A/N: God, I don't know why I wanted to write this so much, but I did. Probably to horrible and predictable result. Kismet is a word that I never heard before now, and the same might go for you. I guess it was some sort of coincidence that I went to looking for usable synonyms for "serendipity." Kismet happened to be the word of the day. It was…destiny. -sparkly eyes-
Kismet is a three part story. Unusual, I know. Somehow, it seemed better that way.
Disclaimer: I do not own either Inuyasha or Serendipity. Gah, the sadness.
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Kismet
Part I: Tension
-
Sango getting married…
Hah.
Who would've thunk it?
Kagome gave her watch a nervous glance out of the corner of her eye, a pink-banded wristwatch with a daisy in the middle of the face that was ticking away happily.
At the elevator's cheerful ting! Kagome looked up at the doors, which glided open smoothly. She stepped out into the lobby, looking around for a sign of the bride-to-be.
And there she was.
Chatting with her future mother-in-law.
Kagome strode up to them quickly and said, "Hi, Sango!"
Sango turned, looking slightly startled.
"I'll leave you two alone," the woman said, laughing merrily about whatever Sango had just said. "I'm off to find Kuranosuke, wherever he's off to."
Sango smiled graciously and bowed as the woman hurried off.
"Sorry I'm late. I had to fuss with parking." Aware that Sango was staring blankly at her, Kagome returned with an embarrassed look, rubbing the back of her head. "Look, I'm too cheap to use valet parking when I don't need it."
Her friend crossed her arms, looking about the hotel with a satisfactory smile. It was the Four Seasons hotel, which looked stunning night and day, all year round. The lobby itself seemed to emanate a cheerful, golden glow, adorned with glistening chandeliers and delicate paintings of classical landscapes: The fog-filled mountain, the busy, blue coast, the rural countryside, the metropolitan skyline. The walls of the enormous room arched upwards to a ceiling made entirely of windows depicting stain-glass roses, and prosperous, green vines hung from the walls, intertwined with white Christmas lights. A huge, jade green pine tree stood in the center of the room, towering nearly to the ceiling, its leafy branches accented by the huge golden star that stood at the top.
"This is it, huh?"
"Yep, unless you're planning some stunt at the altar," Kagome replied, grinning. Looking at her, you never would have guessed that she wrote obituaries for the Los Angeles Times.
"Kagome-chan, you know I wouldn't do that," said Sango, giving her a rather reproachful glare.
"I know, I know. Just kidding." she answered, patting her friend softly on the shoulder. "Anyways, what's the day of your wedding?"
Sango looked dumbfounded.
"I love you, Kagome, but you're an airhead."
"I know…"
"It's on Friday. Christmas Eve. Listen, why don't we go out for a cup of coffee, or something. Kuranosuke's mother is bound to come back, and…"
Kagome could have sworn that Sango tossed a look back over her shoulder, and she acted accordingly.
"Hah! You don't like your in-laws already!" Kagome said, pointing at Sango accusingly.
"I like them," Sango huffed. "Well, do you want to go out or not? San Francisco's such a nice city, especially during Christmas time…Let's go out and explore."
Suddenly Kagome's face seemed to be missing an expression.
"What?" asked Sango hastily, taking a moment to retie her strict-looking ponytail.
Then, there was too much expression, and the emotion of mirth and laughter burst onto her face, exploding and overflowing in a series of giggles.
"Spoken like…hah, a true adventurer," said Kagome between laughs, clutching at her stomach.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sango asked quizzically, an angry expression growing on her features.
"Never…never mind," the girl answered, still laughing.
"I'm not adventurous, is that it?" Sango said, pinpointing the issue.
"Exactly," answered Kagome, finally stopping and looking like she intended to grow serious. Sango's eyes narrowed shrewdly.
"Why is that a bad thing?" she asked.
"It's not, always…" started Kagome.
"But…?" Sango asked, crossing her arms and waiting for an explanation, tapping her foot on the decorated beige marble floor.
