He almost misses her again, his focus so narrowed that all he's paying attention to are details - the pulse of heartbeats in people's necks, the flex of muscles under their skin: these are the things he's learned to see, over a long existence made up almost entirely of fighting. In fact, it's the surprise that finally draws his attention to her - it makes her pulse flutter in her throat, makes her fingers clench, and in the relative calm of the shop, those things flare like signal fires.

She's not a threat - at least, not obviously - and Kurama's "danger" senses still aren't going off. So there's something else about her, something that's made her react like she has, and slowly, Kurama pulls his focus back to look at her - a long, lingering look that is far beyond the realm of polite interest.

Slowly, he sees it. Slowly, his mind subtracts the years, reforming a picture in his head that he thought was long-forgotten - smoothing out the lines, sharpening the features, bleeding color back into the faded hair. And as it does, his eyes grow wide, because who would have thought this could ever happen? Who would have ever imagined that they could meet again like this?

He swallows, hard, and stands, ignoring the waitresses who flutter around him with concerned questions. He has eyes only for her, just as it used to be, and he is suddenly so aware that he has not aged, that he will forever be young and forced to outlive the people he loves, and he thinks the knowledge has never hurt so much.