Warning: POV changes like crazy. Also, there are some parts that may seem like boy/boy love, but that's not what I was trying to convey there, so please, don't interpret it the wrong way. Everything that happens is really important, so thank you.

Note: Yes, this is rather late, but I feel no remorse. XD

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DIVINE ASPIRATION: CH. 8

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He watched him.

At first he thought that it had something to do with the fact that he was vaguely curious about his friends' younger brother, or perhaps, because he wanted to understand why she had reacted the way that she did, but... but he knew that wasn't the answer. Although he could understand what it meant to lose someone precious, it hadn't really occurred to him until after she had collapsed, until after Inuyasha had escorted him into the kitchen and gave him some cake, that it all came into perspective. It wasn't until after Miroku had entered and gave him that slightly genial, enlightened look--the one that made him want to quiver in rage, and caused his blood to boil and his face to heat... it's not healthy, his father had once told him, to house so many feelings of anger and resentment towards those you should respect... but Kohaku had stopped listening to his father long ago, and now, everything seemed to keep moving in a painful, downward spiral.

Before he had even met Kagome, he couldn't help but wonder whether or not life was supposed to be so hard. Was it supposed to be filled with such bitter feelings, like resentment and hatred? Was he supposed to feel warm and safe with someone who wasn't his sister, but cold and abandoned with someone who was? He didn't think that he was supposed to hate his sister's friends... no. They took good care of them, hadn't they? Even when they knew about him, even when they knew about his sister... even... even then, they still took care of him, and he felt sick just thinking about it. Boys his age weren't supposed to feel so helpless, were they?

The thoughts burned his mind like embers upon his skin--they were supposed to slip slowly through his fingers, trickling out of existence, just as the memories were supposed to trickle back in... but memories were nothing but a dash of ink on a piece of paper. Filling diaries with dreams didn't help, either, but for some reason, he still continued. Perhaps, it had something to do with his sister, but then everything had to do with his sister. Sango had always been the focal point in his life--"Sango called, it's her weekend to have you," or "Sango's offered to take you for the week, go with her." And sometimes, it was even "Stay away from Sango, she's only getting worse." But it was never about him, never about the pain centered somewhere in his chest, or what it felt like to stand motionless in the rain, feeling the chill sink down to his bones, making them brittle and painfully sore. It wasn't about the way he pretended to smile when he was at school, and hated to smile whenever he saw Sango, because there was nothing to smile about whenever he was around her. Instead, it was always about her pain, her guilt, her pathetic disgusting need for absolution. He had thought that it was all right to feel the horrible ache of the cold nestling comfortably into his bones, and perhaps, even the way his face burned and his head ached as he coughed up so much phlegm that there was never any left, just the horrible taste of copper and the faint taste of throw-up.

He had thought he could handle it, at one point. But writing emotions and words that made no sense... that had hurt the most, he thought, perhaps too much. So instead of feeling, he wrote dreams. Snatches of dreams that faded away before he could remember them. Dreams that stood out in a fierce, brutal clarity and stung his eyes whenever he awoke. Dreams that ached and burned the way the sun did whenever he stayed out in it too long... he felt as though he could place a hand against his own flesh, could feel the coolness of his skin, even through the sting, could see the imprint left as he pulled away. He wanted it so badly, so horribly--just an imprint. Just a thought.

He didn't ask for memories. Kohaku had a feeling they wouldn't amount to much anyways.

But he still ran away, even when he knew he had only her to go to. Only Sango.

Sango, with her long black hair and her unique burgundy brown eyes. Sango with her fake smiles and her fake laughs and her righteous anger that morphed into embarrassment and then that sickening, horrible pleasure that was somehow happiness whenever he touched her. Sango with her friends and their closeness and their need to be with each other and never apart because who could handle pain like that?

But then Kagome had come and shoved her way into their lives, so unethically, so unexpectedly, and his thoughts had whirred and changed and cogs weren't as dusty anymore, didn't hurt as much anymore. Dreams morphed into emotions and tiny strands of reality that burned crimson and bright and made him want to smile.

She made him smile, he realized, really smile. It wasn't just the twisting of lips that made his face contort into a horrible mask, one that made Sango turn away from him with that dark, undecipherable look in her eyes. It wasn't the smile that held no emotion... his eyes were better for that, he thought, better for speaking to people. He could smile and pretend, but in the end, it was always his eyes. He had tried looking in the mirror once, tried to read his own emotions but he could only hate his face, because it was harder to read himself than it was to feel. And it was such a nice, expressionless mask... so much sothat he wished he could bring his nails to his face until he felt the sting of the air against his raw flesh, could feel the blood trickling down that perfect mask he hated... wished he could be hideous and cracked and then how easy would it be to read himself? He hated his mask, but if it was cracked, it would be twice as ugly and he would only read hate and desperation, because it was so much easier to feel sorrow and anger than it was to feel happy, especially when his dreams were just as broken as the bloodied flesh caught under his nails.

Scars were memories and had a history, but he had none, except for feelings of anger and resentment directed at him, felt by him, harbored and nurtured by him, and somewhere along the line, he felt that it was wrong.

Perhaps it had been when she smiled at him.

And perhaps, it was because of her.

Kagome radiated nothing but warmth, after all.