Her friend bit her lip. "How do I explain this…? You've always lived your life…the way you live it," she said flatly.
Sango face held a perturbed look. "Is it physically possible to live it a way you don't?" she asked, feeling that she could possibly be mixing up the words somehow, just as Kagome had.
"No! That's not what I meant," said Kagome hastily, raising her arm and shaking her hand in front of her face, as if shooing away the thought. "It's just that…You're the kind of girl who, um, never believed in a greater power. You know. Any luck that happens to you is just coincidence. You've never tried to see if there was…destiny." Then, trying to make her words take on a positive spin, she quickly added, "Because you have so much confidence in herself."
Sango gave her a dry look. "Destiny's never happened to me. What's wrong with that?"
"Don't you feel like you're missing out on it? That you've never lived your life on the spur of the moment, on a hunch."
"I feel safer that way. And it's not like my life has got me anywhere exceedingly horrible, has it?"
"Sango, don't kid yourself…" her friend said, taking on a sort of concerned authoritative tone. "You and Kuranosuke…are, well…"
Sango's head snapped up alertly.
"We're in love," she finished, sounding like a crime had been attributed to her.
Kagome gave her a suspicious sideways glance. "Really?"
"Yes," said Sango, noticing regretfully that her voice faltered slightly under the stare Kagome was directing towards her.
"No," she retorted. "He loves you…"
"And I love him. That's why we're getting married, isn't it?" Sango asked, tossing her head to the side with a scoff.
Kagome gave a long sigh, which just made her more irritated.
"I'm sorry for not having this talk with you earlier, Sango. Instead I have to make you more nervous before your wedding…" She paused, seeming to gather her thoughts to assemble them in a way that would sound presentable. "I'm just…I'm just worried for your well being. He's a nice man. I just don't think your marriage is going to go well if…Well, um, if you don't love him."
Sango's face fell.
"Listen, I trust my fiancé, and I love him."
Kagome noted quite sadly which of the two concepts came first.
"Even if I didn't, Kagome, what would I do then?" Sango asked. "After all he's done for me, am I suddenly supposed to leave him? His whole family is here, his friends…I couldn't leave him humiliated like that. I couldn't throw it all away like that."
Kagome knew that on her wedding day, Sango would have to decide that for herself. Because it wasn't a question of what if,but a question of when it was going to happen.
Kagome smiled half-heartedly. "You would…"
"Kagome-chan, you know me so much better than that," said Sango, assuming the conversation was over. It was times like these that she used that diminutive nickname, when she thought that all Kagome had to say was nonsense.
"I know you well enough…" said Kagome, "to know that you would leave him if you fell in love."
And Sango couldn't help but consider her words.
-
So, how was it that her best friend had ditched her, again?
Oh, yes. Sango had eventually learned that Kagome had ended up forgetting her luggage from the backseat of her rental car, despite her valiant efforts to conceal that fact and to instead pretend that she was in such a rush to meet Sango that she had decided to leave it behind. And she still had to check in for her hotel room with the lobby, bring her bags up to her room, and get fully situated.
So Sango had decided that she didn't want to wait that long, knowing Kagome, and went out to explore San Francisco alone.
The nice thing about the Four Seasons hotel was that it seemed to be directly in the center of San Francisco; if she went one way, Sango would end up in Chinatown; if she went another, she would find the Business District; and this way, she would come across the suburb-like neighborhoods near the freezing coast.
She decided to take the bus and head towards the downtown of San Francisco, where she knew that there would be plenty of charming shops and presentable restaurants if she needed something to do.
The first thing that happened to her after she got off the bus was that she got harassed by a bent-over Chinese vendor who was wheeling his cart along 43rd Street to buy one of his wares. At first, Sango responded she was just fine, thank you, in the clothes she was wearing, a coat, turtleneck, and blue jeans. However, the man only seemed to be more excited by her resistance, or perhaps he didn't understand. He got up, muttering a long string of Chinese gibberish, wrapping a red woolen scarf around her neck. Sango was almost fearful that she was about to get choked, but the man just stood back to look at her. After seeming to examine the look of the scarf, he gave her a toothy, yellow smile and a thumbs-up. She nervously returned the grin with a set of perfectly groomed teeth, and asked how much money the scarf cost.
