places the small platter of treats in the center of the table. Courteous as ever, he offers you one before taking one for himself.

"Interesting day today, huh."

You snort as you bite into the sesame-coated ball, and he chuckles before taking a sip of tea. "I can't help but wonder where Kiyotsugu-kun gets his 'leads'."

"His own website apparently." He swipes a finger across the table to remove a stray sesame seed. "He shows it to me now and again. People come in and leave rumors and stories, and we investigate them."

"Sounds reliable," you say, sarcasm tipping your tongue, and this time you smile and reach for another treat as he laughs louder, consuming it in two large bites. They're delicious, as you expected, and you can't seem to control your hands as they reach for another.

"Kiyotsugu-kun seems to think they're sound enough to check out. As long as you, Tsurara, and I are there, he shouldn't lead the others into any trouble."

"Mm," you hum in agreement as you chew. Then, with a start, you realize that you've consumed most of the treats on the platter, while Nura-kun is still on his first. Self-consciously, you sip your tea, gaze lowered to the polished wood floor. "Sorry," you mutter, embarrassment lacing your tone.

"Hm?" Nura-kun looks to you in confusion before eyeing the tray, and he grins at the sight. "It's okay. I have these all the time, and Mom'll be happy to know you like them."

His consolation only deepens the blush on your cheeks, but you nod in silent thanks. "They were really good."

"I'm glad." With a tap on his chin, he falls into thought. "I'm sure she'd be more than willing to send you home with some."

You shake your head adamantly. "No, it's okay. I don't want to be a burden."

Nura-kun looks at you, gaze questioning. "What do you mean?"

You keep your head low, scratching at a callus on your ring finger. "I already come here pretty often, and you've always been more than accommodating. I couldn't accept anything else."

"Ah." His tone is soft, and involuntarily, you look up. A small smile lights his face, and you're surprised to see his eyes crinkled with a bit of humor. "You're afraid you'll wear out your welcome?"

Somehow, his tone makes you feel like you said something silly; your eyebrow ticks. "Something…like that," you answer, tone cautious. "I'm not used to visiting one person's home so often." He smiles wider, nodding.

"I understand." He goes back to his tea, and you blink when the conversation seems over. You start to relax when he speaks. "Don't worry about that while you're here, okay?" You turn to him in surprise, and find his eyes already on you. "We like having you. That's all there is to it." He shrugs casually, but his eyes are sincere.

However kind it sounds, and of course it does coming from Nura-kun, you feel skeptical. These youkai can't appreciate the presence of an onmyouji in their home, no matter your recent past. They can't truly relax knowing you're in their midst.

Nevertheless, Nura-kun seems convinced of his words, even if you aren't, and perhaps that's enough to believe him. Part of you wants to.

You don't get the chance to inquire further. The moment you open your mouth, the shoji slides open with a clack, and Kejourou-san ushers you to the eating hall, her sunny disposition breaking the light tension only you seem to feel.

Nura-kun walks next to you, cheerfully taking part in her chatter, and you purse your lips in annoyance when he catches your eye with a grin, as if Kejourou-san somehow proves his point. He chuckles when you release a gusty sigh of defeat.

When you arrive at the dining hall, you're seated at the front of the room, which seems a center of relative calmness in the flurry of noise and movement. Eyeing the activity around you, you see Wakana-san expertly hand out bowls of rice to starving youkai and gather your courage before offering to help. Without missing her stride, she shoos your hands away with a titter. "You just enjoy yourself," she announces firmly, and you nod obediently as the room echoes with light laughter.

The meal is wonderful, probably better than anything you've had at home. A mother's touch is what you attest it to, something you have little memory of; it almost makes you smile to think that your own mother might have once prepared meals with such care. Taking a happy bite of food, you ignore the curious stares that follow your movements as you crack an egg and mix it into your rice. You're beyond used to it by now, and it's a step up from the blatant queries the smaller youkai used to bombard you with.

Even you stop and stare, however, when Nura-kun, looking to you with a smile, reaches curiously for the bowl Wakana-san (ever the host) supplied especially for you, grabs an egg, and in one smooth motion, cracks it into his bowl of rice and mixes it in with his chopsticks. Unflinchingly, he raises a mouthful to his lips and devours it. There is a hushed murmur as he chews and finally swallows, expression thoughtful.

With a lick of his lips, he grins and shrugs. "Pretty good."

You choke.

Your brothers tease you during your periodic calls home. "Look at our little Yura," they say, "spending time with people her own age!" You take it all with little trouble. They're brothers; what else are they good for except to protect and tease you? But you do wonder at the changes you've made, the friends you've made.