He couldn't watch her, not nearly as much as he wanted to, but there was something nice about seeing him. Perhaps it had been his eyes--they were the same, after all. Smoky blue, just like hers. Full of emotions and expressions, but his were more closed off. More reserved. Kohaku couldn't help but wonder whether or not he hated his sister for leaving him.

Perhaps Souta would hate her more for being alive.

Kohaku wasn't sure. He didn't think he wanted to be.

It was easy, following him around. His hair was just as black as hers, his eyes just as big, but his mouth continued to remained pressed in that firm, unhappy line. He wondered what would happen if he tried to force him to smile--would his mouth hold firm? Or would it twist and curl unpleasantly, just as his did whenever he was forced to smile? Would his eyes speak for him, but would his face remain expressionless, sad, painful? He wondered what would happen if he suddenly tried to befriend him. He was only a year younger than him, but if he got closer to him, perhaps, just perhaps, he might know what it felt like. Was he forced to write his feelings down in diaries that weren't meant for his eyes alone? Was he forced to twist his feelings into dreams, pick out the symbolic nature of whatever it was he felt, understand why anger was like a cold ice, and sorrow, hot and burning because what else could it be?

It could have been many things, like happiness and joy and knowing what it felt like to be content, but the simple thought of that burned and trickled away, just like the memories. How was he supposed to remember memories long forgotten anyways? That was why he had forgotten them, right?

Tiredly, Kohaku leaned against the wall, and watched him sweep.

He was the only one left for cleaning duty, and somehow, Kohaku found it funny.

Ironic.

Perhaps, even a little helpful.

He wondered whether or not he knew he had been watching him. Following him. His friends had made their own little lewd remarks about why he was so interested in him, but there was just so many similarities between them. Maybe he smiled, just the way that she did. Maybe, he spoke with his hands and leaned towards people when worried. Maybe he had that fierce determination and that pathetic little stab of depression when he thought about not being around those that he loved. Maybe he knew what it was to want to smile, maybe he used his eyes to speak his emotions, maybe his mask had cracks, too, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybemaybemaybe--

"Excuse me."

The sound of his voice was like the sounds of the waves against the shore. It was almost painful listening to it, and for a brief second, Kohaku couldn't help but wonder how someone so similar could seem so different, and--

"Did you need something?"

Kohaku blinked and pushed himself away from the wall, walking into the room slowly. He was glad that he had noticed him first--how would he have gone about speaking to him anyways?--otherwise, he knew he would have froze. Knew he would have left. The thought made his fingers tingle with anticipation, and his feet continue to move towards him. It wasn't until he felt the dull ache of the broom digging into his stomach that he realized--when had they gotten so close? Clearing his throat, Kohaku moved back, putting some distance between them. It was like stepping out of a dream, like seeing a younger Kagome in a boys body... he wondered whether or not he even realized just how much he looked like his sister.

"Higurashi Souta?"

The boy blinked and turned his head away. "Yes."

"I... I'm Kohaku."

"I know who you are. Everyone likes you."

Kohaku ignored the last part of the statement (because I never really speak to them, and it didn't make sense, not really), instead, focusing on the first. He was a little disturbed to know just how he knew him--he hadn't noticed him until one of his friends had pointed him out, whispering excitedly about a prank that they wanted to play on him. He had ignored it though--his eyes had been what caught his attention, the way his mouth never smiled and he never spoke. Quiet. Sad. It was something that he was all too accustomed to, something that made his inside quiver with excitement... he was desperate to find someone else like him. At least, that way, he would never be alone.

He had worked so hard to find out more about him -- "You mean you didn't hear? His sister was killed by some psycho a while ago. Apparently the guy got away without so much as a warning. Lucky bastard, I'd say. Just because he's rich... rich kids get away with everything"-- and a feeling had cemented its way inside of him. He learned his name not long after, and even though he knew what it was like to get caught in molasses, never moving, except for the tiniest bit, it still hurt to know that he couldn't do anything about it... still hurt to know that he wouldn't. Part of him felt amused when Souta had been forced into the nurses office to change clothes after being pelted with water balloons and forcibly changed into the girls' required uniforms. So like a girl, he thought, even though he saw the short cropped hair and the eyes and way his jaw was just a little firmer than Kagome's, and his shoulders just a little bit broader. He was so like a girl then, when he first arrived, and Kohaku hadn't thought anything of it. But then he had felt sick and horrible and his mask refused to crack, instead he pretended and pretended and pretended because, really, what else was there to do?

Souta probably hated him for it.

Kohaku couldn't help but wonder if he would still look like a girl, even now.

"So," Kohaku said after a long period of silence. "Do you need help?"

Souta shook his head, and knelt down, sweeping the dirt into the dustpan. "I'm finished."

Kohaku nodded. "Well, we could go to WacDonalds, if you want. I have a coupon for it and--"

"I have to help my grandfather at the shrine."

"Oh," Kohaku said slowly. "You live on a shrine."

Souta gave a sharp jerk of his head and dumped the dirt into the trashcan before moving towards the back of the classroom and storing the broom and the dustbin into a cabinet.

"Where's it at?"

Souta paused and glanced towards Kohaku, eying him carefully. "You've heard of the Goshinboku, haven't you? The tree that's supposed to house a spirit in it, one that can grant your wishes? I live at that shrine," Souta answered, turning away as Kohaku's eyes widened.