After she had paid him only a surprisingly cheap price of ten dollars, he wheeled his little cart away and around the corner.
Holding the crimson scarf up to her eyes, Sango smiled and continued down the street, noting how much warmer she seemed to feel. Suddenly she realized she was still pretty cold, and came across an appealing little coffee shop called Kismet.
Puzzled but intrigued over the strange name of the café, she pulled open the door and walked in.
There was a small Christmas tree in the corner, decorated, along with ornaments and tinsel, with gift cards with various discount prices for coffee. Low glass-surfaced tables were accompanied by red and green lounge chairs.
Sango went up to the counter and ordered a black coffee, to the clerk's surprise. Only a few seconds later, her drink stood in front of her, and the employee was ringing up her payment.
After paying a little over $1.50 completely in change, to the clerk's annoyance, she dropped a quarter in the "Tips" jar at the counter as an apology.
So she sat down at one of the green chairs, setting her cup of coffee down, deciding to let it cool for a moment.
"Oh, shit. It's snowing again," said the woman who had helped Sango.
"You forgot to bring an umbrella again, Kagura?" asked her coworker, who sounded barely old enough to work at the coffee shop.
"Yep. It's okay, though," the woman said with a sigh.
"I love snow! It's really going to be a White Christmas. Sesshoumaru-nii-san promised me plenty of stuff!"
"He sort of looks like Santa Claus, now that I think about it."
Sango's head turned to the window to find that it indeed was snowing, and quite hard. She stood up, intending to leave and get back to the hotel before it got any worse.
Once outside, she immediately knew that she had underestimated the snow, and all at once, it was blowing in her face, biting as her pink cheeks.
She took a sip of her coffee, scorching her tongue, because she was afraid that in her hurry, it would spill out of the holes at the top.
Sango needn't have worried.
Because by a strange turn in her life's plans, it was going to spill out anyways.
Her precaution hadn't seemed to do anything, because when she was turning the corner, a man walking with a bundle of folders in his arms came speeding around, jolting into her.
She stumbled backwards, letting go of her coffee.
The liquid sprang out of the Styrofoam cup and splattered onto her maroon turtleneck, the heat stinging her stomach, and the man's package, which had dropped to the cement of the sidewalk.
She stood there for a moment, watching the man pick up his parcels. As the coffee seemed to soak into the yellow manila envelopes, reality began to sink in.
"God," said Sango, stumbling for words, "I'm really sorry about that. I didn't see you coming."
The man took a black mitten off and swept his right hand across the package, getting rid of some of the coffee, then looked up.
The first thing that she noticed, with a slight startle, were his eyes- they were such a deep shade of blue that they looked almost violet. His smooth black hair, tied into a neat tail at the back of his neck. His face, handsome, wearing an endearing but worried smile. How he could be outside in the snow with only a corduroy jacket and jeans was beyond her.
"Well, regardless of who is as fault," he said, looking at her shirt, bringing her back to the moment, "we got your lovely sweater ruined."
Then, having the uncanny feeling that the man was not looking at the coffee stain on her stomach, but somewhere higher, she pulled her charcoal-colored overcoat on top of it, buttoning it right at her chest.
"Ummm…It's fine," she said uneasily, gingerly picking up the now-useless coffee cup off the ground and throwing it in a trash can that seemed to be conveniently placed right beside her.
He stood staring at his envelopes for a moment, and she could have sworn that he looked disappointed. Then he said, "If you don't have any plans, maybe you'd want to accompany me to my apartment? It's only a five minutes' walk from here."
"It's okay, really. If I can catch the next bus, I think I can reach my hotel in about that much time," Sango answered, shoving her hands into her pockets and kicking at the slush on the sidewalk.
"It's 4:45," said the man, peeling back his glove to look at his watch. "During the winter, the Red Line always ends for the day at 4:30."
