All previous disclaimers apply.
"Okay Kohaku," Miroku called across the field. "Really whip it out this time."
"I'll try," the younger boy called back nervously. Miroku held his arm back as far as he could, and then thrust it forward, the ball sailing in a slight arc towards Kohaku, connecting with the wood of his bat in a crack.
For a moment Kohaku watched the ball rise into the sky, until he lost sight of it in the glare of the sun. Then, he remembered what game they were playing, and began to run around to first base, which was (because there wasn't a baseball diamond at the park) Sango's shoe.
Sango smiled from where she watched the two, seated on a large blue blanket in her bare feet (both shoes had become bases). Kohaku was too slow in capitalizing on his would-be home run, and Miroku had playfully tackled him to the ground, knocking off his hat and ruffling his hair.
"Ane-ue!" Kohaku whined as his hair started to turn nice and static. He took advantage of Miroku's sudden glance to his sister and pulled on the small tail of hair on the back of his head.
"Cut it out the both of you!" Sango laughed from her seated position, hugging her knees and shaking her head, exasperated.
Both of the males stopped their roughhousing and looked at her for a brief moment, before turning to one other quickly as if in a football huddle.
"What are you whispering about?" she demanded indignantly, putting amused hands on her hips.
"Nothing," Kohaku said innocently, standing up.
"Miroku. . ." she said warningly. "Your influence is just too much. . ."
"Oh is it?" He winked. "Now, Kohaku."
In a flash, both of them had raced to the blanket and pushed her onto her back, attacking her with a flurry of tickling.
"Nooo!" Sango wailed. "It's not fair, there's two of you!"
"It's a double-team," Kohaku explained, tickling her ribcage.
She valiantly stuck out her tongue at the both of them before curling into a ball and hiding her face to protect vulnerable ticklish areas.
"Now that's not fair," Miroku's amused voice said.
Thinking she had won, she was just about ready to uncurl when instead she felt not a tickling hand, but a groping hand on her bottom. As she stretched out from her fetal position she was winding up to slap him teasingly but he instead placed his hands under her knees and back and lifted her off the ground, the simple pink and white sun dress she wore fluttering around them.
"Miroku!" she exclaimed, blushing. "Where did Kohaku - "
"I . . . he decided to go get the ball," he answered with a grin, sitting down on the blanket, settling her in his lap. "And your shoes."
"Did he?" she asked slyly, pushing his shoulders down.
"Uh-huh," he nodded, eyeing the mischievious curve of her smile hopefully.
"And I can't run away onto the street barefoot, right?"
Her head dipped down and she teased his bottom lip, smiling against his mouth.
"Oh no, we wouldn't want that," he sighed as she pulled back, absently twirling her hair around one of his fingers. "But remember that first time when -"
"That doesn't count," she interrupted. "I don't think I would want to try and run away from you again." She kissed him again, for a little longer, enjoying the feeling of his fingers fisting in her hair. "Ever."
-
Any Given Someday
Chapter 2:
Too Late
She had no idea why the hell she had agreed to a date. With him nonetheless. Somewhere in her mind, she had the irrational idea that if she put him through more hell on a single outing with her than he had ever experienced in the stock market, she would be able to blow him out of the picture.
Now she was just not in the mood. At first she had been adamant on refusing, and then when he asked her why, she gave him one of the usual excuses which he had shot down by saying she had done that the night, week, month before. Then she said that she didn't want Kohaku alone that night, which was a stupid excuse she knew, since he was already in middle school. Once he said he'd be glad to accommodate her brother, she knew that he was as desperate as she had once only suspected.
There was a soft knock at the door. "Come in," Sango said to it, staring at the ceiling fan.
"Ane-ue, Takeda-san called and said he's going to be here in about twenty minutes," Kohaku informed her stiffly.
"Alright."
"Do I still have to go?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I want you to."
"Ane-ue, if you didn't want to go out with him, why didn't you just tell him that?"
She sat up on their - her - bed, and stared at him in annoyance. "I thought that I could make this date into a living hell for him so he'd give up."
He could only shake his head and cross his arms over his chest, leaning into the door frame.
"Ane-ue, he won't give up. And instead of facing the music, you're just dragging me down with you."