"I bought a charm from there, once," Kohaku said slowly as they walked out of the room, school bags in hand. Souta barely said a word as they descended the stairs and headed towards their lockers-- Kohaku's was near the entrance of the school while Souta's was near the rear. Knowing that he wouldn't wait for him, Kohaku slid out of his indoor shoes and put on his sneakers--he didn't want to miss Souta if it was the last thing he did.

But by the time he finished tying up his laces, Souta was already walking out the front door, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder.

"Souta!"

Souta paused, then sighed--Kohaku was certain his shoulders hunched, as though in pain-- and slowly, he turned around to face him.

"What do you want?" Souta asked quietly, almost desperately, and Kohaku froze next to him. He felt as though he could reach out a hand--ha, reach out, as though he could save him. The thought was bitter and mocking, but before he could stop himself, his fingers were already curling around the crook of Souta's elbow and dragging him closer to him. The younger boy stiffened, and Kohaku gazed at his hair... just like Kagome's, just as shiny, just as black. Kohaku felt as though he could smile, but at the same time, he didn't want to, and instead of answering, he started moving, dragging the younger boy along.

"Hey, what... you... let me go."

But Kohaku wasn't listening. He didn't think he cared.

He just wanted to see her smile, one more time.

Yeah, he thought as slid his arm through Souta's, curling his fingers around his wrist. A real smile, not a fake one. A true one, one that doesn't hurt so badly.

It was only after Kohaku's fingers curled around Souta's wrist and pressed innocently against his pulse, that Souta stopped struggling.

The silence was almost deafening, but Kohaku was already used to awkward silences that meant nothing but thoughts and thoughts and more thoughts that should have been memories but weren't and--

Yeah, he was used to it. He just didn't expect for it to hurt so bad.

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(Inuyasha POV)

Die.

She's going to fucking die.

There are some things that I can handle, like her annoying, and slightly whiny voice right after I wake up, or right in the middle of my favorite T.V. program, or maybe, even just as I'm leaving for work because I know that I won't hear her voice until later that night anyways, but still. Fucking still. That girl is more trouble than she's worth, and I want her to die. Horribly. Painfully. Perhaps with some amount of blood and screaming and excruciating pain involved, but really, what does it matter? As long as I get to rip her to shreds, it doesn't matter. As long as she's out of my life and goes to hell where she fucking belongs... yes, yes. Hell. With fire and demons and things that will devour her soul and leave her broken and decrepit and without a conscience, because there's only so much sentience that I can take in a person.

I don't know why I decided to let her fucking stay.

It helps that Miroku manages to keep her off my back, but when she gets on you, she's like a fly that will continue to buzz around your damned head, even though you're the one with the fly swatter. Maybe if our fly swatter wasn't so damned shitty it wouldn't be so hard to get rid of her. But every time I try to creep over to her, knife in hand, ready, poised to attack, she turns those damned annoying eyes on me, and thinks that by being all smoky and swirly and shit that she can win me over. Well, what the fuck ever. Stupid woman. I hate her. I wonder why she's too stupid to understand that. I haven't hated anyone more than I hate her, and I've hated a bunch of people.

Wait. Scratch that.

There is one bastard that I hate more than her, but she's getting so damned close... If she closes her eyes and glows one more time I'm going to rip her trachea out. Sitting there, acting like she knows what it takes to be a damned Angel. Like she knows what it means to take away something. So she made a cigarette disappear? So fucking what? I'd like to know what's so special about that in the first place. I guess she deserves some credit, though, because I didn't really want to smoke that piece of shit in the first place. But I still don't like people running around in my head, acting like they own the damn place. Miroku can do that well enough on his own, fucking bastard, and I hate him enough as it is. Although... well.

Fuck.

I hate them all.

But if she jumps up and starts singing and glowing one more time, I'm going to break her face.

Miroku knows it, too. Which is probably why he keeps encouraging her.

Bastard.

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(Kagome POV)

There are times when I think that I could be just a little bit nicer to my... well, I'm not really sure what I should call them anymore. Housemates? Friends? I know that they're anything but friends, but at the same time, I can't help but think they are. Oh, sure, Inuyasha's an insensitive jerk that doesn't know when to keep his loud mouth shut, and Miroku's an arrogant know-it-all, with that annoying, "I-serve-Buddha-and-am-suitably-enlightened-so-therefore-I-know-everything" smile on his face and those dark brooding eyes that always seem to be undressing me. I guess I should have listened to Sango when she told me what a lecher he was.

After glow slippers. I should have realized there was something wrong with him as soon as Sango told me they were afterglow slippers.

But then again, there was no way that I was going to fail this. I wanted my wings. I needed them. I wonder, if put into my place, whether or not those jerks would understand what having wings meant. I mean, sure, after I got them, there was no way in hell that I was going to visit them again, but it meant something, knowing that I could live and breathe and survive the way that normal people do. It meant something, knowing that I would be able to go between the heavens and the earth, between happiness and reality--reality was what was most important after all, and even though I knew they all shared the same pain and understood each other, I was beginning to think that there were some things that they didn't really understand about one another. Miroku's ambiguity for instant. Inuyasha understood it, gods, I'm certain he even knows why he's like that, but whenever I see Sango look at Miroku, it's as though she's trying to read a very complicated book--just what is the extent of their relationships? Inuyasha and Miroku move around each other and fit together like yin and yang. Inuyasha has his share of... well, whatever, too, but whenever I look at them, I see more of Inuyasha's anger in Sango, more of Sango's sorrow in Miroku, and more of Miroku's darkness in Inuyasha. It's like a never-ending circle, and there has to be some middle ground, otherwise... otherwise... I'm not entirely sure.

