Disclaimer:I own nothing~
Author's Note: Just rewatched the episode where Sesshomaru and Rin meet for the first time. BABIES. ;3;
Warning:As fluffy as Sesshomaru's tail~
Dedication: For Hannah. Thanks for putting up with all of my feels-filled texting. XD;
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Threads
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She blended in with the earth.
He didn't like it. He didn't like the faded jade, the worn burgundy. Such drab colors, intended for the lowest of the peasantry: mud and mess and old blood and forgotten villagers. In the shadow of the trees, she matched the mulch he'd already stepped over, and he'd have to work to find her tiny face when he'd glance over his shoulder.
Whenever she noticed his gaze, she'd grin.
He didn't like it— the stench that wafted from those garments, the stink of death, wolves, and neglect. Memories clung to those rags, tattered and beaten, like clouds that suppressed the full warmth of the sun. He remembered the mute who'd brought him fish and rats and smiles—so similar to the reanimated child who toddled after him now. But this human had not only been returned to life, she had been filled with it; the robes dragged her back down, down into the muck and the grave.
She curled beside him at night, preferring his body heat to that of the fire.
He didn't like it… Didn't like seeing her so near, and yet still so far. His vassal, his charge, bound to her old life by bad dreams and cotton threads. Jaken had been given a double headed staff; Ah-Un, a majestic saddle. Convenient tokens. Necessary items. As she slept, he slipped into the blackness of the moonless night, stoically journeying until he found what he sought.
Three days, and dawn kissed the heavens, turning it pink with pleasure; she stared at his approaching figure as if he were the sun in her sky, equally rosy with delight.
And he didn't like it—or, perhaps, he liked too much—the way the exuberant mortal paid the costly parcel in his hand no heed. The way she leapt to her feet, sprigs of anemone tumbling from her lap, as she raced frantically forward to greet him, so thankful not to have been abandoned again. But he pushed the thoughts aside as he dropped the folded bundle into her outstretched arms, preventing a hug by presenting a present. Startled, the child blinked down at the fabric in confusion: at dyed squares of yellow and orange (as warm as the summer, the sunshine, her smile), and stitched green circles (round as the bubbles she reminded him of, of the sun and the moon that kept the lonely stars company).
"For you, if you choose."
He didn't like it, the way she looked at him: as if he was all that mattered in the whole of the world. He didn't like it, the way she cried: tears beading around her eyes in lieu of so many words of gratitude. He didn't appreciate, either, how she rubbed the soft, clean fabric against her still-bruised cheek, breathing in the lingering scent of him—so much sweeter than anything she'd ever smelled before. Nor did he like the way she curled her fragile, bony arms around his leg, clinging to the demon as she offered him a beam as bright and blindingly beautiful as a supernova.
"Thank you, Lord Sesshomaru!"
He did not like it.
"We're going."
But he may have loved it.
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