There is a chill in the air that seeps through the covers, commanding goosebumps to rise on her skin. Sango stares at the wall and wonders if it's worth it to try to sleep or to get up, put on a sweatshirt, and make herself some tea. Her feet rub against each other, the friction starving the cold. She debates turning on the heat, but her stubbornness wins out. It isn't that cold outside yet, and she wants to save some money on their electric bill.
With a resigned sigh, she throws the covers off of her, shivering as the cold air drapes over her body like an unwelcome blanket. She puts on thick socks and an oversized sweatshirt, grumbling to herself as she exits her room. She hates this time of year. The back and forth between cold nights and stifling warm days. The weather just needs to pick a temperature already, she thinks.
Shuffling into the kitchen, a light distracts her from her task. She blinks slowly. Miroku's door sits cracked open, just a fraction. Sango hesitates, fingers pulling the sleeves of her sweatshirt so they encompass her hands. On the one hand, she could just make her tea and head back to bed. On the other, Miroku never has his door open this late at night. She muses it's probably due to Kirara coming and going, but the light beckons her, and like a moth, she blindly heads toward the flame.
Peering in, she sees Miroku laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling with Kirara napping at his feet. The lamp next to his bed shines like a beacon, illuminating his features in the black of night. His eyes are fixated, unblinking. Dark eyebrows furrow in deep thought, forehead creased as if he's in physical pain. She chews the inside of her cheek, searching for any words to say, but comes up empty.
Her feet shuffle as if to lead her away and let him be, but it's at this moment that Sango realizes she's never seen the inside of his room before. Curiosity gets the better of her, and she tears her eyes away from him to do a quick sweep around the room and its bare walls. There's a bookshelf filled to the brim with novels. A desk with his laptop closed, papers scattered about on the side with neat handwritten notes in red pen. His nightstand only houses a lamp. There are no pictures. No posters. No photographs of family or friends. Nothing personable.
Her heart constricts as she wonders why his room is so barren.
"Are you waiting for an invitation to come in?"
She jumps at the unexpected sound of his gravelly voice, her fingers clenching at her chest. Her gaze flies back to his, but his eyes are still trained on the ceiling. So he did notice her standing there like an idiot.
"I, um, sorry," she stammers, stepping back. "I didn't mean to be intrusive. I saw your door cracked and your light on and just…."
His blues finally flicker to her form. "Thought you would come join me in bed?" He wiggles his eyebrows, grinning. "My dear Sango, you don't need an invitation for that. You're always welcome." He pats the comforter for good measure.
If she was cold before, she's burning now. Hands pull at the neck of her sweatshirt, desperate for some relief. "Get your mind out of the gutter," she manages.
He laughs at the look on her face. It seems…forced. Not his normal carefree laugh that tickles her ears and sets butterflies free in her stomach. No, this one sounds like he's about to crack and the laughter is desperately trying to sew him back together.
"Are you alright?"
His eyebrows raise a fraction. The blues of his eyes are tight as he blinks, regarding her like she's a puzzle. "Better now that you're here," he says with a wink. "I was just thinking about how it's been a while since a pretty girl was in my room, and poof! There you are."
She ignores his quip just as he ignored her question. Her lips tug down as a feeling of uneasiness drops like an anchor in her stomach. "It's late. Why are you awake?"
"Same reason as you, I presume. Couldn't sleep?" His eyes pinch with concern. "Not another night terror?"
"No, I was awake the whole time. I was just cold and decided to get some tea and saw your light on." Sango pauses, realizing this doesn't quite explain why she decided to barge into his room unannounced. Quickly, she comes up with an excuse. "I was going to ask if you wanted some? It always makes me feel better."
He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "How sweet of you, but you are mistaken, my dear Sango. I don't need anything to make me feel better."
"Doesn't seem that way to me." Broken people always know when someone else is broken too . She grimaces.
He waves her off, head turning back toward the ceiling. "You worry too much, Sango."
"I do worry about you, though," she says in a small voice, "and I feel like something is wrong. You've been in your room more this past week." She trais off, coming to a realization. Could it be he was doing what she had done to him weeks ago? "Like you're avoiding me. Am I…am I wrong?"
"You're imagining it. I've had deadlines to reach. Couldn't be distracted." His eyes could burn holes into the ceiling with how hard he's staring at it.
"You've had deadlines before," she says delicately. "I just…do I distract you?" The butterflies reamurge, fluttering their wings against her heart.