But if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that Miroku's a lying, arrogant, pervert that needs to die.

I glared at him, sitting there on his couch, leaning back oh so casually in his perfectly pressed white pants and his perfectly pressed green shirt with his legs crossed at the knee. His house slippers looked perfect on him, too, green, just like his shirt, and it was a picture of perfection.

Yes, I must admit it. I haven't made any ground.

As in, none.

Nothing, nada, zip, zilch, caput, and whatever other words signify nothing. I mean, it was okay, until Kohaku showed up. Yes, everything was going somewhat smoothly, if a little roughly, but I was still making some ground. And then Kohaku with his innate ability to run away came walking quietly into my life and after he mentioned my younger brother, it was like some invisible wall suddenly shot up and separated us all from one another. For what it's worth, I've heard Inuyasha cuss at Miroku and call him weird names like "bouzu" which, you know, doesn't really make any sense, especially since Miroku is still a law student and not, well... a monk. Although, when I think about it, the thought of Miroku being a monk is really funny and really frightening at the same time, because if he was, then that would mean they would know the karma sutras back and forth, up and down, left to right, front to back, diagonally across and sometimes maybe horizontally backwards.

And this only goes to prove that hanging around perverts can, in fact, completely skewer your perception of things. Like innocence.

But, anyways, wall.

Really annoying, and only goes to prove just how jerkish and arrogant they are, but still. I want to make some really bad jokes about Inuyasha's name, and Miroku's name, and a tree that has God like powers and Hell, but I don't think that would go over well. Inuyasha would probably just glare at me all menacing like, and then he'd say something rude and then I'd say something rude and then I'd probably yell at him and in the end, we're both yelling at each other while Miroku sits back and watches, encouraging us.

Jerk.

Well, to be honest, he's being more helpful than not. Not that I'd ever admit that to him, because all he wants is to prove that he's right, when in reality, he's wrong. I mean, really! What type of person thinks that it's okay to make food for others, and none for you? What kind of guy thinks that it's okay for someone to bring up your younger brother but then force you not to visit with him? It's torture, plain and simple. He's even worse than Inuyasha, to be completely honest.

Inuyasha, who's not a morning person. Who laughs at me whenever I have nightmares about rain and fights with parents and... I frowned suddenly, the microphone halfway to my mouth. Come to think of it, I haven't really had a chance to think over my nightmares. I know that I've been having them. I know what it's like to wake up screaming and scratching at skin that's already raw and about to bleed and... there were so many ands. And Miroku for Sango and Sango for Inuyasha and Inuyasha for Miroku. So many circles that don't make sense, and yet, they do, because I know that there has to be more than just those three. Sighing, I glanced towards Inuyasha, who was glaring at the sing-a-long on the T.V. screen with something akin to hate. Miroku was smiling with that same annoying smile that he always smiles, but his eyes were dark. Sometimes, I can't help but wonder whether or not he can see my thoughts. It's gotten just a bit easier for me to read him, but then maybe, it's easier for him to read me, too.

"You aren't going to finish?" Miroku asked, leaning back in his seat.

"Yeah, please finish because I'm almost fucking dead, anyways," Inuyasha hissed, glaring at me. "You have the worstdamned voice, ever. Like nails on a chalk board."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I nearly shrieked.

My fingers clenched around the microphone, and I glared at him.

"Ah, Inuyasha, I thought Kagome sang beautifully. What was the name of the song you were singing? Kamikaze?"

"More like screeching," Inuyasha mumbled under his breath.

"I was not screeching! And, Kamikaze is the name of the group. The song was called Kisses in December."

"It doesn't change the fact that you still fucking suck and that if you open your mouth one more time I'm going to..."

"Inflicting bodily harm upon a minor is highly inappropriate, Inuyasha," Miroku said, unfolding his white clad legs.

"I'm not a kid!" I shouted. "Twenty-two! I'm twenty-two."

Miroku's lips curved in amusement, and Inuyasha huffed in annoyance.

Sometimes, I can't help but think whether or not they like to torture me on purpose. It would make sense after all, but then... yes, that must be it. They're trying to chase me off. Well, I'd like to see them try.

"For what it's worth, I'm not going away," I muttered, feeling vaguely stupid.

They looked at me like I was stupid, too, and I could already feel the anger spiking dangerously. Right. Well.

"And all that matters are those kisses in December, under the tiny sprig of mistletoe. All that matters is the way you love me, and how your love makes me whol--"

"SHUT UP!" Inuyasha snapped suddenly. "Stop singing that stupid song! It doesn't even rhyme well. It doesn't make any sense! It's a bunch of crap and if you don't choose a better song--"

"All that matters are your arms, and how they wrap around me tight. All that matters is when I'm with you, and everything seems all righ--"

"You are sogoing to die," Inuyasha muttered, his eyes darting around the room quickly. "I'm going to get a brick, bash your head in, and watch you bleed while I stand over your body in absolute victory. Oh, yes, your death will be slow and painful and if you sing one more fucking word you're going to regret it!"