She rolled over on her side so that she faced away from him . . and towards the empty side of the bed.
"Besides, what sister brings their younger brother on a date with them?" he continued to rant.
Rolling another quarter, she was now face down into her pillow.
"I can stand here and complain all I want Ane-ue, you can't hold your breath forever." He tapped his foot.
Sango tried not to gasp too loudly as she lifted her head to breathe. "Kohaku," she sighed impatiently. "Just go get ready, unless you're planning to wear your uniform out."
"Where are we going?"
"I don't know!" she sniped. "Knowing him, somewhere cheesy and expensive. Wear something decent."
Her brother didn't answer; he just clicked his tongue and shut the door behind him, almost stomping down the hall towards his room.
Rolling into her pillow, she groaned, curling into a ball. "This is a big mistake," she muttered into the sheets she was clutching to her nose. "I'm really going nuts."
She heard the door creak open again and Kohaku sigh and kiss his teeth. "Ane-ue, you do realize he might get here any minute now."
Her head was under the blankets. "I don't care."
Kohaku walked over to the bed, sitting down and bouncing a few times. Eventually, he began to bounce with increased vigour.
"Kohaku. Stop. It." she ordered, shaking with the mattress.
"Get up then," he challenged, bouncing higher still. "There is no way I am going to take a chance at having to go on a date with that guy alone. Who knows, he might even try it if he thinks he'd get in your good graces."
She smiled wryly from underneath the linens.
The bouncing slowed, the creaking of the mattress springs subsiding. "I know it's been hard for you Ane-ue. . .but let's try not to think about it, okay?"
He reached over and pulled the blanket from her face. "Okay?" he prodded.
Relaxing onto her back, she crossed her arms behind her head. "I guess," she sighed.
"Yeah, I'm looking forward to raising some hell too, alright? So get ready."
Sango huffed in irritation again. "Yuck. Get ready? With what?"
"Who cares? Are you trying to attract him? Look, I'll even pick something out." With that, he walked over to the closet, yanked the door open, reached in with his eyes closed and pulled out the first thing that felt like a dress.
She stared at him. It was long and shimmering red, with a slit that came up dangerously high. Surely Kohaku remembered it. . . he had photographed her in it before.
"Heh, sorry," he said sheepishly, stuffing it back between the hangers. "Here, wear this one." He threw an old black basic dress over her stiff form.
They both looked at each other as the unmistakable sound of wind chimes echoed through the upstairs window. Kohaku rushed towards the door.
"It's probably him. Throw that on and I'll stall," he instructed. "And maybe start weirding him out too," he added as an afterthought.
"Just go," Sango said wearily, unzipping the back of the dress.
"Keep in mind I'm tucking in my shirt for you!"
He saluted, and closed the door behind him.
Sango crumpled the dress in her lap and shook her head, the pictures still so visible in her mind.
--
"So. . .Kohaku, you're in middle school right?"
The boy in question was sitting with one leg across his knee and his hand holding his chin as if he were the distinguished author of an encyclopedia, staring into a corner of the room.
"Oh, I'm sorry Takeda-san, I was overcome by a sudden intellectual thought. Sometimes that happens when talking to someone of lesser - ah, questionable intelligence. But sometimes it's just a random occurrence," Kohaku explained with a wide grin, gesturing enthusiastically with his hands.
Kuranosuke raised his eyebrows, resting his chin on his own folded hands. "Understandable. You're a very smart boy, I hear."
Kohaku exaggerated a sigh. "Smart and misunderstood. All I have ever wanted to do since I was a toddler was fry potatoes. Sadly my sister prevents me from following up on that dream."
"Fry. . .potatoes. . ."
"Why yes!" Kohaku perked up. "There's a technique involved, and it's very - "
"I'm ready, I'm ready!" Sango's voice sailed down the stairs and into the living room. "Sorry for making you wait," she apologized, flustered. "Hopefully Kohaku's been entertaining you?"
"He has," Kuranosuke assured her, standing up quickly. His gray eyes travelled up and down her figure, but the action didn't make her feel endearingly annoyed, or even attractive.
When Miroku would look at her, he was capable of making her feel like the only woman in the world.