His lips press together tightly, like he's forcing himself to keep words at bay. His arm raises above his head, and his eyes shift to the palm of his hand. The silence stretches between them, and Sango feels like she could burst at any moment when he finally murmurs, "Do you…do you think the curses of our fathers are doomed to pass to us, generation after generation?"
This isn't exactly what she was expecting to hear. She hesitates by the door frame before gingerly making her way through the threshold. The bed creaks as she sits next to his torso, tucking her legs beneath her. Brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face, she answers, "I think curses are meant to be broken, just like in fairy tales or in the books you like to write."
He stares at his hand for a heartbeat before it falls, arm shielding his eyes. "Thank you." His voice is quiet, timorous even. So unlike the Miroku she's come to know and love.
Sango chews the inside of her cheek. She reaches out, wavering slightly in her decision before grabbing his free hand. She squeezes once, hoping to convey that she's here for him. That she will always be here for him. His fingers tremble beneath hers as he squeezes back. Once. Then a second time.
"Miroku." His name rolls off her lips, tumbling down before it dies against the silence that smoothers it. She wants to ask again if he's alright, but she's pretty sure she knows the answer. This was never about her. She thinks back to his father, to the question he asked her moments before. Is Miroku going through an episode like he did? Is he worried he will end up like his father, leaving loved ones behind to pick up the broken pieces of their shattered lives? Her breath catches against her teeth as she inhales.
How could she have been so blind?
Sango debates leaving and giving him space, but decides against it. People say they want to be alone, but she knows deep down that isn't true. He left his door open. A silent invitation. A plea for companionship. Maybe he wasn't trying to avoid her at all this week. Maybe he just didn't have the energy to leave his room, or didn't want to drag her down with him. Which was silly and stupid, didn't he know that?
Doesn't he know that he never fails to put a smile on her face? And always makes her laugh, even when she wants to be mad at him? And how easily she forgets about the pain she feels in her heart when he's around?
Maybe she can do the same for him.
"Come on," she says, gripping his hand tight, like she's a lifeline that can drag him out of his dark, turbulent waters. She tugs him, but his body stubbornly stays still. "We both can't sleep, so we may as well do something."
She waits for his flirtatious comeback, but he's silent, arm weighted over his eyes.
"Do you want to watch a movie and have a midnight snack with me?" No answer. She adds in a falsetto sing-song voice, "I'll even let you pick the movie this time. No romantic comedies or anything. It can be action. Horror, even."
"No horror," he mumbles. "Definitely not horror."
"Oh? Didn't peg you for a scardy-cat," she teases, tapping her thumb against his.
His fingers squeeze hers tightly. "A lot of the horror films are based on my Dad's books."
A breathless, "What?" topples from her mouth before she even has time to process that she's said it.
His arm moves slightly so it rests on his forehead. He watches her with careful red rimmed eyes. "My dad wrote books too."
She shifts, toes squirming in her socks. "Oh."
A pause. "You knew."
"Inuyasha told me," she admits shyly, a curtain of hair falling over her shoulder as she ducks her head. "I didn't know. I only found out last week."
"I'm a little surprised," he says. "He primarily wrote horror. He was really famous for it. Dabbled in some crime fiction as well. I'm sure you've read some of his work and never realized it."
"Not really big on the tabloids, in case you didn't notice."
"It's the first thing I noticed about you."
Her gaze snaps back to him, his watery stare capturing her browns fervently. "Not my ass?" she jokes. She pulls her hand from his to tuck her hair behind her ears, but Miroku's fingers easily capture hers again, squeezing once more, pinning her hand in place by his side.
"That was the second."
Giggles erupt from her lips and he smiles softly up at her, eyes a particular warm shade of iridescent blue in the lamp light. "I knew it," she says. "I knew you were staring at my ass that day."
"Guilty as charged."
She shakes her head, the last of the giggles making their way through her mouth. "Come on, Monk. Let's go watch that movie."
She tugs hard, pulling him up into a seated position. She relinquishes his hand, turning to get off the bed when his arms stop her. They wrap around her torso, nails digging lightly into her arms. Holding her like she's his lifeline, finally pulling him to shore. His head leans into the crook of her neck. His hot breath curls against her skin. The goosebumps return at his command.
She falters, face flaming at his touch. "Miroku?"
"Thank you, Sango."