"Sometimes I wonder whether we're really meant to be. But then when I see you, I realize that you're the only one for me--"

"Shut up!" Inuyasha yelled as he jumped onto the coffee table. I felt it creak underneath us; yeah, it was all right for me to stand up on the table and dance, but as soon as Inuyasha jumped up there, a strange little thing I like to call UTTER DOOM reared it's head, and it was all I could do to try and jump off the back side of the table. But, as usual, my fate isn't that lucky.

I don't know when he grabbed me, but the first thing I noticed when he did was that his skin was really warm against mine. I had managed to touch Inuyasha only one time before, when I shook his hand and gazed into his memories, but... but now. There was no mental probing or sneaky discourteous thoughts, just warmth, and anger and perhaps... maybe...

"I'm so sorry..."

"I... I hate you."

"I don't understand."

"Sometimes, when I think of you, I feel incredibly sad."

"I didn't mean to, it was an accident, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please don't hate me, please don't hurt me, please..."

"You are mine, you realize. You made me a promise."

"I'm not just going to let him fucking die!"

"Don't leave me, please, I don't want to be alone!"

"I don't think you're capable of love. You aren't in love with her, that's for certain."

"Ha, right. You're such a bad liar, Inuya--"

"..sha."

"Fuck."

Yeah, I felt that, too.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I didn't know, but I do know that I've never felt that type of warmth before. I know that I've never felt as though my heart was being ripped from my body, being torn to shreds in front of my very eyes. And, I never knew that the very last thing I would see was his almost molten colored eyes staring down at me with something akin to worry.

Was I fainting?

I think so. But I welcomed the darkness. It was so much easier than trying to deal with this unexpected warmth, so much easier than dealing with snippets of memories that didn't make any sense.

I'd like to think that I was grateful when I fainted, but to be honest, it left me feeling raw and cold and brittle.

Maybe, if Inuyasha hadn't been there to catch me, I might have broken. Broken, like porcelain.

But people aren't that weak, and thoughts aren't supposed to be that broken, and shards of wood aren't supposed to hurt as much as it did once the table finally broke underneath us. I'd like to think that it was Inuyasha's fault that I fainted, but I know better.

It was mine.

Somehow, I don't think I could really live with that.

-----

Souta liked vanilla ice cream with chocolate swirls, and although Kohaku's favorite was red bean, he couldn't help but scoop a messy glob from the top of Souta's with his index finger, his lips twitching at the disgruntled expression that flitted over the younger boys' face as soon as Kohaku tasted it. It was the only real emotion that Kohaku had seen on his face -- no, it wasn't in his eyes, not in his mannerisms, but on his face, peeking through from behind the mask, whispering and taunting and--I know there's more, there has to be. And since then, there had been a strange niggling feeling within him, one that made him want to dig and poke and prod and break through the mask that adorned Souta's face.

Soutaate his ice cream with an indifferent air, as though he were just feeding his body, and the observation irked Kohaku, more than he would like to think. Glancing back towards the younger boy, Kohaku took a huge bite of his sugar cone, only to frown as Souta stopped licking his, and turned towards him. There was something there, something that didn't make sense, and something that Kohaku knew he was going to regret. Did he know how much he had been watching him? Did he know how long it took for him to get to that point, to finally work up the courage to talk to him? Even throughout their excursion around town, Kohaku had kept his arm entwined carefully with Souta's, his fingers wrapped around his wrist, pressing lightly against his pulse. It had been strange, walking with him like that, and even though he knew Souta wouldn't run away, not like he did, there was still something oddly reassuring about the gesture. But now... now he was going to ask, going to confront him, and nervously, Kohaku bit into his sugar cone. He had finished his ice cream long ago, and although he felt some sense of fear at what was going to happen, it still wasn't enough to actually make him want to bolt... Kagome had looked at him with eyes like that, too, eyes he wanted to get to know, eyes he wanted to memorize and cherish and... and...

"Why--"

"My sister knows this lady that works with her," Kohaku interrupted, tossing the rest of his sugar cone into the garbage bin. "She usually gives my sister free tickets to the amusement parks around this time. Sango doesn't go, and she usually gives them to me, you know. And, well, I usually give them to my friends, but if you want to go--"

"There are club meetings on Saturday," Souta pointed out, ignoring the melting ice cream that was dripping off of his fingers and onto his pants.

Kohaku shrugged. "You're not in a club, so it shouldn't--"

"How do you know?" Souta cut in, his voice even. But when Kohaku turned to look at him, he could see his hands shaking, could see it gripping the sugar cone tightly, and just like he wanted, it was cracking, being crushed, destroyed, and--

"Does it matter?" Kohaku asked, his eyes glued on Souta's hand.

"No."

It was spoken so softly that it startled Kohaku, and before Souta could crush the sugar cone further, Kohaku grabbed it and pried his fingers apart, barely managing to keep the cone from breaking in Souta's hand and falling on his already messy uniform. He tossed that into the trash bin also, watching as Souta looked at the tiny white blots on his black uniform, his lips curved into a frown. It was almost as though he had never seen such a stark contrast, white on black, light against darkness, love against hate. Kohaku couldn't help but wonder what he saw. Snow in darkness, perhaps. Or, perhaps, a gesture, something coming out of the shadows. For a moment, Kohaku felt guilty. Yes, he knew he was there for Kagome. If Kagome couldn't see her brother, then he would, and he would keep their memories, lock them away in his mind. He would live for her, help her, help to disperse some of the agony that she felt. She didn't wear masks, but she understood pain, and when Souta's fingers curled in his, Kohaku couldn't help but smile.

