Sandalwood and Fireflies – Chapter 1: Pretend

Long chapters have never been my strong point. I apologize for the quality of the writing, but I needed to get somethings down. I usually prefer to write drabbles, but a challenge wouldn't hurt me. At least I actually managed to get another chapter uploaded in a matter of two days (two exhausting, busy days).

I'd appreciate if you left reviews. No silent readers, please. Enjoy the chapter (hopefully).

Story OST - Bogoshipda 보고싶다 - Kim bum su 김범수

Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha. I own the plot.

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"Do you believe in love at first sight?"

"That's just silly and shallow, 'Roku."

"Ah, but how else did you fall in love with me?" A flirty wink.

Sango gives an exasperated huff.

- Memoirs of Sango

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Sango has always been down to earth, blunt, and headstrong, as she is told so by her friends. Life hasn't been a walk down the isle; the road was filled with bumps and sharp turns, ditches and detours. She's persevered for so long, and this is just another obstacle she has to overcome.

The last obstacle, she thinks grimly. But an obstacle just the same.

Throughout her life, Sango is one to know best that fairy tales don't exist. They are empty words woven as a fake illusion, and will never happen in real life, no matter how she wishes it would. She has watched far too many movies where the lead character is diagnosed, and remains silent about the disease, in order to protect her loved ones. Sango makes a firm decision in her head that she would tell Miroku right away. Protect your loved ones? She scoffs. That protection is useless, and would only hurt more in the end. Miroku deserved to know the truth; they had promised to be completely honest with each other since the last incident.

Sango is completely realistic, and she only focuses on what she has now. Why should this disease change her?

She is still Sango inside. She has survived for so long, and will continue to do so.

No matter what it takes.

Glancing at her watch briefly with a small frown, Sango makes an unshakeable observation that Miroku is late. As usual. That only confirms further that although she is changing, the world isn't. She kicks the curb lightly and shuffles her feet in boredom. Inside, she feels no anticipation or nervousness at the prospect of telling Miroku. As she found out in the hospital, sometimes it is easier just to be numb. A crow caws in the distance, and the crack in the sidewalk seems to be swallowing her up.

A silver car slows to a stop in front of her, and a window rolls down. As always, being the gentleman he is, Miroku opens the door for her from the inside. Shoving her belongings in first, Sango slides in with an exhale and closes the door, relishing in the smell of Miroku's car.

Sandalwood.

"How did it go?" His baritone voice seems even more Miroku than usual. It has always been the only word to describe his voice; warm, rich, with an underlying tone of seduction, just barely there. The question catches her off guard, and for the first time since the diagnosis, Sango cannot find her voice, or even bring herself to look in his captivating eyes.

She remembers the promise she made to herself, and how not telling him now would hurt him later. The words are on the tip of her tongue, yet no unearthly force could bring them out. Mouth opened, no words come out. Sango lifts her eyes, just subtlety, enough to catch his face in the corner of her view. All of a sudden, she knows she just can't, and no matter how unfair it would be to Miroku, she just can't.

It hurts too much.

"Hey, you alright?" A larger, warm hand envelops her smaller one, cold from waiting outside in the blistering cold.

Sango can't, not with so much love and concern on his face and in his indigo eyes. Snapping her mouth shut before Miroku could suspect anything, she swiftly smiles and nods, squeezing his hand. Before he can open his mouth, Sango gestures for him to drive. She doesn't think she can keep the tears at bay if he continues.

The ride back home is silent, and she just stares outside through the car window, cursing the snow.


At first, it is easy to forget. The first few days are busy, with business to attend to, Miroku to talk to, and everything in between. It almost feels normal, just like any other bustling day full of activity. Sango barely has time to take a break, much less think or let her mind wander. She is grateful for this.

The comfort of routine doesn't last long.

She should've known. Miroku leaves for a business trip, although she begs him to bring her along, Sango knows it's futile. She doesn't want him to leave; in a way, she is using him as a tool of distraction. The empty slots of time seem to scream at her, the silence swallowing her whole.

She goes out of her way to avoid being alone, or going home. At day, she buries herself in work. Her managers seem almost pleasantly surprised at her efforts; Sango has always been determined and a hardworker, but never to this extent. At night, however, she is rendered defenseless. When she's in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling and feeling her head for some sort of physical sign of this tumor, that is when it gets scary. That is when Sango begins to believe that she is going to die.

It's dark in her room, so dark that the young woman can't tell if her eyes are open or shut.

This must be what death feels like.

She tries to banish these thoughts from her head, but it's useless; they plague her every night, almost like a twisted companion.

"I don't want to die." She whispers into the darkness, hoping that there is some God, or anyone that can hear her.


"Sango, I can't make it today. I have to stay after for work. I'll see another time okay? Love you. Bye." He hangs up. Sango clutches the phone, and stares at it, the persistent busy signal filling the room. She leans against the wall, sliding down in frustration. She hurts, god damn it, too much.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

In a fit of anger, she rips the phone from the socket on the wall, and flings it across the room.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The constant sickly B-flat note of the phone only reminds her more of the neglect she feels, and the loneliness. Hugging herself, the young woman attempts to quell the uneasy feeling inside her and wills the sound of the phone to go away. Why is he drifting away when she needs him the most? Doesn't he understand? Something snaps within her, and Sango can feel the pain give into rage.

Pain only fuels her anger. Sango can feel the fire now, within her veins; it has been too familiar a sensation for it to be a stranger to her mind. How many times has she been angry with Miroku, in this exact spot? With his infidelity? With his unfaithfulness?

Bastard …

Sango stumbles into he bedroom, knocking over a precious piece of pottery in a complete lack of balance. Glaring numbly at her desk, she over turns the table where she has worked for as long as she could remember, Miroku behind her and breathing onto her neck. Her hand is shaking now; What has she done?

Throwing herself on the bed, the young woman buried her face in her pillow in an attempt to calm herself down.

Damn it.

Every thing smells like him; the sheets, her pillows, and in the back of her mind she can almost see the scattered clothing on the floor, abandoned in a fit of passion. The memories can't be repressed. They keep floating back up, leaving Sango breathless as if they are happening at this instance. She drags her nails up and down the sheets.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The flood of emotions is over. Like the calm after a storm, all that is left is a broken whisper.

"I can't wait. Time is fleeting. And it's slipping away."

Sango feels a tear run down her cheek and she slumps against the wall, defeated.

Why did this disease choose me?

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tbc.