Chapter 8
Sango-sama
Author's Notes: Wah! I apologize much-ly! I was sucked into the happy world of the Ruroni Kenshin TV series (…Sanosuke! ::Drool!:: ) and so I haven't done much aside from watching about 60 episodes or so. When I go, I go all out. ^_^ But now, I'm finished with all that I have so far, so I can concentrate on writing again.
Thank you to my reviewers…you keep me writing and creating new ideas. I appreciate the time you all take…lived eht si ukuran…swiever emmig…What was that you ask? ^_^ Just proof that no one bothers to read the Author's notes…except you!
And for those of you who can draw (which is a guarantee you'll do better than me), I'm holding a contest to draw my favorite source of chaos in the universe, Fate. You get absolute free reign in whatever you think she looks like, especially since I haven't described her at all. There will be a prize…but I have to find one first. ^_^*
Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha. Sad, isn't it? I have however, temporarily borrowed Miroku to ravag--err, I mean abuse him in this fic. ::cracks her whip:: Oh ho ho ho ho!
And on with the show…
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The deep orange sun was setting below the darkening hills off in the distance
"We'll just rest here for a while, Kirara," murmured Sango lazily. The back of her hand lay over her eyes, letting the last drops of sun warm her cheeks.
He sat silently upon the ground where Kirara had been, the fire cat no longer in sight. The Houshi's lips turned slightly upwards as he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, keeping in time with her soft breaths.
Sango seemed to be at peace in this dream, but he would need to stay with her in her own mind as long as it would be necessary to leech the nightmares of this past battle away. That was part of the reason he remained in this Earthly realm after all. That…and something else. Something he himself wasn't even too sure of.
Of course, he really didn't mind watching over her at all. The view was quite…hypnotic. He could easily forget just why he was here in the first place. The thought was rather tempting…
She sighed softly, slipping a hand atop the soft fabric covering her
stomach.
The other hand absently reached out to pet Kirara's head—only to meet
cloth and…flesh?
She jolted upwards and away along the shoreline, tearing her eyes open before Miroku himself could blink.
"Hou…Houshi-sama?" she stuttered, reflexively holding her arms against her chest to defend against wayward hands. Her eyes steeled against his sheepish lavender gaze, silence wrenching around them both like a vice.
"Err….Meow?"
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A sturdy hand pushed the dying embers around the fire pit, watching intently as specks of red jumped up from the blackened coals before dying away again. Guilty eyes strayed to his hands. The metallic crimson which had painted his guilt had long since washed away. But he could still sense the blood on his hands. He could see his blade striking his friends, his teachers, his father…and his ane-ue.
His eyes were far older than his eleven years; their spark of life had passed away with his friends. 'Otou-san…minna…How could they possibly forgive me? I can't forgive myself.'
The youkai had taken his scythe and chain away. His eyes held a frightening intensity, which was only heightened by his silence. Kohaku may have been inexperienced in battles, but he had learned to sense youkai not long after he learned to walk. And those senses screamed that he didn't want to tangle with the white-haired youkai…at least not if he wanted to stay alive.
But right now…he honestly wasn't sure.
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The angry red handprint gave the slightest bit of color to his otherwise ashen face.
His hand was rubbing over the sensitive skin, chuckling mirthfully. It was odd; even though he was dead, right now he could still very much feel his own pain…physical and otherwise. And now, he could touch her.
Sango was stunned.
She had expected him to try something; he had started into that when he had started haunting her…just as he had done so many times before. In fact, she would probably be more surprised if he actually could manage to keep his hands to himself.
However, she hadn't been expecting him to laugh, whole-heartedly to her normal reaction. A simple smile from him was rare enough in itself, and those seemed slightly forced. But now he was rolling around on the ground, consumed with his own joy…at being hit. It was difficult for her not to feel concerned.
"Houshi-sama," she whispered, tentatively reaching a hand out towards the trembling ball of black and purple. "Why are you laughing like that?"
His laughter was beginning to subside as his head turned to see her, his breathing only slightly heavier to compensate for his shortness of breath. A light flush from his effort masked the ashen hue. A bright smile still held his lips captive.
His fingertips grazed over her cheek, feeling her skin warm beneath
his touch. "It's because I can touch you."