Really smile.

It hurt to know that Souta could make him feel that way, too.

"You should meet my sister," Kohaku said after a while, noticing the way Souta's fingers tightened around his.

It only lasted for a moment, but somehow, Kohaku remembered to squeeze back.

-----

(Inuyasha POV)

She's fucking dead, I know it.

-----

(Miroku POV)

I have to admit, it was rather amusing to see the panic flitter across Inuyasha's face. In all of the years that I have known him, I have seen Inuyasha deal with a multitude of emotions, those emotions usually being the typical anger and rage, but I never expected him to panic. She had just fainted after all, and it was really nothing to be too worried about. However, Inuyasha has always been the type of person to react rashly to petty situations, so this was nothing out of the ordinary. To be completely honest, I had rather been enjoying Kagome's singing voice... it wasn't nearly as horrible as Inuyasha made it out to be. The lyrics, of course, were horrific and something I'd hope to never come out of Kagome's mouth again, but she still had a sort of melodic quality to her voice. It rather made up for the horrible way in which those lyrics were written.

And to think, Kamikaze is actually a popular singing group.

I was a little surprised to see Inuyasha jump on the table and grab her, though. I hadn't expected it to happen so quickly, and that was a slight miscalculation on my part. Of course, I'm not usually wrong, and the fact that she fainted almost as soon as he touched her was enough to cause the warning bells to go off in my head, but I'm not nearly as rash as Inuyasha. I knew what was happening, but there really was nothing that I could do about it. Perhaps if Inuyasha was so inclined to ask for my help more often than not, we wouldn't have to deal with these types of things. I did tell him never to touch her, it was just giving her license and permission to get closer, to invade his privacy and his space, and that was not something that needed to be done. Of course, I wasn't capable of helping Inuyasha through his troubles after all the years I've known him, and even though we're friends now, it's like this horrible rift between us. A wall that refuses to come down. We don't speak about our problems with one another, although we do grudgingly acknowledge them. It's like a bitter taste in the back of our throats, one that continues to linger there. The taste of upchuck was never that good, nor did it taste very sweet, but we've become used to it. When Kagome first arrived, she tried to touch him, and almost at once, I could see his shields come up--the weakened shields, shields that shattered and were destroyed, simply by a look.

An Angel, she said.

Well, that had certainly made things interesting.

It was good thinking on her part to go to Sango, and although Sango is dear to us both, both in different ways, she doesn't share the same things that we share. Yes, Inuyasha may have despised me while I was in high school, and the only reason we even became superficial friends was because of the fact that I wouldn't leave him alone. Boys at my school practically left me by myself, and after I met Inuyasha, with his brooding eyes and horrible expressions and his nasty moods, it was like a switch had been turned on inside of me. It was a rather strange feeling, but one I accepted openly. After that, it was smooth sailing; Inuyasha dealing with me as I tried to hit on girls in order to have more variety in my life--admittedly, Inuyasha isn't always the best company to have, especially when you're looking for a bit of female companionship. While his hair is pretty girlish, that's the only thing that signifies that he may have swapped genders when he was younger... but then again, it could just be because he's too lazy to cut his hair.

We didn't become true friends until college, until we applied to the same university, and until we understood what it meant to be friends--not just hang out and go to fast food joints and eat ice cream in parks. I think that it was that shift that really started it all. Sango, with all of her absolute beauty but complete obliviousness and stupidity didn't understand at first--there were just some things that couldn't be said to her, specifically, although I really wanted to tell her. Inuyasha knew, but then he had been there, with her, and he knew what it was to see real pain, to experience it.

Memories escape me sometimes--what do memories matter, after all? They are just tiny inconceivable instances in our lives that serve no meaning. It hurts sometimes, yes, but at the same time, it's manageable. Simple. Like vomit in the back of your throat, or a painful ache in your belly, or the way skin feels, being ripped from your bones. It's all pain, all normal. If pain was something out of the ordinary, then less people would feel it. It didn't take me until that moment to realize it, but I did, even as my eyes watered and Inuyasha was still there, being himself.

Panicking.

Granted, it was more serious than this, but as much as I hate to admit it, within the few weeks that Kagome's been living with us, she has grown on us. I admit, I haven't been entirely fair to her ever since she arrived, but even though she doesn't believe it, there is that feeling of camaraderie. It's like stepping close to a fire after being caught out in the snow. It's the tingling sensation in your fingers as you hold it against the flickering of the flames--thousands of tiny pin pricks, aching and burning, but feeling so very wonderful at the same time... that is how I feel whenever I am around her. Yes, it's painful, especially when she and Inuyasha argue and fight, but it's endearing at the same time. She did force herself into our lives, but at the same time, I can't help but acknowledge the fact that she belongs there. Like a bridge, keeping us all together. Is that possible? We can't always be together forever, but regardless...

"Are you gonna fucking help me or not?" Inuyasha snapped, glaring at me.

Now that I look at it, if I were in Inuyasha's position, I might have panicked also.

Aside from the fact that a very delectable teenaged girl had fainted in his arms, there was one, minor issue.

She was glowing.

And it burned.

-----

(Inuyasha POV)

She's gonna fucking rot and then I'm gonna get blamed for it, and if Sango finds out, she's gonna want to castrate me...

-----

There were so many hands, so many things she couldn't understand.