The friends you'll eventually have to leave behind.

You know as soon as the last graduation speech is given, you'll have to return to Kyoto to begin the final steps of your training. Soon, there will be no time for mundane school work, walks to the mall, or 'girl talk,' which you never quite understood.

Soon, there will be time only for exorcisms, meetings, and dusty scrolls illustrating the history of your people.

Once upon a time, that sounded nice. Like paradise, really.

Now…

With a laugh, Maki-san grabs your arm and drags you over to the brightly colored plushies littering the walls like drunken soldiers. In the background, you hear the beeps and blips of arcade games, the anguished wails of dying heroes and the triumphant laughter of goblin kings.

You don't know how you ended up here on a Wednesday afternoon. You should be training, studying, doing something productive.

But you find yourself strangely curious when Torii-san calls you from a nearby machine and urges you to try it out; you find yourself strangely intrigued when the screen lights up with neon colors and your fingers grip the plastic joystick; and you find yourself strangely exhilarated when the resounding "YOU WIN!" appears in huge letters, followed by fireworks and virtual confetti. The others cheer for your victory with too much enthusiasm, but you find yourself smiling at the praise and the giant white dog that leaves with you as your prize.

When Nura-kun compares the plush toy to Tanrou, you laugh aloud and hug the dog a little closer.

…This is getting ridiculous.

Why are Kiyotsugu-kun and Shima-kun leading you all into some dank cave, its ceiling and floor completely hidden by the darkness? Why is Ienaga-san gripping your arm so tightly, her large eyes darting to and fro like ping-pong balls across a table? Why is there the occasional drip of water against your arm as you head further into the blackness? Why are you all wearing so little that you can even feel the occasional drip of water against your arm?

One thing you do know: you shouldn't have agreed to this. There's too much that can become disastrous, from Ienaga-san's hyperventilation to Kiyotsugu-kun's terrible navigation to your own diminishing patience. Even Nura-kun seems less than supportive as he walks next to you, as Oikawa-san does her best to assure him of their safety, all while her voice trembles and her hands grip his arm tightly.

Such is an average day on the beach with the Kiyojuji Paranormal Investigation Squad. Not that you've ever had one before.

When a screeching bat flies over the group in anger, you eye it with sympathy. Ienaga-san screams in your ear and makes a run for it, and the momentum as she pushes off sends you careening into Nura-kun, who reflexively wraps an arm around your shoulders to keep you both upright and standing.

The incident is beyond commonplace, and once you find Ienaga-san again, even further in the darkness than you thought she would go, you return to the bright sunshine and gleaming water. Kiyotsugu-kun's pouting face takes up the group rear.

What evil spirit, you silently ask, would haunt a crowded beach? These 'contributors' to the Squad's website must be slacking.

The rest of the day passes without a hitch; it's highlighted with a game of suikawari, which almost ends in a tragic blow to Shima-kun's head. As Maki-san wrenches the bat from Kiyotsugu-kun's hands and the smashed pieces of watermelon are passed around, you lick the sweet juice from your fingers and listen to the chatter around you, the distant roaring of waves in the background.

It's peaceful. Loud, obnoxious, and peaceful.

When Nura-kun offers you the last piece of fruit, you accept it with easy gratitude. When your fingers brush under the green rind, you don't react, just as you didn't react to his close proximity and his protective arm.

They feel natural, those moments of contact. There are no shivers or thumping heartbeats, no warm cheeks or stunted breath.

There is only familiarity, a faint reminder that the other is there.

Not so long ago, there would be no such thing; you would never allow it. These days, you wouldn't have it any other way.

You don't ask what's changed in the time you've known him. You wouldn't have the answer.

Two years pass. You don't bother counting the days; they rush by too quickly for you to count. All you know is that each time you fall onto your futon is one more strike against the calendar, one more day here that can't be redone. Every month, you receive a check in the mail for your apartment's expenses and a phone call from your brothers, detailing the goings-on in Kyoto, the reconstruction that's occupied your clan's time for the last four years.

Finish school in Ukiyoe; return home as soon as it ends. You recite the orders to yourself, sniffing disdainfully as you remember the pointed look on Ryuuji's face as you agreed. Above you, the stars are just beginning to appear, and you turn on your side to watch out the open window, tugging your blanket close to ward off the cool breeze.

It's a surprise that they allowed you to come back here at all. You said your reason was training, practice in an environment separate from the one at home, but they knew the truth. You've never been able to fool anyone with your open book of emotions; you don't know why you thought you'd be able to this time.

