A/N: I feel like a modern Miroku would be really interesting. So I wrote a thing. Not sure if this will continue or not so it's incomplete for now.
Scents of sweat and alcohol mingled into the air as a constant beat pulsed through the waving bodies weaving through and around each other. Raucous laughs could just barely be heard over the DJ yelling, people singing along to whatever mainstream pop song that was popular at the time. And in the back, a young, handsome man was sweet-talking the girl on his right, fondling the left side's ass (who was too drunk to notice), and sweet-talking all of them into a stupor of infatuation.
"Miroku, you're just so amazing."
"His eyes, and his hair…and look at those strong arms…" Miroku flexed on cue, his plain white T-shirt crinkling as the muscles contracted and relaxed. The girls collectively sighed in response.
"Would you fine ladies like something more to drink? It's all on me," Miroku called out. Half of them heartily raised their empty glasses in assent, the other half uncomprehending due to the multitude of drinks Miroku had bought them half an hour ago. Gently setting down his own drink, Miroku stood and made his way to the bartender.
"Hey, can I get another round of drinks? Be quick about it!" Miroku called out. One of the girls struggled to pour the alcoholic mix into the small, dainty glasses. Her hands were shaking, sweat beading on her forehead. Bangs made it hard for Miroku to identify her. He figured she must be new; he knew almost all the bartenders in the club.
"I'm so sorry for the wait, I'll be out in a second –" the girl looked up in apology and piled all the glasses onto a platter.
"Here, I got it." Miroku reached over the counter with his long arms and gently grabbed the plate from the girl's hands. His warm, strong hands brushed over her cold, clammy ones and she blushed furiously, in shame and embarrassment.
"I'm fine, honestly. I can do it on my own!" she protested, stubbornly holding the tray down. Miroku tugged back with equal strength, and the two were locked in a standstill.
"Hurry up, Miroku! I'm thirsty!" a girl yelled.
"I'm coming! Wait a sec!" Miroku called back, his grip weakening, the bartender yanking back just a bit too hard, glasses and slices of lemon went flying –
The club came to a standstill. The silence of an impending drop in the music weighed upon them, Miroku's little ponytail whipping across his head as he turned back in shock, the girls rising out of their chairs in indignation, the bartender falling backwards to avoid a face full of glass, and –
BOOM.
Shattering glass pierced the low pitch of the bass, shards buzzing on the ground in response to its vibrations. A stunned look melted into remorse as Miroku dived over the counter to help the poor girl.
"Hey, are you alright?" Miroku swiped off the glass from the girl's clothing and checked to see if she was still conscious. It looked like she'd hit her head on the way down. Stunned into action, he jumped up and grabbed the rag alongside the counter, wiping down all the ruined beverages. Despite being bare-handed, Miroku gathered up all the visible shards of glass and threw them away in the nearby trash can. A small crowd had appeared near the bar, gawking at the scene.
"Hey, are you okay?" Miroku stumbled back to the bartender, concern lacing his face. The girl gradually came to, her nose scrunching in confusion, then a pause, and she bolted upright.
"Oh my gosh! I – I am so sorry, I don't even know, where – what happened to the glass and everything? What are you doing back here?" The girl frantically pushed away from Miroku, her eyes wide with astonishment. "Please – please, um, return to what you were doing. I'll remake the drinks immediately."
To her complete surprise, Miroku stood, brushed himself off, and offered a hand. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. I'll take full responsibility for this mess. It's my fault anyway."
"But you –" A totally disbelieving face washed over him.
"I insist. When's your shift over?" Miroku helped the girl get to her feet, his hand casually slipping down to touch her ass. She flinched and slapped the hand away.
"Excuse me, you perv. I hope you didn't help me so you could think you could get into my pants."
"My apologies, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm only a humble Buddhist." Miroku clasped her hands to his chest and looked her in the eye. "I've only just met you but…you're so beautiful. Will you please go out with me?"
"What? Are you insane? Of course not!"
"When's your shift over?"
"6, it's close to finishing, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't –"
"Great, I'll just wait until then!" Miroku pirouetted and practically skipped back to his posse of fawning women. They applauded his gentlemanly-ness and continued to coo until their eyes glazed over.
"Hey! You can't just – oh, whatever," Sango sighed irritably. She grudgingly cleaned up the rest of the counter and floor, and even counted the minutes until her shift did end. In a way, she reasoned that she kind of owed the date to him, seeing as he would claim responsibility for the ruined glasses and wasted alcohol. And when the clock finally did hit 6, Sango found him waiting at the door.
"I still don't know your name, you know," he called out as she approached.
"Sango. You?"
"Miroku."
And in that moment between the electronic pulse, the rapidly approaching drop, they shared a small smile with each other.
BOOM.