It was as though something had plunged into her chest, gripped her heart, and tore it to shreds, right in front of her face. There was warmth, but then again there was always warmth, and it was usually hot and sticky and looked like blood. She had thought that there was something wrong, had noticed it, but instead of commenting on it, she flew through the emotions, feeling the flames of anger,the subtle tingle of happiness,the cold iciness of sorrow. She didn't understand why emotions felt like daggers, plunging into her skin, but then it could have been something else entirely, something horrid and slick, with oil and grease, and perhaps, tears of anger and hatred.

It sounded better, the tears, but still, she recognized this feeling, the way the knives dug into her side and peeled away her skin. Flesh was exposed--had it always been like this?--and blood flowed freely, going from blue to red, from warm to warmer, and she wiggled uncomfortable, biting into her lip. But then she was nothing and everything, and instead of pain, she could feel herself being lifted higher and higher, closer to that precipice.

Pain shouldn't have existed on this plane, but it did, and it coursed through her like flames, consuming her body, leaving her charred and blistered -- there were names, somewhere in the back of her mind, but then they were pushed away, ignored, left behind. What did names matter anyways? There was no name for this feeling, for the taste of blood and the feel of bloody clothes scratching against her skin. There wasn't a name for the way the light seemed to blind her, for the way the hands seemed to grip her, even as the world dropped from under her, piercing through her leg--yes, pain, familiar. She thought she should open her eyes, but that hardly mattered now, and she didn't want to, not when she was busy curling in on herself, ignoring the way the skin at her sides tore and ripped and--sticky. Blood was always sticky, and she could feel it on her hands, coating her tongue, dripping from her hair.

There were people around her-- so many voices, so many thoughts, why am I here? I don't understand...

"Sometimes, when I think of you, I feel incredibly sad."

"Yeah, whatever. Look, don't worry about me, got it? Just... just worry about the old man."

"Hmm, yes, I do. I always do. But Inuyasha, when I think of him, I can't help but think of you, too. You're my--"

The feeling shifted, changed. The blood was still there, it was still painful, but instead of being sticky, it was fluid, like water, and floated around her and through her and in her, and she had never felt anything more painful, more agonizing in her entire life.

Life. Was it leaving her?

She didn't know. All she knew was pain and random bits of thoughts; thoughts didn't belong to her, no. She could just feel the threads tugging at her fingers, twisting and pulling around it. The threads were sharp as a blade, and distantly, she wondered if it would slice off her fingers--maybe, perhaps, but then again, perhaps not. She didn't want it to, at least. She just wanted to wake up, wanted forget the thoughts that weren't hers and be back where she was supposed to be. Be some place where the warmth was really her warmth and no one else's, where she could hear anger resonating within her ears, but not meaning very much... She wanted something to look forward to, and almost systematically, the spot between her shoulder blades ached.

"Is that mine?"

"I don't fucking care... do you... want it?"

"Yes, yes, I do."

"Keh. Whatever."

"Inuyasha."

"What?"

"Thank you."

"Feh. Whatever."

"Hmm."

Aching with an intensity that wasn't hers, one that belonged to someone else, because she could feel the scars raising on her back, could feel the skin ripping and shredding, but healing over. But then it happened again and again and again and again--

"It's not going to help."

"Shows what you fuckin' know. Just mind your business, asshole."

"Whatever you think you share with her... it's not real, you know."

"Shut the hell up."

"I don't think you're capable of love. You aren't in love with her, that's for certain."

"Keh. Bastard Angels, always thinking they know what's best. Well guess what, I don't care, so just leave me alone."

"Inuyasha--"

"Shut your damned mouth!"

"You can't treat her like this forever. She's not the kind of person to wait around. Ki-"

And again.

And again.

And again.

"Now, please, wake up."

And just like that, the pain stopped.

But she didn't wake up.

-----

He didn't let go of his hand.

Kohaku didn't think he could. There was something about the stickiness of Souta's hand on his, the way his fingers curled around his tightly. Kohaku knew that he had been the first one to reach out to him, to take him by the arm and guide him somewhere. Kohaku wondered whether or not anyone would do that for him, and instantly thought of Kagome. It had been strange at first, thinking of her, seeing her smile and her uncomfortable expressions. But Kagome had lied for him, had attempted to get Sango to recognize him and... that meant a lot. Kohaku had a feeling that Souta meant a lot to Kagome, and he was going to give her memories of him. Memories that she couldn't have, simply because of the fact that she was...

...That had been strange, too, coming to terms with the fact that Kagome wasn't really real. Alive. An Angel. It was funny that Kohaku only thought about it now, but at the same time, he didn't care. He knew that he had hated his own memories, knew what it meant to be without them, and more than anything, he wanted to know what it was like to have some of his own. But then... then emotions always morphed into dreams and things that weren't as important as the next... What did it matter, when dreams could take the place of forgotten memories? Dreams that were shattered and broken, that were nightmares more than they were dreams, that... that meant nothing and everything all at once.

But this was more than a nightmare and a dream. This was reality. This was something that burned with an unknown intensity, something which ached and throbbed like nothing he had ever known before. Perhaps, if he had been paying attention, he might have remembered the reason why he hated this intensity, the ache, but still, he clung to it, because there was nothing else that he could do. Because Souta was near him, and if he broke down in front of him the way he had cracked in front of Kagome--what did it mean to want to see his bleeding flesh under his nails, scraping against his skin, leaving scars? Did Souta want scars? Did Kagome have them?

