"Have you tried taking it off yet?"
They were both sitting on the cool grass, looking at the empty space where the Bone Eater's well used to be—until the day before. Shippou hadn't moved since Inuyasha jumped into the meidou with the promise to bring Kagome back, but Sango took the time to clean up and recuperate after the battle. She needed to take in everything that had happened in the last 24 hours. Now, the cool breeze of the night stroked her hair as she sat by Miroku's side. Although Shippo couldn't be moved from where Inuyasha and Kagome were promised to reemerge, he also couldn't fight off exhaustion and was sleeping soundly on Miroku's lap. The fox kit couldn't hear the monk fumbling with the prayer beads on his right hand which, perhaps, was for the best.
"I haven't," the monk answered, trying to beat the anxiety in his chest by insisting it was all too good to be true. That the void would reemerge at any moment, even though Naraku was dead and gone.
"It's all right if you don't want to do it," Sango said. "I'm sure it must be uncomfortable giving it up at once. You have all the time in the world to get used to it now."
Time. Right.
Miroku unraveled the prayer beads and slowly unpeeled the cloth of his purple gauntlet until his right arm stood completely naked. They both stared at his whole—complete—hand.
"How does it feel?" Sango asked.
"Weirdly uncomfortable," he sighed, "like forgetting to wear your underclothes on a rainy day."
Sango giggled. "I can imagine. Don't worry about it, Houshi-Sama. I'm sure that in time you will get used to it. No need to push yourself."
Time. Yes.
He flexed his fingers, continuing to stare, soaking up her voice while trying to make sense of the material lacking in his hand and the stretching of time it represented. What would he do with his right hand now? What would he like to do with his time?
Carefully, as if moving through mist, Miroku reached his right arm out to touch Sango's face. She seemed surprised by the action but didn't move, letting his palm move across her warm, flushed cheek. His hand continued to move, this time through her hair, then cradling her neck. She closed her eyes, drowning in the sensation. When his palm reached her face again, tracing the line of her jaw, she touched it with her own hands and guided his naked skin to her lips to kiss softly. Slowly he leaned forward, moving his hand to the side and touching her lips with his own, softly. Gently. Carefully. There would be a moment for more passionate kisses and eager touches, but not right then.
After all, they had all the time in the world.