He pulls away as quickly as he embraced her, standing. She observes him with a pensive expression as he briskly wipes his eyes on the sleeves of his shirt before ducking out of the room.
"I'll make us some tea and popcorn. You can pick out a movie," she says, eyes never wavering from his retreating form as she follows him out of his room.
Miroku raises his arm in agreement before plopping onto the couch. She quirks an eyebrow. Strange. He always sits on the recliner.
She wastes no time getting to work, boiling water for the tea and microwaving the popcorn. As the kernels pop in the hum of the machine, she hears the sound of Netflix opening in the background. Miroku browses through the movies with the remote, previews playing for seconds until he switches to the next.
"Pick out a good one," she calls from the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets to get some mugs.
Tea ready and popcorn popped, she sits on the opposite end of the couch, placing the items on to the coffee table in front of them. The start of a movie is paused on the screen. The Holidate .
"Isn't it a little too early for a Christmas movie?"
He throws a few kernels into his mouth. "Christmas is almost a month away. Are you one of those people who refuses to celebrate Christmas until December?" He raises his eyebrow as he sips out of his mug.
Scoffing, she says, "Yes! Because that's when the Christmas season starts!"
Miroku shakes his head like he's disappointed and throws a piece of popcorn at her. It bounces off of her forehead, tumbling to the floor. "Bah, humbug. Christmas starts when it gets cold, and last I checked, it's a freezer in here because someone won't turn on the heat."
"It's not cold enough for it yet!"
"Cold enough that you couldn't sleep and had to make tea to warm yourself up. You're practically bundled from head to toe." He gestures wildly at her. "I think it's safe to say that we can turn on the heat. If you're worried about the bill, I can pay the extra amount. Anyway, you said I could pick any movie, so a Christmas movie it is."
She eyes the screen warily. "It's a romantic comedy. I told you that you didn't have to watch that particular genre."
"Christmas romantic comedy," he clarifies. "The best kind. And listen, just because I'm a guy doesn't mean I don't appreciate a good romance. I write that particular genre, as you phrase it, for a living, remember?"
She pretends to gag before taking a sip of her tea. "Whatever. This had better be good."
"I wouldn't know. I haven't seen it before."
"What?"
"It looked good from the synoposes," he says with an offhanded shrug. "I like rewatching movies, but I wanted to watch something new with you. Have you seen it?"
She shakes her head. "Can't say that I have. I'm not really big on the holidays, not since—" She inhales sharply, not expecting the sudden sorrow that strikes her soul.
"Your dad died," he finishes for her, eyes laced with sympathy. "I get it. I was that way for years. Avoiding everything to do with Christmas because it was too hard. But then, I realized, it was too hard ignoring it. Ignoring how happy the holidays made people. I started noticing how people lit up at the sight of Christmas lights. How people would go out of their way to get holiday drinks at Starbucks. The unbridled joy of having people you care about open gifts that you bought, touched that you thought of them."
He takes a long swig of tea, emptying his cup before setting it gently on the coffee table. "So, suddenly, I became a Christmas person. I wanted to bring joy to strangers by decorating early. I wanted to have people smile in surprise with my unexpected gifts. I just wanted people to feel happiness, if only for a moment. Or," he adds with a lackluster laugh, "I wanted to feel happy for a moment too, I guess, even if it was fleeting."
He presses play when she says nothing, staring at him, popcorn forgotten in her fingers. Miroku reaches for the bag, eyes glancing at her. "Are you going to eat that?"
"Oh, um." She flushes. "Yes." She tosses it into her mouth, chewing as she discretely watches Miroku as he watches the movie. His legs stretch out, toes flexing. He grabs another handful, the colors of the TV dancing upon his skin. "Do you really believe all of that?"
"Believe all of what?"
"That the holidays make people happy."
"I do," he says, a content smile lighting his features.
"Then why were you so sad earlier?"
He drops the popcorn in his hands, fumbling to try to catch the kernel. "Well," he says as he clears his throat, "I just…it wasn't about the holidays. I just," he emits an exhale, running his hands through his hair before they settle on the back of his neck. "It's hard to explain."
"You don't have to," she says hastily. "You don't have to explain at all."
"Well," he says, gesturing to the television, "That's why I chose this. I figured it could cheer both of us up."
"I don't need to be cheered up," she mutters under her breath, reaching for the popcorn.