Sure enough, she didn't see any people waiting at the bus stop. Unable to think of a reason to refuse him, she asked, "You're sure it's okay if I come with you, then?"
"It'd be wonderful to have some company." He held up his parcel. "And I need to run these off again, anyways, so…"
"Alright, then," said Sango, pulling her scarf a little higher around her slender neck, beginning to grow used to the brisk winter air. When she looked up, she found the man staring at the sign of the coffee shop.
"Kismet, huh? I think that it means destiny, doesn't it…?" he asked, lost in distant thought.
"I'm not sure," said Sango, finding it to be, if he was indeed correct, a little ironic allude to her conversation with Kagome earlier.
They began walking, as all the taxis were already being flagged down by people like them who had not thought to bring umbrellas.
"I'm Miroku Aikawa," the man said.
"Huh?" was her oh-so-intelligent answer. She was still thinking about the name of that shop…
He simply smiled and looked forward.
"Oh, sorry. I was a little distracted. My name's Sango Matsuda."
"Sango…That means "coral," doesn't it?" She nodded in reply. "Well, what business brings you to San Francisco?"
She was about to say the truth and say, "My wedding," but somehow got the idea that he wouldn't like that answer.
"I'm meeting friends…" she said simply.
"Like the city?" he asked.
"From what I've seen of it so far, yes," Sango answered.
"It's beautiful at night," Miroku said.
"I just got here this morning. I wouldn't know."
Suddenly as they reached an intersection, he touched her left shoulder, and she blushed. "We're making a right here," he said, walking up to the street light and pushing the pedestrian crossing button.
He leaned against the pole and smiled. "Are you cold at all?"
"No," she said, smiling back with a tint of pink on her cheeks, and it wasn't from the snow. She lifted her shirt a little since it was sticking to her belly, and wrung it as well as she could. "The coffee spill is keeping me pretty warm."
Miroku grinned. "We wouldn't want you catching, cold, after all."
-
The conversation of books, movies, and music took them all the way to Miroku's apartment.
After twisting his key into the lock and opening the door, he stood aside to allow Sango to enter first. She smiled at this courtesy, and walked into the hallway.
"Aren't you glad we met?" he asked, grinning. She seemed grateful to get out of the cold.
"What floor are you on?" she asked, ignoring his suggestive question.
"The fifth. I hope you like walking, the elevator's broken."
"I don't mind at all." Sango began to walk up the stairwell.
There was a short intake of breath before he said, "I must warn you to be quiet, though."
She stopped at the top stair that led to the second floor. "Why?" Sango asked quizzically.
"I have a very cranky landlord who values her beauty sleep," Miroku said, a little quieter than usual. "And did I mention that I forgot to pay the rent for November?"
Sango laughed lightly, taking extra caution to make sure that her boots didn't click on the stairs.
Before they reached the fourth stair, however, he reached out and grabbed her hand.
"What?" she asked, mortified.
"That stair creaks," Miroku answered, muffling a laugh, and pointing to the step that Sango was about to lower her foot on.
"I bet you're just saying that to touch my hand," she said, laughing for him, and slipping her hand out of his grasp.
"Maybe," he replied.
She treaded on the step, and it didn't make any noise whatsoever.
"I knew it," she said, not able to prevent herself from blushing a little. "Trying to flatter me?"
"What's more important is whether or not it's working," Miroku said matter-of-factly. "So, is it?"
Sango decided not to answer that, though she wanted to do something wild like answer, "Yes!" and throw her arms around him and see want would happen next.
That would probably be the spur-of-the-moment stuff Kagome was dreaming for her. But Kagome was a hopeless romantic nut.
She pushed that thought down from the surface of her mind, down, down, and continued walking.
"We're here," Miroku announced, and stepped ahead of Sango to dig the keys out of his pocket again and open the door. "After you."
He put a hand on her back to usher her in, but it moved lower, to her…
Certainly in the shelter of a building like this, that feeling on her bottom couldn't be the brush of the wind, could it?
