Disclaimer: I do not own Inu-Yasha. Please do not sue me.
Unrequited
Sango lay in her sleeping bag, stroking the navy blue material wearily, trying to coax herself to sleep. The fire she'd helped to make had since gone out, leaving only smoldering embers to light up the moonless night, embers that allowed for her to see not even a single one of her abeyant companions that she cared for and respected so.
A shifting purple shadow told her otherwise.
The taiji-ya turned her head to the left, the soft fabric she was encased in brushing against her cheek ever-so-slightly, so that she could fully see the owner of the silhouette. He sat against a tree, staff leaning against one shoulder, his gorgeous purple eyes closed in slumber. Every so often, his lids twitched as he dreamt, hopefully, of those things he desired, those things he wanted, those things he loved…
Sango hoped beyond hope that he was dreaming of her.
She watched the monk in silence, regarding him and the perfection that was him. The way his robes fell loosely over his well-toned body, the way his midnight bangs framed his face, the way he walked, the way he laughed, the way he smiled… everything about him was perfect.
Sango knew full well, of course, that he was flawed, as most people were. She knew that he was a lecher, a con artist, a liar… a cursed man…
And yet, now, as he slept peacefully, unaware that he was being watched, he seemed perfect, more perfect than any other human being she knew or would ever know.
The demon slayer sighed and stared up at the blanket of sky that stretched on as far as she could see. She supposed that this was what love felt like. It was, before now, unfamiliar; sure, she loved Kohaku, her father, even Inu-Yasha and Shippô, but only in a familiar, friendly sense. As unaware of what it felt like to be in love as she was, she did know that she couldn't think of him in the same way she did the other aforementioned men in her life. She couldn't think of them as perfect, even in the dead of night. She couldn't turn a blind eye to their blemishes or faults and disregard them as though they were nothing. She could accept them, yes, but never, ever, forget them.
But with him.
With this monk, this man, whom many considered the most imperfect of all…
…to her, he was perfect.
And it was because of this that she loved him.
Sango smiled to herself as she folded her hands across her stomach and looked up toward the heavens as though it was an old friend. How often had she sat under this same sky with her beloved Miroku at her side? How often had he comforted her in the middle of the night with no one save the stars watching them? How often had she lain, exhausted, in her bag, staring upward, thinking about him?
The answer?
More times than she could count.
The girl laughed out loud, allowing herself to grin. Now she just sounded stupid, like some village girl who'd just been married, ready to live out her new life and plan her future with the man she loved. One couldn't blame Sango, really, though, for acting this way; a few short weeks ago, her love had promised to live with her once the curse of the Kazaana was lifted forever, promised to end his womanizing ways, promised to father her children…
Sango blushed at this last bit. Let's not get too ahead of ourselves, now, she thought, trying to shake any and all unholy images out of her head. After all, he's still accursed. But still… with so many people after Naraku, he'll be dead soon. And then…
Sango simpered, holding a hand above her head and observing the shadows and patterns the stars helped to create from it. Well, I'll just have to wait and see, won't I?
At this point, however, the girl felt strange. A sensation had formed itself in the pit of her stomach, one of discomfort, apprehension, and possibly even paranoia. It was one that she knew well.
She was being watched.
The taiji-ya turned and met with a pair of violet eyes hidden by ebony bangs; his eyes. Their owner smiled, lips parting gracefully as he said her name. "Sango…"
Sango felt herself shiver. She loved his voice. It made her want to tell him all that she felt, admit everything, despite her better judgment. It made her want to hold him, to say his own name instead of that wretched title she used to keep him at bay. It made her want him.
Yes.
With every fiber of her being, she wanted him.
"Houshi-sama," Sango whispered, looking down and reddening slightly.
She heard him shift a bit against his tree, obviously trying to get more comfortable. "Can you sleep?"
Sango shook her head, still refusing to look at him. However, she could tell he was watching her from that feeling inside of her again. "Did you have a bad dream?"
"N-no… not tonight…"
Miroku nodded. "I see." With this, he turned away, resting the back of his head on the tree and looking up. Was that a sigh that Sango heard? And did he really…
Looking closer, the taiji-ya saw his gaze flit temporarily to the right… toward the cuff and rosary beads covering the black hole in his hand… toward his curse…
"Did you?"
