"Kagome." He breathes out softly. His eyelids heavy as a puff of jasmine scent encircles around him—irritating him in that unique way, wherein he would find himself trying to muster an effort to not inhale her more, as if he wanted to be irritated by her. That was how it was with her. She was always unpredictably tempting him with that utmost naïveté of hers, and he, he would welcome it, like he wanted to be placed in that position, where he would be taunted by her.
She watches him silently while he fought to open his languid eyes, which she held with those bluish gray orbs of her. This man who towered over her whose eyes of the purest amber that bespoke nothing but silence, yet always careful to watch her every move. She knew when he was around, his eyes had that effect on her—she just melted like wax under the brunt of a fire. She couldn't take her eyes off his. No, not now. Not when it is like this.
She had often wondered how it felt like to be close to him; how it would feel when his warmth would slowly seep through her clothes to her flesh that hungrily swallowed whatever it is he had to offer. She feels suffocated as if she couldn't dare to breathe; afraid it would ruin the illusion of him hovering over her.
Her slender fingers finds its way to his cheek, her fingertips smooth against his skin. They were soft, as he had always thought it would be. His eyes flutters as he found himself relishing her touch. The way her fingers would nimbly trace his jaw line with great care as if in fascination, as if she was memorizing how he felt under her skin. She was trembling and he realizes that.
He takes her hand to his, and with deliberate slowness places his lips upon the inner bend of her wrist. The brief contact left her wrist burning but she makes no attempt to grapple away from his grasp. She remains there frozen, entranced by the way their fingers moved on their own accord as they intertwine like vines that clung tightly upon the arcs of a veranda.
She casts her gaze back at him—to watch that sign of emotion fleetingly ebb away from those eyes, away from her further scrutiny. She finds her voice but it comes in to a tumble like an unwelcome breeze on a winter day.
"I should go now." She hears herself say, echoing words he not long ago had spoken. She tests him. She wants to see how far he will let her.
He surprises her.
"Yes," He begins with that intonation of his, the words grating roughly against his tongue. "You should." He watches her eyes darken at his words.
"Yes. I have to take care of some things." Her eyes searching for something in him, he shows nothing.
"Yes. You do." He replies his voice merging with silence.
But they remain there—still to each other's heartbeat. Words sprung carelessly from their mouths; never listened to, but only heard by their distant minds.
He moves in closer to her as if the space between them still held room for air.
"Witch." He mutters suddenly, but his voice had no sharpness in it and it rolled from his tongue like the endearments of a compliment. She furrows her brows in confusion, until the subtle hint of irritation slowly emerges to deepen the crease on her forehead.
"If you're…" His fingers absently run through the ridges of her lips, halting her in mid sentence. He sees nothing but the redness of it. He leans his forehead on top of hers. He could feel it now. He could feel the way his heartbeat became erratic—impatient to his will.
"I'm tired, Kagome." His calm voice resonates in her ears, and she blinks in surprise. She realizes that the fingers that had caressed her lips were now buried under the volume of her dark hair.
His lips press against her.
He regretted it then.
It was only suppose to be a simple brushing of two fleshes but the feeling of her sweet lips against his only provoked him to instinctively nimble her lips like they were freshly picked cherries. And it didn't help, no not the slightest, that her response to his attentiveness was to slip her beguiling tongue unto his mouth. It knocked him to an eminent battle for what semblance of control he had. And oh dear god, he was losing.
But he should have realized beforehand that control had been lost, even before this, even before she had entered the room. No, it was marked by the moment he had laid eyes upon her. He should have sensed it. But who could have known? No one ever knew when they stared straight at the face of death
He knew he was falling—falling apart at the feet of this woman. Oh the irony. If he was only more strong-willed, more determined. But half a will can only bring one through half of the way. But he mustn't—he couldn't—allow that.
He broke away, lips ringing with alarm, mind battered with its own demons. But the hands that clung to his shirt refused to let him go. He meets her gaze, eyes firm of that unshakable determination of hers.
He was about to protest, but she shakes her head, almost in desperation.
"You felt it too." He looks away from her and her hands tightened into two balls of fist. "Didn't you?"
He cringes at the sudden loudness of her voice. "Kagome," He begins, uncertainly placing his hands over hers, gently untangling it from his shirt to adjoin his. She buries her head into his chest, voice muffled under the white fabric.
"I'm tired too…I'm tired of pretending like there is nothing."
"But there is nothing."
A knife through her chest, her voice trembling; she cautiously peers at his face. She sees nothing but his unsettling indifference.
"Don't do this."
He pointedly ignores her, and lets her go. "There are more important things at hand."
"Why do you do this? I thought you were tired. Pushing it away, will not change anything." He moves past her. He cannot stand seeing her like this—seeing those tears appear at the curved edges of her eyelashes. She brushes away those salty droplets, her eyes hardening. She sees it now. She understands.
"He knew that." She watched him stop in his stride, his body stiffened. "He knew that he couldn't change it."
He tilts his head back to her, his eyes staring but not quite looking at her. "You should leave now."
"Do you think you were the only one?! You weren't even there! I was there! I had to watch him slip away. I had to see…him…like that..…" Her hands covers the face contorted with the streaks of tears. He sees her body slides down the wall to the ground. His feet carry him to her crumbled form and he kneels before her, taking her in his arms.
"You understand then. We will only hurt each other." He says quietly, wanting the words to sink deeply in her mind, as they had anchored themselves in his. Pain. There will always be pain between the two of them.
She shakes her head and looks ruefully at him.
"No. That's what you do for the both of us."
His eyes considerably widen in astonishment, or perhaps anger.
"If you speak of the truth, then it had been done with the best intentions in mind."