All in a few seconds, she had seized his parcel and smashed it into the side of his face, making him stumble backwards to the railing of the stairs.
Sango turned to enter his apartment, leaving Miroku rubbing his face sorely, leaning against the railing. Suddenly there was a loud stomping noise, and a door on one of the lower floors flew open.
"Aikawa! I'm still waiting for the rent, you loathsome man!" the landlord screeched. Then there were shuffling noises, and it sounded like she was climbing up the stairs to confront him.
Faster than she had expected, Miroku recovered from his position on the railing to rush inside his apartment, Sango following him closely behind.
Once inside, he slammed the door shut and leaned against it, still rubbing his face.
"I guess you weren't lying about the landlord," Sango said, laughing.
"You just made it harder for yourself," said Miroku, matching her amusement with a sardonic grin. "There's still the return trip."
Sango chuckled a bit more and began making her way through the house. She hadn't exactly known what she was expecting, but the image she had made up in her mind featured a small apartment, and like most college bachelors' homes, untidy. Knowing Miroku, the whole place might've smelled like sex, too.
But no. His apartment was spacious, its off-white walls covered with various black and white photographs. She sat herself down on the tan-colored couch, while Miroku stopped rubbing his face and stood up.
"So? What you were expecting?" he asked.
"Definitely not what I was expecting," Sango replied, giving him a timid smile.
"I'm going to find a shirt that you can change into," Miroku said, disappearing into his room.
So Sango stood up and walked around, suddenly finding herself staring at the mantelpiece behind his television. There was an odd assortment of aroma candles sitting there, but that wasn't what caught her attention.
What did was about, oh, say, a dozen picture frames of Miroku with other women. There seemed to be a different face next to Miroku's in each photograph. He seemed to have done quite a lot of sightseeing. Sango saw him smiling with a European woman with a model-like stature on Champs du Mars, the lawn right in front of the Eiffel Tower; him with his hair loose and in his face, smiling in front of a lighthouse, the high winds blowing on the Chesapeake Bay; him in front of a New York skyscraper with an innocent looking girl who was a head and a half shorter than him.
She couldn't help herself from frowning, for some odd reason.
Sango continued looking at the pictures disapprovingly until she heard Miroku re-enter the room. She took it as her cue to sit back down onto the couch and look as if, docile thing that she was, she hadn't been looking at the pictures.
He didn't fall for it, obviously, as he just stared at her and laughed, but said nothing else about it.
"Well, I thought I could find a shirt that maybe-"
"A friend left behind?" asked Sango, raising an eyebrow.
"Something like that," said Miroku, sounding avoidant. "Couldn't find any, so I hope you don't mind…"
He held up a white shirt and let it unfold. It looked like a normal dress shirt, the type he was wearing right now and the sort of thing she would wear to work.
"Besides the fact that it looks like it'll come to my knees," Sango said pointedly, "It's fine, thank you."
She stood up and he handed her the shirt.
"I'll let you go and change, then," said Miroku, stepping out of the threshold of his bedroom.
Sango had the odd feeling that, if he kept his lecherous idiosyncrasies, that it was unlikely that she could change without him peeking.
He noticed her hesitation. "You're welcome to use the bathroom; that's the only area that has a lock."
"A lock that works, I hope…?" asked Sango skeptically.
"Of course. I can respect the privacy you require, even if your beauty has me tempted."
She tried to hold back a chuckle as she made her way into the bathroom, and began to change.
-
Miroku began reprinting the copy of the manuscript he was about to send out to the Chronicle. There was no rush; he could deliver them tomorrow. He figured fifty pages of printer paper was no big sacrifice for meeting such an enticing woman.
Sango came out of the bathroom clad in Miroku's white shirt, looking as lovely as ever. She had folded each sleeve of the shirt numerous times until she buttoned them so that they stayed at her elbow. There was nothing she could do about the length of the garment; it came down to her thighs, and tucking it into her jeans would look tacky on her.He suddenly thought about different reasons she could be wearing that shirt, and thought that a Sango waking up after a blissful night of passion wearing his clothes was irresistibly cute.