The monk looked up, startled. "Did I what?" he asked innocently—too innocently—having been caught in the act of agonizing over his Kazaana… again.
"You had a nightmare about… well…" Now it was Sango's turn to look at his hand. He got the message easily enough. "…didn't you?"
Miroku was silent for a moment, his mouth a set, straight line, the inverse of the tender smile he always wore, the smile that made Sango feel warm inside. Soon enough, however, he adorned his lips with that grin, and, making eye contact, told her, "No. I did not."
"Honest?" she asked, doubt written all over her features, "You're not afraid… not even a little?"
"No," he said simply, "Not in the least. I have nothing to be fearful of, as I still have time before…" Miroku groaned and leaned back again, blowing his hair out of his face with a breath that could be easily identified as a sigh. Despite what he said, Sango knew the truth; he was afraid. She'd watched him enough times to know for sure; she'd heard him talk to himself, trying to becalm himself, saying that everything would be alright; she'd seen him stare at his palm time and again, as though just looking at it would be enough to make the hole go away; she'd even seen him, once or twice, sleep fitfully, thrashing about against his tree, moaning and calling out a single word over and over again; "No!"
And yet…
In spite of this, he still went about with that easygoing smile of his on his face, doing his best to hide his true feelings as each passing second brought him closer and closer to his death. He was such a strong person. He'd been born knowing that he would die, yet he still went about living, grinning… worrying from within.
He needed someone to help dull the pain.
To show him that there was more to life than fretting over a death that, quite possibly, would not claim him.
Could she be that someone?
Sango nodded inwardly. Yes I can. I want to be that person. I really, really do.
With this thought in mind, Sango crawled out of her sleeping bag, making her way over to him, and, reaching out, took his hand in hers. She felt him flinch from the touch as she closed the gap between them, running her thumb over the back of the cuff in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "It'll be fine," she said, lifting their joined hands onto her folded lap, feeling his heat press into her thigh. "Naraku will be dead soon. I know that for sure. And then, it can be just us."
Miroku nodded dumbly, slumping. "Just us…" Then, as though the thought had just occurred to him, he said, "But what about Kohaku? What shall you do about him?"
Sango squeezed his hand thoughtfully and declared, "I… I think that, once Naraku dies, he'll… he'll go down with him…" She winced as that thought entered her brain, that horrible picture of Naraku getting blown to bits by Inu-Yasha's Kaze no Kizu and her brother, screaming, disappearing into the light of his attack along with him. "But… if it means that you'll be okay… then, I'm sure that, in time, I'll learn to accept it…"
The monk made a small noise in the back of his throat and moved about some more, tugging his arm away from Sango's hold in the process. In response, she merely tightened her grip and, leaning forward, looked into his eyes, snatching up his other hand as she did so. "Houshi-sama!" she cried, unaware of when or why she'd become so animated, "Before we end our conversation, I want to talk about us!"
Sango could have sworn she'd seen him pale. "Us?"
She bobbed her head up and down, bringing both of his hands to her knees. "Mhm. I want to know what's going to happen once Naraku is gone; what we're going to do with our lives. I want to plan it out, give myself something to look forward to. So, please…"
"Sango," Miroku cut off, jerking his left hand away from her. After a beat, his voice, which, moments before, had been strangely harsh, returned to normal, and he said, "Listen to me. I do not know for certain whether or not Naraku will die before my curse claims me, despite what you say. Hence, I don't wish to discuss a future I very well may never have; it would give me false hope, one that would only bring misery to the both of us."
He looked away, as did she, the both of them remaining silent for a moment. So that's why he's so distant sometimes, Sango mused, letting his other hand go. He doesn't want us to get too close, lest he be devoured by the Kazaana. It's understandable, I suppose. But…
"So then… it's alright for you to run around, chasing after other women? Is that what you're saying?"
"Of course not," he said, "That is an entirely different matter. Those girls only please me for short amounts of time; they are temporary, and, as each comes and goes, will be forgotten. But…"
Sango leaned forward, anticipating his next words. But you, Sango, you are not temporary. I know that you will always be by my side, will always be the one to make me happy. And I know this… because I know that I love you… Instead of this, however, Sango was met only with the hush characteristic to one who is at a loss for words. "But…?" she said expectantly.