Instead, Takeda Kuranosuke was staring at her impertinently, and it made her feel as though she was a specimen being examined under a microscope.
"Are you ready?" he finally asked, after what seemed like a long while.
"Yes?" she responded, confused.
"I don't know. . .Something seems different. . .make-up?"
Sango scrutinized herself, but everything seemed fine.
"Oh! I'm not wearing any."
"Ah," he said, nodding his head. "Why not?"
Kohaku looked up at him sharply, slight annoyance in his face. "She doesn't need it. Miroku always said that - "
"Kohaku," she hissed abruptly. Shifting her weight from side to side, the situation had suddenly become quiet uncomfortable. She was taken aback at both Kuranosuke's comments and her brother's behaviour.
"Well, I don't wear that much to begin with, and I was in a rush," she explained at a reckless pace. "But if you really want me to -"
"No, no it's okay," he admonished, putting a hand on her shoulder and steering her down the hallway of her house. "Let's just get going shall we?"
"Where are we going?" Kohaku piped up.
"Dinner."
"Figures," he muttered, rolling his eyes in amusement.
"Ouch! What did you pinch me for!"
Raising hell is one thing, Kohaku. But this . . . isn't like you.
--
"So, how have you been getting along?" Kuranosuke asked cheerfully, all oddness of Kohaku's career plans forgotten, as he made a right turn.
"Without you around? Fine. Now I'm not so sure."
Sango twisted in the passenger seat and gave Kohaku another warning look.
"I'm sorry Takeda-san," she apologized. "He's just, ah - "
"Oh no, it's fine Sango-san, and do call me Kuranosuke," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "I remember when I was once a fickle teenager myself."
From her side mirror Sango could see her brother scrunch his nose and mime gagging with his hands around his throat, as the low whirr of the windshield wipers cleared the windshield of the light patter of rain that had begun to fall upon the glass.
--
Dinner was a fairly torrid affair, with forced conversations and even more forced laughs as she attempted to keep Kuranosuke in a decent mood, whilst getting her message across. Unfortunately, despite being a successful businessman and an aspiring heir to a company it didn't hide the fact that he was dense when it concerned these matters.
Continuing with his gimmick, Kohaku had ordered the most expensive item on the menu, winking at her from behind it as he did so. Of course, ' money was no object,' as the man so liked to remind her, oh - every ten minutes or so.
She let him recommend her a meal, after a vigorous question and answer period regarding her allergies and previous experiences with 'exotic foods.'
The restaurant was an elegant and classy one, and so formal that Sango was afraid she would be kicked out for not having paid over forty thousand yen for her attire. The multitude of forks and knives and other various utensils littered all over her place setting somewhat overwhelmed her, and it was nearly three hours later that she found herself picking at her dessert with the proper 'dessert spoon' at the end of the night.
"Well, I think that we learned quite a lot about each other," her 'date' decided, folding up his napkin neatly and placing it atop his plate.
"Likewise," quipped her brother, sliding Sango's unfinished dessert across the table.
Kuranosuke turned his attention towards her. "Sango-san, what about you? Did you enjoy yourself?"
She looked up from where she was mindlessly drumming her fingernails across the fine tablecloth.
"Hmm? Oh, of course I did," she said with a phony smile. "Dinner was wonderful."
"A successful outing, I must conclude," he exclaimed jovially, standing up and shrugging his coat on after sending the waiter away with the bill. Damn, if he looked anymore like a cartoon villain satisfied with his plan going into action without a hitch, she'd kick herself.
--
Kohaku had slumped up the porch steps and into the house, leaving Sango to fend for herself, obviously worn out from the evening. After all, giving someone a nonstop hard time wasn't all that easy.
Here it comes, Sango thought as he opened his mouth. All I know is that he'd better not try -
"Did you hear me Sango?" his slightly concerned voice startled her. She turned her chin up to him.
"I asked if you would like to come out with me again, but this time, just you and I," he said warmly, his eyes shining with optimism.
Her gaze slowly travelled around the rim of her eye and down to the slightly worn boards of the porch. The wind chime gently jingled above them.
". . .Sure," she heard her own voice say. But just because I want to be polite!
"If I can fit it into my schedule."