The truth is, your heart has found a place here, among the suburban neighborhoods and grassy parks, amid the ruckus of the weekly sales at the supermarket, where you fight for supremacy with the local housewives. Against all odds, you have found a home in Ukiyoe Town, within the domain of a youkai you once called your precious friend.

With the sounds of night creatures in your ears and your eyes locked on the waning moon, you recall those words again, and sigh heavily when the truth behind them still rings true.

Graduation arrives. There are songs, speeches, and more songs, and the less formal students exclaim their excitement with resounding party poppers and neon streamers. There is an air of anticipation, of promise, of the future, and even you feel it, as your final hours here wind down.

Your hair has grown. It falls towards the middle of your back, and you've implemented a small topknot to distinguish your status as Keikain heir. Most of your classmates believe it to be a fashion statement, perhaps a new trend from Kyoto, and you accept their interpretations without bothering to correct them. The others know its true purpose and congratulate you, joking that you resemble some sort of ancient noble. Nura-kun says the look suits you, and you remember a similar comment he made years ago as he tugged at the long tresses that appeared during your team up against the Gokadoin. The memory hits you with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, as powerful as the arms that surround you as the Paranormal Investigation Squad meets for the last time. They all know it is your last day here; early the following morning you will be boarding a train to Kyoto, where your life will resume, before you entered this school and befriended these dear people.

It is your future, and you accept it willingly, however limited your time now seems.

After the last goodbyes are exchanged, the last embraces are given, and the final bells toll, you exit the school into the bright sunshine, your skirt swirling around your knees, your collar brushing your chin. You breathe the fresh air, heavy with the scent of yesterday's rain, and wave to those who wish you well. You see the silhouettes of Nura-kun's entourage; they are all dressed as human adults, and they surround him with praise for his accomplishment. Wakana-san strokes his hair with loving fingers, and unlike other boys his age, he accepts the tenderness without fuss. Nurarihyon stems away from physical affection, but his eyes are clearly alight with pride.

You can't help but wonder if, among all of that happiness, they think of the Second Commander, the precious son, husband, father and friend they lost.

You can't help but think of your own parents, your own Jii-chan, and how proud they would be of you, how happy they would be for you.

"Keikain-san!"

Your thoughts burst at the call of your name, and you turn to see Nura-kun jogging toward you, ever-present glasses still perched on his nose, ever-welcoming smile still alight on his lips. You wonder if you'll miss that familiar sight, that familiar presence at your back.

You shouldn't, but you know you will.

He stops in front of you and pauses before suddenly presenting a small bouquet of colorful flowers. A tiny dash of red brightens his cheeks, but he presents himself confidently, tall and lean and not quite as lanky as he used to be. With curiosity, you accept the bouquet and notice the woven basket attached, filled with Wakana-san's homemade treats.

You don't know how to respond, so you wait.

"Since you're leaving for Kyoto tomorrow and the train ride can be pretty long, I thought you might like some snacks to pass the time." His blush deepens slightly, and you feel a small twitch at your lips. "The flowers are a gift. Y'know, a congratulations for graduating."

Even with his explanation, you don't really know how to respond. You're not used to gifts, let alone those consisting of flowers and sweets, those given from one blushing fool to another.

Still, it's one of the kindest gestures anyone's ever shown you, and somehow, that makes the oddness of it okay. More than okay.

You smile at the gifts and offer a small 'thank you,' your heart warming at the wide grin that curls his lips.

"You're welcome." You get ready to take your leave, offering a fond wave to the large family standing nearby, who all offer one in return.

Nurarihyon sounds from behind you. "Don't be a stranger, girl."

You smile slightly. I don't want to be, Jii-chan.

"Keikain-san."

Another souding of your name, and this time you're confused as you turn back, carefully adjusting the load in your arms. Before you're prepared, Nura-kun is back before you, and you have to lift your chin to see past the sun glare on his glasses to his eyes. With almost deliberate care, he lifts his arms and wraps them around you, mindful of your compromised balance. The embrace is tender and unassuming and warm, and you can't resist the way your body relaxes into the hold, your eyes lifted to the cloudless sky.

"I'll miss you," he murmurs, and the gentleness of his voice is too much.

His embrace is just like him, and now you know how very much you will miss him, however ridiculous it sounds, however much you wish you could deny it.

With a shift of your gifts to one hand, you lift your other arm to return his hold, fingers splayed between sharp shoulder blades and along the sloping ridges of his spine. You can feel the radiating heat of his body, the sigh of his breath against your neck, and you press closer, just a little bit.

Just this once, you allow yourself to indulge in a friendship you never should have treasured this much.

"Mm," is all you can reply with, and you hope it's enough; his answering squeeze tells you it is. Before you lose composure, you reluctantly pull away, and the smile on his face, all soft curves and sunshine, is tinged with a hint of sadness.

