Stirrings

Kagome leafed through the old magazine, a lopsided grin etched on her face. A particular page turned up, showcasing an interview with a popular wrestler from years ago. A gaudy red mask donned over his eyes, his dark wavy locks tumbling down to his shoulders. "Onizuka the Great," they called him. The miko snickered as she read through the humorous interview that dug into his personal life.

"What is your most favourite thing in the world?" was one of the silly questions posed. "Cruising through the Djitsun highway towards Aoyama during sunset," Onizuka the Great had answered. "It has to be during sunset. And it has to be in my trusty old Yamaha SR500 bike."

"Higurashi!"

Kagome yelped and hid the magazine behind her. She was so engrossed in reading that she did not even hear the shoji door of the office slide open.

Jyohaku strode in, quietly seething before he snatched the magazine from her hands, throwing it back into his drawer and slamming it shut.

"How many times have I told you—"

"Not to snoop around your things, I know. But the magazine was on your desk and…"

Jyohaku landed heavily in his chair. He interlocked his fingers in a steeple and set her down with a penetrating stare.

"So tell me. Did you come into my office simply to welcome yourself to the contents on my table?"

Kagome kicked her legs despondently in her seat. "I apologize, Jyohaku-sama. I actually came here to seek your advice."

He snorted in response, opening his accounts book. "You got the wrong place, young lady. If it's advice you want, then I advise you to go call The Samaritans' hotline." He chuckled at his own joke.

"Oh please. You're the head priest. At least impart me with your wisdom. And don't "young lady" me."

"So? Wisdom is something you gain from experience and acute observation, regardless of your vocation. And it's not like I became a priest out of my own calling…"

He stopped himself before more words could spill, but she already knew what he meant. Yukino-jingu was a family shrine and as per tradition, was passed down through the generations. The former head had been Jyohaku's father. When the old man succumbed to pancreatic cancer, Jyohaku's successful wrestling career too met its demise.

"It's frustrating, isn't it?" Kagome said. He watched her play with her fingers and they were all lined with scars. "To have that period of happiness just suddenly snatched from you, by a cruel twist of fate. At one point you thought it might have lasted forever. But I guess the gods had a different plan."

Then she looked up and smiled ruefully at him. "But I believe—no matter how short-lived that happiness was, it must have taught us something. And it was definitely worth it, for what it was."

Jyohaku studied his own hand, at the coarse lines running across his palm, the hard calluses on his fingers. He clenched his fist. He had heard certain things about Higurashi from his old man whilst he was still kicking. Who knew she would decide to join the shrine years later? As much as she was decidedly immature at times, Jyohaku had quickly figured it was just a façade to hide the real tenacity behind her eyes. And that sheer tenacity was the main reason she persevered well through her time as an apprentice, while the others had left soon after they joined.

Kirihata too. He would give her a few more months before she decided to call in quits—always quaking in her knees every time she saw him.

"Well, exactly what kind of advice are you seeking?" Jyohaku then asked in a milder tone, changing the subject. He slipped on his reading glasses and scribbled some numbers into his book. "I cannot promise I can give you the best…"

"Do you believe that people will change when they have power stripped of them?"

He looked up with a frown. Where exactly was she heading with such a question?

"Stripped of power? It's hard to say, but if you can garner from the opposite, then I suppose, yes."

"From the opposite?"

"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power, " he quoted. "Abraham Lincoln. The possession of power definitely is a dangerous thing to a weak mind. If you ever have a chance to wield it, in whatever context it may be, then tread wisely, Higurashi."

Her eyes locked with his. He knew she understood, but to what degree she could apply in her life, he did not know. And then he saw briefly that fire, the tenacious one, the one that sometimes frightened even him, but had strangely intrigued his old man. Just thinking about what happened during that particular exorcism was more than enough to break him in goosebumps.

Quickly he cleared his throat, flipping a page. "Any further questions?"