Miroku was quiet for at least another minute. His eyes reflected the great unsteadiness that he gave off, revealing his tenseness and unease. Finally, he sighed and said, "Sango… there is something you must know…"
She nodded, inching closer. This was what she'd been waiting for; he would finally say those words; I love you.
"My plans for the future…" he began, only to pause once more. "If and when Naraku dies… I plan to go on traveling, working when I have to, trying to be happy…"
"And I'll be right there to be with you, right?" Sango said, unable to suppress a smile.
Silence.
The grin began to fade.
Why isn't he talking? I want him to say yes. I need him to say yes.
"Not exactly," Miroku admitted, tearing his gaze away from Sango's. He did so right on time; had he continued looking at her for a moment longer, he would have seen her heart breaking in her eyes. "But…" Sango stammered, dumbfounded, "But… you promised… you said that you would live with me and make me your wife…"
"I lied," he said impassively, looking back up at her again, "I only told you that so that you would have something to look forward to once this ordeal with Naraku was over. I wanted to give you that hope, that promise of a better life… even though, right from the start, I knew that, whether or not I died in the end… that promise would not be fulfilled."
"Houshi-sama…" Sango murmured, stunned. She shook her head, unable to believe his words. No. It wasn't that she couldn't. She wouldn't. She wouldn't listen to him and nod along in understanding. She refused to just sit there like a fool while he pushed her aside, just like that! "You can't mean that!" she cried, her voice choked with a sob that was quickly overtaking her, "You… you can't!"
"Sango," Miroku said, putting a hand up, almost as though he was trying to hold her back, "Please recognize that I made that promise for your sake. I care about your future, Sango; I want you to be happy…"
"But I can't be happy!" she exclaimed, near hysterical now, "I can't without you beside me! I…" The grief-stricken girl shut her eyes, shaking, clenching a fist that scooped up messy dirt clods that only fell through her fingers seconds after she'd thought she'd gotten a firm hold on them. Opening her eyes once more, she let the tears stream down her face, her voice never losing that frenzied tremor that, in the course of just a few moments, had become characteristic to it. "I love you!"
There, Sango thought, strangely satisfied.
You said it.
Now the situation's in his hands.
I beg of you, houshi-sama, react to my words.
Show some sign that you feel the same way I do.
That you were joking just now, like you always are.
Please just let him be joking.
This can't be the truth.
It can't…
Please…
The taiji-ya watched him in silence, sniveling periodically, waiting for his answer. He gave none. He just… sat. His eyes were stoic, and they stared out at her, the distant there evident. He did not move, didn't even blink, he simply sat with his hands behind him, absolutely still. Had it not been for the slight breeze ruffling his hair, Sango would have thought that time had stopped.
However, despite her desire for a response, she realized then that she'd gotten one.
His silence told her what his voice did not.
"Houshi-sama…"
Though he continued to stay immobile, she could tell that he was listening.
"…do you love me?"
She felt her heart hammer in her chest, ready to break out of her ribcage once he'd given the answer she knew that he would.
Finally, he stirred.
And, looking into her eyes, the simple act of which causing adrenaline to rush through her, he said that single, horrible, cursed word;
"No."
Sango sucked in her breath and felt her face blanch, her pulse skyrocket, her body quiver. Even though she'd anticipated it, it was still a shock to hear that word. She needed to make sure; make sure this wasn't some cruel trick fate had played on her just for her own amusement. "W…what?"
Miroku turned away, his perfect bangs casting an equally perfect shadow over his eyes. "I don't love you… Sango."
The girl bit her lip. His answer was even more terrible the second time around. "Really," she said, a terse laugh escaping her parched throat. "Really, you can't mean that." I just can't accept it. No matter how many times he'll tell me it… I can't. "No… what you mean is… you can't love me… yeah… you can't because of the Kazaana… you're afraid to love me, right? It's not that you don't… it's because… you can't… right?"
A look into his eyes told her otherwise.
There was an unmistakable ingenuousness there that always played in them, and it was this that she depended on above all else.
They were her last life line.
Her last chance to prove all of the obvious signs wrong.