Souta must have noticed the shift, because his sticky fingers tightened again, and Kohaku was smiling, just as he had smiled before: real and true and hurting, because no one had ever made him smile before. Not like this. Not like Kagome. Were they really the same? He couldn't remember the last time Sango had given him anything but pain, or the way his parents had tossed him aside, giving him journals and pieces of paper that sliced through his skin like a hot knife through butter. Souta's hand felt good against his own. Secure. Perhaps, if Sango saw how he felt, saw his friend, she might understand. She might know what it's like to be lonely and hated, because although he didn't hate his sister, he certainly didn't love her, at least, not in the way that he wanted to. He respected her somewhat, but most of the time, it was just a bitter resentment, one that made his chest ache in pain and made him wish for a happiness he knew he could never have.

How was it possible for one person to turn that all around? How was it possible for Kagome, an Angel, someone who didn't truly exist but did, to make him finally want to smile and like people again? Sure, he had friends at school, but he never really considered them his true friends. Friends that he was supposed to love and cherish and-- he thought he already loved Souta. Souta, who was hurting just as he was. Souta who knew what it meant to have a sister that loved him, only to be ripped brutally away, only to be replaced by something else. Something that wasn't his sister, something that was nothing more than an aching emptiness, one that made him want to run and run and run, but...

...But Souta stopped. Souta had tried to understand. Kohaku wanted to understand, but no one ever let him. Perhaps that had been their mistake. His mistake. It certainly made sense whenever he thought about it, and it always churned unpleasantly in his stomach. But if Sango did see Souta, she had to understand. He wasn't lonely anymore, and even though he ran to the one person that made him feel twice as lonely, twice as alone, it still didn't change the fact that it burned, just as it always burned.

He wanted to hug Souta.

But at the same time, he wantedSouta's mask to crack, wanted to see that bloodied skin under his finger nails.

It's only been a few hours, Kohaku thought as he pulled Souta up the stairs, towards his sister's home.

It didn't matter. Even though he didn't have his sister, Souta could, and Kohaku just wanted him to be happy. That's what Kagome was working for, wasn't it?

And, if Kagome could do it, Kohaku knew that he could do it, too.

-----

They floated to her like currents of the wind, brushing against her skin, reminding her of what was real and what wasn't.

This wasn't reality, but there wasn't pain, and it made her feel better.

She could taste the fear--she didn't want to open her eyes, to stare at the dark abyss in front of her, or wonder why it was there. She had thought that she knew--she probably should have known, but regardless of what she felt, she didn't want to be there. She wished that she could be anywhere but there, that she could feel and live and do what it was that she wanted... warmth was never supposed to be so painful, but it had been, regardless, and she couldn't help but wonder why he had made her feel that way.

Why. It was always an interesting way to ask a question, that why.

But... she shouldn't have had to. She knew why after all. She didn't know all of it, but she knew some of it, and that was supposed to be enough.

Tiredly, she reached out.

It snagged on her fingers.

Her eyes fluttered open.

-----

The first thing she noticed was their hands.

Kohaku could tell, just by the way her brow furrowed and her lips twisted into an unpleasant frown. It wasn't that she was unhappy--far from it, but by the way Souta attempted to tug his hand away from his, Kohaku knew that it had bothered him. Holding on even tighter, Kohaku gave his sister a blank look, before pushing passed her, and pulling Souta over to the couch.

His fingers slid out of his easily then, and for a brief moment, the chill that seemed to sting his flesh ached--he wanted Souta's hand back in his just as much as Souta did, but then Sango was moving into the room, glancing back and forth between the two of them. It took her a moment, a moment too long, Kohaku thought, to finally zone in on Souta's face. Her eyes narrowed, just as they had done when she noticed their hands; yes, it was odd, Kohaku could admit that much. It was even stranger for two adolescent boys to walk through town, holding hands. But they hadn't cared then. The comfort was all that they wanted, all that they needed, and even though Souta had only been with Kohaku for a few hours, Kohaku felt as though he had known him for ages. Perhaps it was Kagome's influence, the way she was reflected in his eyes--eyes which didn't seem so blue as much as grayish brown. Or perhaps, it was the way that Souta had made him smile by taking his hand--yes, please, let's be friends. Friends. It made his stomach churn nervously. If Souta didn't accept Sango as well, it wouldn't go over well. Loneliness hurt, but someone deserved a proper brother, and although it hurt him to hand Sango over so freely, he knew that she didn't want him, knew that she wanted someone different, and as long as Souta knew that there was someone he could look up to, that was all that really mattered. It was all he wanted to matter, all he wanted to ensure, all he wanted Souta to feel because, really, who else could feel something as wonderful as having a real older sister, and--

"You... you look just like Kagome."

Kohaku's eyes widened.

And everything that he had worked for in that day, everything that he had tried to uncover--the warmth, the smiles, the trust, the friendship, the confusion--it all disappeared. He felt as though his hand had just been put through a pane of glass. He could feel the shards protruding from his skin, digging into the tender space between his knuckles, but... but...

Empty.

Souta's eyes were empty

The mask had shattered.

Kohaku didn't have to say anything, but he liked to think Sango recognized the emotion anyways.

It was the only emotion they tossed back and forth between one another, after all.

Hate.