"What?" asked Sango expectantly, who had noticed that he was staring. "Does it make me look strange? Out of place?"
Miroku knew that she wouldn't find his musings as entertaining as he had, so kept his mouth shut and answered the question. "You could look like a goddess in anything, Sango."
Her tight lips drew into a small, slightly exasperated smile. "You're sweet," she admitted.
"You forgot to mention charming," he said, taking steps forward, intending to close the gap between them.
"…Handsome," he added.
They were a few inches a way from each others' faces, and each was looking into the other's eyes, searching for an answer.
She looked slightly frightened, like an innocent young doe being caught in a car's spotlight.
Then, her amber brown eyes narrowed slightly, determined not to back away. She was perfectly aware of how he was coming on to her.
"A pervert," she breathed.
Miroku let out a laugh, then pulled back. "I apologize for making you uncomfortable like that, Sango."
She grew red in the face and looked down towards the right, at a nice square foot of manila-colored carpet. "Apology accepted," she said grumpily. "Don't do it again."
He didn't seem to hear her last sentence.
"Now," Miroku said, picking her coat up off of the coach and handing it to her, "I'll take you back to your hotel."
"Oh," Sango replied, shaking her head, but taking the overcoat, "That's not necessary. It's past rush hour. I'm sure I can find a taxi on my own."
"You may feel that way, but I feel otherwise. Your lovely sweater is ruined- the least I could do is pay the taxi fare.
"You've already given me your shirt…And, with as many people in this city as there are, what's the chance that I'll return it to you?"
"A big chance, actually," answered Miroku. "It's kismet. Destiny. Even if you don't allow me up to your hotel room, we'll meet again. However," he said, adding with a smile, "I hope you will."
She shot him a glare. Under which pretenses did he ever think that she'd let him up to her room? Her coming up to his room was different. He was, well, a pervert, and she was an attractive woman.
Somehow, no matter how many times she tried to shove these ideas into her mind, they wouldn't stay.
Was it really all that different?
Should an engaged woman really be going around with any man before her wedding?
She sighed, but couldn't find it in herself to deny him- she had a feeling he would try to find her if she did.
But in spite of all that, destiny or not- she was truly beginning to like this man.
-
"Well, we're here," said Sango, and Miroku noted contentedly that a note of disappointment lined her voice as the taxi pulled to a stop. He watched her stare out at the window at the Four Seasons hotel, spectacular Christmas lighting dangling from the balcony of every room.
"I'll take you up, all right? I won't even go into your room. Really," said Miroku, quite unconvincingly. He paid the cabbie the taxi fare and stepped out into the night air once again.
It was snowing again. He loved snow. He loved this city.
And, though it may have sounded a little strange of him to say it, he loved the way the day turned out.
"So. Permission to permanently cripple you if you decide to take one step into my room?" inquired Sango.
"Absolutely," said Miroku, sounding quite confident of his self-control. Together they walked into the lobby, shining golden in all of its glory and grandeur.
"I've forgotten how exquisite the hotel looks," said Miroku, gazing up at the huge decorated tree. "Especially at Christmastime."
He noticed with some amusement that Sango held his hand and was leaning against his shoulder, but he recognized what she was doing.
"Hiding from someone?" he asked.
She seemed to quail- so indeed she was.
"Yeah," she said meekly. "I came here with my friends, but I met the mother of one of my old boyfriends here."
"How awkward," Miroku said.
"You said it," Sango agreed. "So that's the only reason why I'm holding your hand. It's for cover," she invented.
"You're even beautiful when you lie, Sango."
She looked down at her shoes, seeming a little ashamed.
As they reached the hall of elevators, an idea occurred to him.
As Sango strolled to the nearest elevator and pushed on the button with the upwards arrow, lighting it up, Miroku went to the opposite one and also pushed the up button.
Sango turned around, her face wearing a sort of meek surprise. "You're not coming up?"
"Would you like me to, Sango?" asked Miroku, sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall casually.