"That's great!" he said enthusiastically, twitching a little as though he wanted to jump and click his heels. "I always have a good time with you Sango-san."
"Mmm," she mumbled absently, tapping the toes of her shoes against the ground. Something warm rested on her shoulder. His hand. It felt like an octopus tentacle on a cutting board, ready to be cleaved should it twitch.
Disgusting, he was leaning closer already. It was one date damn it. My younger brother even tagged along! Wincing, she turned her head to the side and his lips landed on her cheek.
He pulled back, blinking a few times. His shoulders drooped slightly; his entire posture seemed to slacken. "Good night," he said, bowing. "I'll be sure to call you."
"I'll be sure to pick up!" she replied with a wave and a smile, before turning to the door and rolling her eyes. My answering machine will be waiting, that's for sure.
"Kohaku, go upstairs and change into your pajamas," she ordered, leaving her shoes in a pile in front of the door. He was already fast asleep on the couch, his arms and legs sprawling and his tie loosened.
"Or not," she sighed to herself, dragging her feet up the stairs. Nudging the door open with her knee, she unzipped the back of the dress and let it slide to the ground, kicking it aside.
Clothes on the floor.
Instantly, she bent and picked it up, folding it neatly and hanging it over the back of a chair. She rushed to the bathroom, leaning over the sink and letting the faucet run cold water. Her cupped hands gathered some of the cool liquid, and she threw it upon her face, taking a shuddering long breath from the sudden chill.
She wiped her face off quickly, completing the rest of her bathroom duties in half an hour, drawing each task out slowly. When she glanced at the clock on the bedside, she was greeted with a dim "11:30 PM."
Eleven-thirty . . . Miroku should be home by now.
Still clothed only in her undergarments, her bare feet cool against the carpet as she found herself cradling the phone against her shoulder, an extended finger pressing the sequence of numbers she'd had memorized for nearly the past year, even though she hadn't had to dial them in days.
"Hello?" The voice was tired and sounded groggy, as though waking up from sleep.
"Hello? This is Miroku speaking. Who's there?" He said again, a bit impatient.
She let a whisper of his name escape her throat, as involuntary as a hiccup.
There was silence at the other end.
"Sango? Sango, is that you?"
Tears were burning at the back of her eyes but she didn't really notice. "Miroku?" she choked out again.
"Sango! Sango, what - "
A third voice. A high, feminine voice. "Who is that Miroku? Is that her?"
Her heart skipped a beat as she grabbed the left side of her chest that contained it. There was a woman at his place, with him. Anger and jealously washed over her as waves stirring an ocean of confusion.
She hoped all that he heard was the steady, unnerving dial tone as her whitened fist slammed the receiver back into the cradle, still gripping it tightly as she took deep, calming breaths.
Grabbing the entire phone with both hands, she yanked it from its place, the cord ripping from the wall, and flung it across the room, where it thudded a few times across the carpet, stopping once it collided soundly against the door.
Her shoulders shook with spasms of emotion, her fingers curled around the edges of the mattress. Her upper lip twisted bitterly. Now wasn't she the hypocrite. Why was she so upset? Wasn't she just on a date as well?
No, she told herself, her mouth contorting into a frown once again. I had a horrible time on that date. I had a horrible time because I wanted to. I didn't want to have a good time with another man. That's what I wanted. He wasn't in my house. I didn't let him anywhere near my room.
The second extension was ringing downstairs, and right now, she didn't care if it was Miroku, her boss, hell, the government with an oversized cheque. Right now, she just wanted to fall to the bed, surrounded by crumpled royal blue sheets and the sounds of solitude.
As she drifted asleep, the blue linens smooth and slightly cool against her exposed skin, the brush of wind creeping through the window screens to drift across her face, her hand reached up unconsciously to trace at the trails that hot tears once drew from the corner of her eye to the side of her face.
And maybe, just maybe, she heard the phone stop ringing.
-
I'm waiting for blood to flow to my fingers
I'll be all right when my hands get warm.
Ignoring the phone, I'd rather say nothing,
I'd rather you never heard my voice.
You're calling too late,
Too late to be gracious.
And you do not warrant long good-byes.
You're calling too late,
You're calling too late.