"Tell me then, when you left that day, did it make things better?" He turns away from her voice, the words commanding him to reflect—commanding him to doubt, to question his decisions, and that should never be, because with the grain of doubt, a sapling of regret will always sprout.
"Did it go away?" She sighs, calming her voice. She touches his face, pushing away the wisps of silver hair that obscured her vision of him. "It's not about us. It was never about us. It's about him." Her lips tighten into two straight lines, as she willed him to face her. "We can't keep on doing this. We can't keep on repeating."
His hooded eyes cracks, and a sliver of pain slips. She reaches around his neck and pulls him closer in an embrace. He freezes then slowly wounds his arms around her. His muscles relax under her warmth. The battle in his mind ceases as he surrenders. He realizes that there is truth in her words. It just won't go away.
@@*@@*@@*@@*@@
The mug of coffee had long ago cooled between her hands, but she sits there, in that uncomfortable wooden chair, eyes sweeping through the box infested surrounding. It seems so strange, to be there, as if she no longer belongs there, as if she was not in her apartment but in a stranger's instead.
It had only been two weeks, but that was all that it took to bring this sudden change in her life. She was surprised when he suggested it. She felt that she was running away—that they were running away and in essence they were.
But he made a point, as long as they stayed in this town his shadow would be a presence that would hung over them like a nagging curse. No they weren't running away, they were only hoping for a new beginning. She knew he was right, because now she could feel it, and she wondered absently if it would ever go away, if moving would make it go away. But she knew somehow that deep down it would always be there—always pointing at her.
His hand settles on her shoulder, and reflexively she reaches out to entangle her fingers with his.
"Is everything ready?" He asks.
"Yes." She replies, her back to him.
"If you change your mind…I will not take it personally."
She tilts her head back to him, a small smile tugging her lips.
"I've made up my mind. Stop worrying."
He nods. She sees relief in his face as his impassive mask softens. He gives her hands a squeeze.
"I'm going to visit him." He says not quite looking at her. He lets the silence grow between them, before breaking it, "Would you like to come?"
She gives his hand a squeeze. "Yes. I would like that."
It was time to face him.
@@*@@*@@*@@*@@
They treaded quietly, his arms around her shoulders, while hers were around his waist. It was comforting to be like that, and that was what they needed: comfort. His eyes darts across the hill the scene all to unfamiliar. It was odd. He had been here only six months ago, but then again, his mind was drifting under the wheel of that haunting emotion. Guilt.
He clutches her tightly, and she looks up in response, giving him a reassuring smile, a support. He knows he is not alone, and that thought alone steels him. He had never wanted to be in that position, but fate, fate decided he needed to be.
They stop as they reach a white marbled headstone, and the reality of everything seems to slap him in the face. He could hear that indifferent voice of the man, it was echoing in his mind, the lips moving with an orator's declaration.
"The test has shown that the presence of alcohol in his system was beyond that of the legal limit…"
He could have sworn it took all his will power to not strangle the man before him. The white walls were beginning to enclose him, and the pungent smell of medicine was drowning him.
"Sir, he shouldn't have been driving…"
"Sesshoumaru?" The voice asks with concern and he looks down at her, it was times like this he doubted that he deserved her at all. "It wasn't your fault."
He pulls her closer.
"Neither was it yours."
"Perhaps, but sometimes I can't help but wonder…"
"Then you mustn't blame me for also doing so."
She gives him a small smile, "I suppose not." Then kneels down in front of the grave. Her hand brushes away the soil that had been blown over the engraved name.
…Inuyasha
You and I both know…it couldn't be helped...
Her mind whispers as she places the flowers down. She remembers how vulnerable he had looked that night. How beaten and swollen. The doctor told her that it would be unlikely he would regain consciousness, and she refused to listen to his cold words. But when Inuyasha's body suddenly convulsed, the bed shaking along with him, she cried, watching nurses and doctors surround him like a multitude of flies. She could hear that beeping sound as she was led out by one of the nurse. Then she knew.
Her eyes were beginning to collect tears, and she sighed. What more can she do?
…Don't be mad at him…
He had done no wrong…
Her hand sweeps across the stone for the last time.
…I hope you will forgive me…
She begins to straighten up her legs, and stares at the stone for some time, waiting for the burden to be uplifted from her.
Goodbye…
She turns away to face him. He gently removes the tears that had slid down her cheeks. He gestures for her to go. She gives him a confused look then glances down at her watch.
"The plane…" She trails off. He nods.
"It won't take long." She gazes at him worriedly. He shrugs it off, caressing her cheek. "Stop worrying."
He watches her walk down the hill before turning his attention back to the tomb in front of him.
"Brother," He whispers to the wind, half-believing, half-hoping, it would carry his words of honesty to the departed. "We have not gotten along, mostly in part of your obstinate attitude. You would not yield. You would not listen."
He grunts.
" Such was your impulsiveness that I had begun to detest you. But never to the point that I would intentionally pain you by coveting what is yours."
He watches the leaves swirl with the call of the wind.
"When your relationship began to unravel, I stayed away, even when at times it was more than I could bear. And when that accident of yours occurred, I thought it was a dream I would soon awaken from. To know what you have done to yourself, I realized the hand I had played in it."
He takes a breath.
"I left that day. But it didn't change what I had felt. It couldn't be helped."
He shakes his head.
"I have come to bid you farewell."
He turns his back and begins to walk away. The wind blows, carrying something, other than his words, away from him—the burden he had procured for himself.
Thank you…
…Goodbye, brother…
Author's notes: There! Done….this fic came to me out of nowhere while waiting for my latin class….i blame it on hunger…anyhow…please review, criticize I'm up for anything….btw…I don't own Inuyasha….if I did….Sesshoumaru and Kagome would have more interaction…..haha….sorry…..i have a weakness for AU pairings….