a/n: sesshomaru/kagura
There's too many pillows in a bed this empty - it's Sesshōmaru's first thought as he rolls silently out of the sheets, brain still foggy. But there's already a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, thank goddesses for auto-timers, and no more thoughts like that plague his mind.
An elevator ride down, a half-block walk, and he's in the bus depot terminal, stale air and brittle leaves gusting about as commuters file onto the first morning bus. Then there's the clack of beads and a woman wearing long green earrings and academic regalia pushes past him to grab a seat.
Winter graduation.
Sesshōmaru almost starts, but regains the composure he never actually lost even as he can't quite pry his eyes away. Urban-dwelling inu must learn to ignore the overstimulation of the city, lest they drive themselves insane. Because some other poor sap of a yōkai might go home and dig out the box of photos tucked behind sports jackets and traditional robes, might run a claw through the tassels that once adorned their own cap and the hat of another. Some might even pull up the screen on their phone and punch in the series of numbers long erased but never, ever forgotten.
It is good that buses arrive every seven minutes. This whole place smells like rubber and leaving.