"Well, one more," Kagome said. Her lopsided smile was back on her face, the hard glint in her eyes gone. She stood up for the door then glanced back just as she was about to leave.

"Of all the names really, why "Onizuka the Great?"

Jyohaku tossed his pen after her.

Sesshoumaru sat by the windowsill the way he did every day. He was still finding difficulty reading the digital clock on the wall, even though Kagome had painstakingly taught him. That the numeral "7" on the far left would mean she would be home anytime soon. It was showing "7" initially, and then the sun had set and it was not showing "7" anymore, but Kagome was still yet to be home.

An indiscernible, heavy sensation grew in his chest each time she left for work and could only be appeased when she returned to him. It was as if there was another creature inside him that thrived on their physical proximity. In Kagome's absence, it would fidget and grate on his being like a bad toothache.

Of course he never related this to her. She thought all along that he was attached to the soil inside the urn, scrapped from the bridge. It was not adequate. He sought his energy from her blood, from her being, and it was a lesson learnt the hard way when he woke up for the first time from the after-ritual. Naked and shivering, Kagome had left him for the shrine, and it hurt him so much that he could not even move on the floor.

The days were getting better now. He could get by more easily, live in that discomfort over time. It did not quell his window-sitting habit however.

His head craned out, eyes fixed at the pathway leading towards the house. Kagome's familiar shuffling footsteps, her soft scent—they were reaching him. And then he saw her toddling home, her hands full. The creature inside him stopped thrashing, lulled by her appearance.

Quickly Sesshoumaru rushed to his usual spot, the one before the television.

"I'm home!" Kagome called out, her keys jingling in the entrance. She closed the door behind her and greeted him with a large smile. "Hello there. What have you been up to? Eh, let me guess, watching TV again?"

Sesshoumaru said nothing, seemingly invested in a drama series.

Her muscles groaned in agony, having rushed to the nearby Isetan departmental store after work, but Kagome could not wait any longer. She raised the shopping bags in her arms. "Look what I got for you, Sesshoumaru! Come on, see what's in there!"

She removed the clothes from their packaging and Sesshoumaru caressed the material through his fingers. Kagome laughed at the way he smelled through each of them. He had reacted the same way too when she showed him his Hello Kitty apron. "Do you like them?"

"It is not silk," he remarked, and Kagome stilted her eyes at him, "but it should suffice."

"A silk kimono would take me some time. But first I have to teach you how to wear a shirt and a pair of trousers."

"Hn."

"I think you'll look very handsome indeed," Kagome said, unbuttoning a shirt.

Sesshoumaru gave her a quiet glance. "A miko should not harbour such thoughts."

"What?" she went, breathless with laughter. "I'm not some kind of an old-fashioned goody-two-shoes. If I were, I wouldn't have prayed and sacrificed a—" She stopped short, biting her lip. "Anyway, what I mean is, you are handsome. In fact, the most gorgeous youkai I've ever met. And trust me, I've seen a whole damn lot of youkai for an average person."

His lips quirked into a small smile as she draped the shirt around him on his shoulders. "Even more than my half-brother?" he mused, just for the sake.

Kagome shook her head. She couldn't believe she was having this conversation with him.

Carefully she eased the long sleeves into his arms, buttoning the cuffs and the front of his shirt. Then she smoothed her hand down his clothed chest, absorbing his warmth into her skin. She could feel his steady heartbeat, something that both amazed and frightened her.

An actual, living pulse. A real person. Sesshoumaru. And you're here now, breathing, existing because of me.

"Stupid," she whispered. "I told you, you're the most gorgeous."

It was not him. This Sesshoumaru would never be bothered by her personal opinion of him. But the creature in his chest, the one that danced at the mere sight of her, had swelled up so much upon her soft whisper that even he was finding it hard to breathe.

To be continued…

A/N: How could Kagome stay so calm while putting her hand on Sesshoumaru's chest? Even he is having a hard time XD