As you once again take your leave, refusing to look back, you know yours is no better.

By midnight, your apartment is bare of all except your luggage. You wonder how the last three years could have resulted in the same meager belongings you arrived with, but then, you've never been the sentimental type to keep possessions you no longer need.

Lying on your back in the middle of your room, you look to the side and smile, catching sight of your prized plush. Then again, some things are worth keeping around.

"So this is what the great Keikain does in her spare time."

You swallow a gasp and twist yourself around, hair whipping your face with enough power to sting. In your line of sight stands Nura-kun, his back against the open window, his face half-shrouded in shadow. "I expected something more active."

You scowl darkly, heart pounding against your ribs. "What the hellare you doing here?!"

He smirks, pushing his hands into his sleeves. "Visiting. What else?"

"At one o'clock in the morning?" You spread your arms out, indicating the absurdity of his claim.

He looks at you. "Yeah."

"Yeah," he says, as if the situation is completely normal, as if he regularly visits girls in the dead of night.

You pause, blinking. And maybe he does. After a moment of consideration, you release a noisy sigh that ruffles the bangs on your forehead.

Not my problem. You battle youkai, not peeping toms with too much time on their hands.

"What do you want?" You watch him step away from the window and examine your room, feet padding softly over the tatami mats. His left his zori by the window, and you roll your eyes. Too late to be polite.

"I realized I'd never seen your apartment before, so I thought I'd come by before it was too late." He stops at the opening to the tiny kitchen, leaning out to study the cozy space. You follow at a half-hearted pace, and he turns back to you. "Cute place."

You frown in confusion. "You've been here before. You came with the others."

"Only once, and that was hardly a proper visit." He turns back to you, eyes crinkled in amusement. "You didn't even give us a tour."

"There's nothing to see. You've already walked through most of it." You leave him to his snooping and return to your place on the floor, flopping onto your back, eyes closed. "When are you leaving?"

"So eager to get rid of me?" His voice sounds above you, and you look up to see him crouched over you, eyes gleaming with jest.

You don't waste time. "Yes." He chuckles at your quick answer.

"What time does your train leave?" This time he sounds to the side, and you hear the rustle of his yukata as he seats himself beside you.

"Early," you mumble, throwing an arm over your face. You don't know why they want you back so promptly in the day, but you're dreading the trip.

"Ah."

The apartment falls into silence; in the quiet, you question how long he plans on staying. You already said your goodbyes that afternoon, and you hate the idea of prolonging the inevitable. There are too many ties here already, too many things that make you want to stay.

"You're not planning to forget this place, are you?"

Surprised, you lower your arm, regarding the boy beside you. He looks ahead, eyes glowing yellow in the darkness, face blank before he meets your gaze. "You seem like the type to burn bridges, as if you don't care." He smiles knowingly. "The truth is you care too much."

Your lips purse. "What?"

"Because you're afraid to get too attached, you go out of your way to cut ties with everything you'll miss." He chuckles. "It's easy to see."

You look at him dryly. He sounds like your brother. Damn youkai. "What's your point?"

In the darkness, the glow of his eyes suddenly gains intensity. "Don't be so quick to forget us."

Refusing to be cowed, you huff through your nose. "As if I could." The words are just loud enough to hear, and his smile widens.

"Tsun-tsun to the end, huh? That's fine." You watch as he rises to his feet, reaching into his sleeve to remove a small piece of paper. He holds it out, and as you reach for it, suspicion in your gut, you can already read a familiar series of numbers neatly written in pen. You clasp the sheet in your hand and look up at him. "In case you misplaced it," he explains, and you roll your eyes and drop the paper carelessly to the ground, heedless of where it lands. You place your arm back over your face.

"I don't want it." Your tone tells him to leave, and you don't bother to see him out. You stay sprawled on the floor, listening to the subtle hum of electricity, and start when a hand rests on your head, gently shuffling through your bangs before patting gently. You scrunch your brow and swat at it, grumbling at him to keep his damn hands to himself, and he chuckles again.

"Until next time, Yura."

"Not if I can help it." You feel a brief displacement of air above you; the next time you open your eyes, you're alone. Blinking away sleep, you reach for the abandoned piece of paper and study the number written. It's different from the numbers he gave you a few years ago; beneath the familiar script, it reads 'cell', and you realize that it's the number to his personal line.

You shake your head and sit up, scooting over to your luggage placed by the door. Folding it, you tuck the sheet into the basket he gave you and lean your head against the wall, gaze drawn to the now-closed window.

Against your will, your lips curve up.

Until next time.