He reaches at the same time she does. His hand lightly brushes hers. She snaps it back as if she's been physically burned, because she has been burned by his simple touch . He ignites a fire in her heart, the heat simmering deep in her abdomen, coiling like a spring ready to snap at any moment. This is ridiculous, she thinks, staring at the TV so she doesn't have to look him in the eye with the blush she's currently fighting to keep off of her face. They were just holding hands inside his bedroom. Why does this feel more… intimate?
"My mistake." He sounds like he's trying to contain his amusement, like she's the punchline to a joke he's made that she didn't catch.
They watch the movie in silence, each taking turns grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bag until it's empty. They laugh together at the appropriate moments. She sneaks glances at him between scenes, drinking in how bright the blues of his eyes are in this light when he laughs. It's genuine, tickling her ears with a warmth she wants to bask in. Curl up against it like a cat would.
Sango forces her attention back to the movie. To how the girl secretly falls for the boy, despite their arrangement, and is in denial. To how the guy obviously loves her back. To how they're both so blind to the other's feelings. But this is a movie, not real life, she ruminates. Real life is messy. Real life doesn't have happy endings that tie up in a neat little bow, gift wrapped to perfection.
Real life is a lot more complicated than that.
Miroku shifts in his seat, yawning. Without warning, he lowers himself so his head rests on her thigh. He doesn't even blink at the close contact, seemingly unaffected. His eyes continue to watch the movie like nothing has changed, but for Sango, she can't even breathe . She wants to say something. Ask why he's suddenly lying on her lap. But the words won't form, caught in her throat, clogging her airways.
Her heart pounds loudly in her ears, blocking out the sound of the movie. Sango is acutely aware of every small movement Miroku makes as he shifts to be more comfortable. She has to remind her lungs to inhale and exhale. Act as if she's indifferent to his body on hers, indifferent to how close his lips are to her inner thigh.
She's worse than the girls in his books, isn't she? She wants to groan at the thought.
He lies there, unmoving, finally settled with his head resting on her lap like a small child. Sango honestly has no idea what is happening anymore in the movie. Browns are locked on the dark locks of his hair. Her cursed fingers move on their own accord before she can steel herself, twirling a strand of his hair. His head twitches beneath her, ever so slightly. The pads of her fingers bravely touch his scalp, nails gently scraping in circular motions.
His mouth parts, eyes fluttering close at her touch. A rough sigh escapes his lips, the lines on his forehead smoothing as her fingers continue to trace invisible lines along his head.
"Feels good," he mumbles as if in a trance. The palm of his hand rests against her knee. His fingers sprawl out as a guttural sound leaves his lips.
Her fingers pause for a second, entranced by the sound. Sango blushes, wondering what other sounds she can make him produce at her touch. She continues massaging his scalp, the movie forgotten by both parties. A content hum follows the earlier sound, and Sango smiles softly at the fact that he can be this at ease around her.
A few moments pass. Miroku's breathing evens out under her tranquil task. His body twitches every once in a while before stilling completely. Her fingers continue their dance, running to feel all parts of his skin that haven't been touched by her before. It's minutes later, when she gains enough courage to look down at him, does she notice that he's fallen asleep.
She once again wonders what he dreams of when he's asleep. She likes to think that she helps starve the nightmares, judging by the serene look upon his face, like he did for her last week.
"Miroku?" she says tentatively as the credits scroll upon the screen.
Silence answers her, his hand resting gently against her knee. His hot breath seeps through her pajama bottoms to her skin.
She bites her lip, gnawing in anticipation.
She speaks in a hushed tone, knowing fully well that he won't hear the words she's about to confess. "I hope you know that Kagome moving out is the best thing that could have happened to me, because it led me to you. You've become my best friend," she whispers, voice cracking with emotion, "but honestly, that doesn't even seem like the right word for it. You're more than that. You're…you're the best thing in my life right now."
She leans her head against the back of the couch, eyes shutting. "You're the one thing that gets me through the day and the hard nights. You make me smile. You make me laugh, even when I don't think I will ever be able to again. You make me think that things could be better. With you. Miroku…I…," she trails off, fingers stilling.
I love you.
I was going to wait to post this until next week because the one year anniversary of posting this story is coming up, but I am SUPER impatient and couldn't wait to hear your thoughts. I hit a creative streak last night (thanks to 4 glasses of wine) and managed to finish this and start chapter 14. I am hoping that will be up before New Years! Fingers crossed.
Thanks again to everyone for always saying such kind words about this little story of mine. It truly encourages me to keep writing! :)