Written for MiroSanta 2015 and MirSan Week 2016, Day 3: Sacrifice. Dedicated to Jade.
She'd always wanted a June wedding. He'd learned that when she told him in passing while he'd held her, naked and tangled in his bedsheets one night. She remarked about how expensive a wedding in June would be, and how grateful she'd been that they would be able to afford it.
He sighed and readjusted his bowtie, suffocated by his stiffly starched tuxedo collar. The corridor bustled with people – guests, caterers, decorators. The ceremony started in an hour and a half, so everyone rushed to perfect last-minute details with the buffet table and the place settings, and the guests that had already arrived fussed over their appearances and seating arrangements.
Sango's dressing room was at the end of the hallway, and with every step, he dodged the people flittering around and conquered a segment of the ugly gold walls hung with ugly gold sconces. And though he was capable of squashing the hideous red-patterned carpet beneath his feet, he couldn't squash the nerves bubbling up in his stomach at the thought of seeing her dolled up to be a bride.
When he arrived at her door, he lightly touched the handle, considering for a moment to walk in unannounced, then decided against it. He took another breath, straightened out his jacket, and knocked.
"Who is it?" she called.
"It's me," he said, unable to control it when the corners of his mouth creeped up. Her voice would forever be his favorite sound.
"You know the groom isn't supposed to see the bride before the wedding!"
Miroku poked his head through the door. "Then it's a good thing I'm not the groom, isn't it?"
The only light in the room came from the vanity lights surrounding the mirror she sat at, and he saw her catch sight of him in the reflection, a look of surprise jolting her into straight posture. "Oh. I'm sorry, Miroku, I didn't realize… I didn't think you would come."
He smiled and approached her, shutting the door behind him. "Of course I came. This is the most important day of your life, so what kind of person would I be if I missed it?"
She lowered her gaze, "A smart one."
"Maybe," he chuckled. "I suppose I needed the closure of a real goodbye."
Still unable to look him in the eye, even in the mirror, she nodded. "Goodbye, then."
"So soon, Sango? We have a few minutes." His fingers found their way into the ends of her hair, neatly curled into ringlets and pinned into an intricate up-do. "I came early so this wouldn't be rushed. Unless you'd like me to go…"
"No! I mean… A few minutes would be nice." Finally, she looked up into the mirror to catch his eye. "Please, stay."
"Whatever you'd like." He pulled a chair over to sit beside her as she applied her makeup, something they'd done what seemed like hundreds of times before. By now, he could comfortably predict the product she'd pluck off the counter and the strokes she would take to apply it to her face, and he realized this would be the last time he would watch it. Forlornly, he began to accept that this goodbye would not be as clean as he'd hoped.
After a second, she screwed the top back onto her foundation and set it down, but contrary to his expectation, she turned to look at him. Gingerly, she reached out to touch his chest, and worked her way up to his face, cupping it for a moment before finding the elastic tying his hair back and pulling it out. "I like your hair," she whispered.
He grinned, "I feel the same about yours, but I'm afraid I'd ruin a work of art trying to let it down."
She rolled her eyes, "It took my aunt two hours to do this. There's so many pins in my hair, I think my scalp went numb forty-five minutes ago."
Shrugging, he said, "It's pretty, though."
"But at what cost, Miroku?" she whined.
Laughing, the way only she could elicit, he stood and wrapped his arms around her from behind, careful not to jostle her hair. "A large one, apparently."
Suddenly solemn, she nodded. "A large one indeed…"
"Sango," he murmured. "It's okay. This is what you wa––"
Her mouth cut him off, claiming his lips with her own before he could realize she'd vaulted from her seated position on the chair to a kneeling one. Out of reflex, and most definitely relief, his arms tugged her waist closer to his, and he was acutely aware of the chair backing that remained between them. "Sango, you're getting married today. What are you doing?" he gasped in between kisses, unable to pull away, even though he should have known better.
Her fingers gripped the hair at the nape of his neck and she tugged on it, growling, "You said you came to say goodbye. I want a proper goodbye."
"Whatever you'd like," he conceded, and his hands slid down her hips and found their favorite spot on the under-curve of her bottom; as he did so, he noticed that this was the slip for her wedding dress, not the real thing, and the thin fabric nearly allowed him the feel of her soft skin. Easily, he lifted her off the chair and groaned as her legs wound their way around his hips. He stepped around the chair and sat on the vanity table, makeup products clattering away in their wake as her knees settled on either side of his lap. She continued to tangle her fingers in his hair, pulling him into whichever position she wanted, and he was all-too-happy to comply, determined to be a satisfactory wedding gift. He kept his hands below her shoulders, an odd habit of his as he usually loved to touch her hair and the sounds she made when he did; however, today his presence must be invisible.
He kissed her everywhere he could reach, but never lingered. If he got her caught, today of all days… He couldn't push the idea out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried.
She lifted herself completely onto her knees and off his lap, reaching down to undo the clasp of his belt, and one last time, he grabbed her hands and whispered hoarsely, "Are you–"
"Don't," she hissed.
And he knew what she was thinking: don't ask, don't doubt, don't question. They were making a mistake, engaging this far, and they both knew it. But don't ask, don't doubt, don't question. That way, we can never find the answer. He nodded and leaned his head back, waiting for her to free him from his garments. Gripping her hips tightly, he exhaled slowly as she slid onto him, focusing all his attention onto the way it felt to have her lips on his neck her hands in her hair her knees squeezing his hips–
In the midst of his thought savor it, savor it, she'd collapsed against him and it was over, she was climbing off and leaving and he'd have to walk away in minutes, in moments, in seconds. He reached out as she turned away, the closing of his fingers just missing her shoulder.
Frozen, he could have sworn that in his periphery, the walls fractured and the light dimmed and time slowed and all he could do was watch her walk away and start to collect her things discarded on the ground. Then eternity broke, and his lungs expanded, and he grabbed a tissue off the vanity to clean himself up and rearrange his clothes back into order.
They moved silently, not making eye contact. The spell had broken, and though they both dreaded their final moment, it seemed it could not come fast enough.
Finally, with his tuxedo smoothed and belted in and his hair tied back into its ponytail, he could not stall any longer. "Sango… It's time."
She looked up from pretending to rearrange her makeup on the vanity and nodded. "Okay."
They walked together to the door. As his hand gripped the knob, he turned to place one gentle kiss on her lips, murmuring into them, "I wish you happiness." And before she could make sound or even move, he walked out and closed the door between them.
He retraced his steps back through the corridor with the ugly golden sconces and dingy red patterned carpets, arriving in the outdoor ceremony venue. The usher guided him to the bride's side of the pews, and he sat near the back, giving her family and friends with precedence the better view. A few of Sango's aunts politely inquired how he knew the bride and he found himself repeating "I know her from university" and "yes, we both studied anthropology" and "we've lost touch, I'm not surprised she hasn't mentioned me" to everyone who passed by.
When they'd all taken their seats, he sat with this hands clasped in his lap, refusing to look up at the groom on the altar he wished he could replace, and waited for the bridal march to begin. He thought he'd find her more beautiful with her makeup fully done and her dress on, but it was as though he gazed at a stranger. This version of Sango was the one marrying Kuranosuke, not himself, and he found it easier to distance her from the half-done version in his arms an hour prior.
He sat patiently and politely through the ceremony, taking notice of the vibrant green grass under their feet, the pure white wooden chairs and arch over the altar, decorated in mint and lavender ribbons. Staring at them from the words "you may kiss the bride" until the clapping had died out and the bride and groom had left together, he took a deep breath and stood, following the crowd aiming for the reception hall, but he broke off to head out to the parking lot instead.