"It's not about me," said Sango, blushing like mad, "But you're a pervert, so I thought you might try something up there."
"So assuming…" he replied, smiling. The elevator next to him suddenly gave a little "ding" and slid open. Sango began walking over. "Wait for it," he said, and sure enough, the one she stood in front of slid open.
"What are you doing?" asked Sango, puzzled.
"It's a game. I step into this elevator," said Miroku, taking the before mentioned action. "And you step into yours."
"You're not coming up with me, then?" asked Sango. "But then where are you going?"
"Oh, I'm going up with you," said Miroku, standing in the door's way so it wouldn't shut. "Just press the number of your floor. And I'll press the number of whichever floor I think you're on. If we happen to be on the same floor…"
Sango gave him a look of bafflement. "That's crazy. This hotel is fifty stories."
Miroku returned with a smile. "Then Kismet will have to intervene," he said simply.
"What?" asked Sango, not fully sure she had heard him. But suddenly, the elevator had slid in front of her face, blocking her from Miroku, and had made a small sound, misplacing a small puff of air.
-
Miroku hadn't hesitated at all when the elevator doors had closed. He figured, if it really was no accident that he met Sango, nothing would prevent him in meeting her again.
He chose the number 36, then waited patiently for the long trip that was in store for him.
It took an approximate three minutes before he reached his destination, and he had to admit, he was slightly nervous…
Suddenly, the doors slid open to reveal…
An empty hallway.
Where was Sango?
His optimism vanquished, extinguished by the cool spray that was reality, as he began to wait.
-
Sango sat thinking in the small room of the elevator five minutes later, still not having made a decision about which floor to choose. Her room was on floor seven. But also on that floor were Kuranosuke, his parents, the bridesmaids, and the bridegrooms. Practically the whole of that floor was occupied by people who would attend her wedding.
If she chose that one, there was the extreme risk of being caught with Miroku.
She thought of the scandal. In the very hotel she was going to be married at! Everyone would be so disappointed.
She sighed. Plus, even if they did end up on the same floor, Miroku would just get more excited, going on about how the two were meant to be by some ironic twist of Fate.
She couldn't get his hopes up, not if she was getting married in all but a few days.
But she decided that she better not go directly to her floor. Just in case.
So, her mind lost in a scuttle to think randomly, she pressed the button for floor 36 and readied herself for the strange sensation that was about to rise in her stomach for the ascent upwards.
-
Miroku pressed the elevator button for descent, feeling slightly defeated.
Suddenly, he heard a timid voice say, "Miroku?"
He spun around, his excitement mounting, mouth bursting into a cheerful smile. Then, he was embracing her, not taking any notice to the brilliant shade of crimson her face had suddenly taken on.
"Sango! I knew we were meant to be! It's in the cards…Fate…" he trailed off enthusiastically.
Then, quite predictably, his hand had found its way to her bottom. Was that Fate, too?
She put a firm hand on each of his shoulders and pushed him away, more callously than she had wanted to. A slap in the face ensued.
"Miroku, you promised not to touch me," she said uncomfortably.
"I didn't say I wouldn't touch you, per se," he replied, smiling and rubbing his cheek. "Would you like for me to take you to your hotel room?"
Sango's blush returned.
Miroku stared at her for a moment, and then lifted his hands and said, "You can pummel me if I take a step inside, I promise."
"It's not that," Sango said, looking away, then saying in a very small voice: "It's not on this floor."
"Your hotel room isn't on this floor?"
Sango looked him dead in the eye. "No. Maybe you should just-"
Miroku interrupted with another burst of enthusiasm. "Oh, Sango! You came up here looking for me…I'm touched."
Sango's face fell, and she put a hand on her head, as if to calm herself down.
"I better be getting back to my room, then," she said, somewhat sulkily, pressing the elevator button for "Down."
He stood beside her as she entered the elevator. "So, what floor are you really on?"
"Seven," she answered, pressing its button at the same time.
"Lucky number," Miroku said quietly, noticing how taciturn Sango was.