And yet…
They still told her…
I'm not lying…
I meant what I said…
I don't love you…
Sango gasped at her realization, the truth hitting her like a tidal wave would the sand. All of that time that we spent together… all of the sacrifices he made for me… he did it because he cared about me… not because… he loved…
She felt the distance between herself and her beloved monk grow larger, though neither moved. It was as though she was walking down a long hallway; its end was always in sight, and yet, the closer she got to it, the farther away it seemed. She wanted to reach out to it, but knew that, no matter what she did, she'd never reach the end; she'd never get what she wanted…
…she'd never get him to love her.
And with that, her hysteria kicked in.
"So that's it, then?" she asked, the biting wind raking its icy fingers over hear tear-stained face, though the wounds they gave her were nothing compared to her emotional scars from within. "You're just going to drop everything we had? You're going to forget all about it? Houshi-sama, I thought you were kinder than that!"
"Sango…"
"Don't 'Sango' me! I trusted you! I put my faith, my future, in your hands! I fell in love with you! And now, all you have to say to me is 'Sango'? Look, all I wanted was to live a happy life with you, and you can't even give me that much? You can't give me even a shred of hope without snatching it away? You can't…"
"Please, Sango…" He leaned forward, reaching out a hand, one that she batted away immediately. "No! I'm not finished yet! I figured something out about you today, houshi-sama; you're a liar! You take people's dreams and you throw them away! You go around all smiles when you're aching inside, and you push those people who care enough to ask you what's wrong away. You take no consideration for anyone else's feelings! You…"
The rest of her sentence was muffled, as Sango's mouth had been stolen away from her. In one, fluid motion, Miroku had swooped forward and captured her lips with his own to give her a chaste kiss.
But that was it.
It was chaste.
Unfeeling.
Dispassionate.
Almost…
…cold.
Sango felt her eyes grow wide. As far as she could remember, no one had ever kissed her on the lips before. Back at the taiji-ya village years and years ago, the other girls had fantasized about their first kisses and who they would like to share them with. At that point, Sango had scoffed at them, thankful she wasn't one of those lovesick morons. But, then, she'd met him…
…and, suddenly, she knew who she wanted to kiss her for the first time.
But…
Though she'd dreamt about this moment for who knew how long, she'd never imagined it playing out exactly like this.
She didn't think she would kiss the one man who'd rejected her.
Sango was the one to pull back first in the end. She sat still for a moment, gasping for breath, letting the wind steal her voice away. Apparently, getting her to shut up had been the desired effect of the kiss. Taking note of her quiet, Miroku nodded and looked down at her lap, where her hands were folded, fingers laced with fingers, shaking with cold and the weight of the pain she'd just gone through. "Sango…" he whispered.
"…I'm sorry…"
The girl closed her eyes, trying so, so hard to hold back tears that she knew she would eventually shed. I can't take this, she thought, slipping into unconsciousness. I just can't. She had no idea how long she'd spent wallowing in herself, only that, when she came to, it was still dark outside and that Miroku had gone, taking the chill of the wind with him.
Sango's eyes searched for him, the doe-brown orbs calling out his name noiselessly. He's gone…
He's really gone…
She leaned forward, folding her body in half against her lap, and wept, her tears now unceasing. She wept for the loss of her beloved monk, for the loss of his walk, laugh, smile, perfection. She wept for herself and the agony she felt from inside, eating away at her heart, at her core, at her being.
She wept with uncertainty.
For she did not know how he really felt.
Did he say what he did in hopes that she would learn to accept his disappearance and move on, when, in truth, he really had felt something that went beyond friendly caring for her?
Or was he, for the first time in his life, being completely sincere?
She would never know.
She'd continue to live, live with the false promise for a happy future festering away inside of her.
She'd live with that one breathless second of a kiss lingering on her lips for all eternity.
She'd live an imperfect life.
For how could her life be complete without perfection by her side?
The answer?
It couldn't.
Because he did not love her as she did him.
Because her love…
…was unrequited.
End fic. You can interpret the ending however you want. I'm not here to tell you what your opinions should be. But I would like some feedback on what you thought it meant. To read one author's interpretation of the ending, check out Unrequited 2: Sacrifices by psquare. It has a much happier ending.
In saying that...
...review, please!