A little over two minutes later, the elevator's bell rung as its doors slid open.
He began to follow her out of the elevator, but something seemed to make her push him back in. She glanced around nervously.
"Look, I promise I won't step a foot inside your room," said Miroku, laughing.
"Still," said Sango, looking away. "I think we better not." She finally looked up at him. "Thank you for everything. I'll drop by your apartment tomorrow morning to return your shirt."
Miroku looked stunned and disappointed. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?" he asked.
"Bye," she said, offering him a cheerless-looking smile as the elevator doors glided shut.
-
Several hours later, while Sango was pondering the strange happenstance of the day, there was a firm, loud knocking on her hotel door.
She got up off of the bed to answer it, looking in the peephole before swinging the door open.
Kagome stood at the door, her lethargic expression quite comical when paired with the fact that she was wearing her flannel pajamas and sneakers. Her hair was tousled; she had probably had a difficult time sleeping.
Without saying a word, she brushed past Sango and fell, arms and legs sprawled, onto her bed.
"Hey, get off," said Sango, slightly irked. But Kagome had already chosen the embroidered pillow to nestle beneath her chin and was getting comfortable.
"Can't…sleep…over…there…" said Kagome sluggishly, her voice almost completely muffled by the pillow.
Sango tried to lift the pillow from out under Kagome, but she held down firm on it. She put her hands on her hips. "Why not?"
"Ask the maniacs in room 717," said Kagome, sighing. "Hey, is anybody attending the wedding sleeping in that room?" she asked, suddenly sitting up.
Sango searched her memory, but couldn't quite recall. "I'm not sure."
"Okay, 'cause it would be strange to find out if anybody I knew was having orgasms for an hour straight," said Kagome in a detached voice, evidently still groggy. Then she plopped right down again into the soft surface of the bed.
"Then where am I sleeping?" asked Sango, surprised at how demanding she sounded.
"There's the couch," answered Kagome, rolling over and sitting up to offer her the majority of the sheets and blankets.
"I am aware of the couch. I like the prospect of the bed better," said Sango testily.
"All right, all right," Kagome said, hauling all the blankets for herself to carry to the couch, which she'd have to curl up to fit in.
Kagome's interest was sparked in a white, wrinkled shirt that had been thrown over the side of the settee. A shirt that, due to the size of it, obviously did not belong to her.
"What is this?" she asked, holding it up.
Sango turned red, then sought an explanation, and attempted to explain it as calmly as possible.
"When I went downtown, I got a cup of coffee, and when I was crossing the street, a senile old man on a bike crashed into me. Since I spilled it all over my shirt, I went to the nearest store and got something."
"In the men's department?" asked Kagome curiously. "You're strange, Sango."
Kagome's look began to grow more and more suspicious, until Sango couldn't readily keep a straight face.
"You met a man today?"
"It's not what it looks like," Sango said weakly.
"What does it look like?" Kagome asked, feigning naiveté.
"Well, I just bumped into him after getting my coffee," Sango said hastily.
"So he lent you his shirt?" Kagome asked, to confirm the story. "Anything afterwards?"
"He took me back here, and we just enjoyed each other's company," said Sango simply.
Her friend leaned forward. "Did I just hear you say that you enjoyed each other's bodies?"
Sango was seething. "You know what I said."
"Yeah," admitted Kagome cheerfully. "But you're just so fun to mess with."
-
A/N: End Part I of Kismet!
Hope it wasn't so bad, and hope that nobody gets offended by the mention of…suggestive themes. I thought it was funny at the time, but if you don't feel the same way, please mention it in a review.
Gah. An IceBreaker Sour just burned a hole in my tongue. v.v Irrelevant, I know, but it hurts just the same. I ate too many of these.
It's strange how Kagome's personality came out. I think I made her OOC.
So, over 6,000 words written over something like a week and a half. I disgust myself. The next installment will come soon, I promise. It'll include a part from Kuranosuke, who hasn't even made an appearance. Well, that's enough out of me, I think.