A/N: Past my first week of high school, and I think I'm doing a decent job of adapting. Everything's different- I don't see my friends as much. Homework load is pretty light at the moment, but please keep in mind that I have three hours of tennis after school every day. That means less fanfiction time, of course.
P.S. I made a stupid mistake in the first chapter. Somehow I was under the impression that the local newspaper of SF was the Tribune, or something like that. Now it's the Chronicle, so you don't get confused. Agh. I hate myself. I'm so stupid.
P.S.S. Please tell me if Miroku seems a little clingy. Or too desperate, or something. I got that feeling when I went to reread the chapter. If so, I hate myself…doubly.
Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha, and you won't sue.
-
Review responses:
Aamalie: v.v No snow? Then it must be some sort of miracle. Courtesy of Alohaturtle, aspiring 'shipper of Miroku and Sango.
Completely Confuzzled: About your comment on my paragraphs- sticking to one topic for so long is not very hard for me, however, I just find it sort of dull. A new paragraph makes it easier for me to keep the story at a pace I like. It's also a very useful tool for punchlines, or to bring an important point across. But I took your criticism into consideration when I was writing this chapter, so you might see it.
Ennariel: Oh, sarcasm. I luffs it. I can't really write it, but oh well. Some people say it's the language of the devil, but I think it's really just intellect on the offensive.
Hanyou-Ass: I get embarrassed every time I type out your penname. -- There, I said it. I think it's just me, though. I'm a prude. I dream prudish dreams of prudes. Yeah. Well, anyways, I'm glad you like the story. What do you think of the Super Suicide Society of the Study Session? Eh? -pokes- We both need to cram, you know.
Lucinda the Maid: Well, now that I know you've seen the movie, you get to suffer through my bland retelling of it. About the liberty from Serendipity- I just think Sango fit the character of about-to-be-married than Miroku did. I can't exactly see her trying to convince him that their meeting was destiny. Well, try the movie again. You might like it. I'm not guaranteeing anything. --
SanMirLover: Glad you liked it. I think you'll be pleased with this chapter, as well...
xkumaxchanx: I already know how much you hate Kuranosuke, but it's still funny. And how much more you hate those glinting white teeth of his. Man, that's not right! They could be used to, like, blind you! :( Grrr.
-
Kismet
Part II: Tenacity
-
The doorbell of Sango's hotel room rung cheerfully, waking Kagome from a very long and refreshing sleep. Her eyelids flashed open for a second, hovering over her pupils drowsily. They shut quickly; the light flooding in through the sheer curtains was blinding. The sound was annoying. It sounded like it was coming from inside her brain, pounding on the walls of her skull.
There was the sound of loud, running water; Sango was obviously using the shower. The doorbell, meanwhile, kept on ringing, giving no sign that it would let up anytime soon. Kagome checked her pink watch. It was nearing noon. Joy. And she was still in her pajamas.
Well, it might as well stay that way. Kagome mashed her pillow over her ear, putting her hand over the other.
It didn't do anything to filter out the noise. After a few more rings of the doorbell, Sango was shouting at the top of her voice, trying to be heard over the sound of the water.
"Kagome, will you go get it? If it's Kuranosuke, just ask him to wait…"
Kagome made a small noise of reluctant consent and made her way to the door, trying to straighten out her hair and smooth out the wrinkles from her flannel pajamas, a task nearly impossible.
She still had to tiptoe a bit to really get a good view through the peephole; however, she could only make out a profile of a man. He was standing off towards the side, leaning against the wall, while pressing on the doorbell.
She flung the door open, surprised to see the visitor. A man with violet eyes looked up. "Err…Kagome?"
"Miroku?" she answered, putting her hands on her hips and studying the man. He hadn't changed…much. "Wow, it's been a while…"
"Yeah, it has," said Miroku tentatively.
"I'd invite you in, really. But there's nothing here to do. And I'd go outside, except for the fact that I'm in pajamas," said Kagome, sighing. "Whatever happened to you, anyways?"
Kagome had met Miroku a few years ago. Both of them, along with Inuyasha, all happened to attend college at the same university. Miroku had been introduced to her, she remembered, by Inuyasha, who was tentative about the introduction, knowing Miroku's hentai-ish tendencies. And, indeed, Miroku had groped her a few times. He and Inuyasha had shared a dorm. Inuyasha was never one to study, but he had plenty of fresh, new ideas to revamp the way journalism was viewed. It was a strange thing- he insisted that he couldn't stand politics, but his pieces were some of the best she'd ever read. Miroku had never aspired to be a journalist for newspaper syndicates, instead veering towards opinion articles and such. Kagome, very bright but without targeted interests, had never fully delved into her major.
As a result, she now wrote obituaries.
Kagome remembered quite distinctly that when Miroku and Inuyasha graduated - she had just ended her sophomore year - that they all promised to keep in touch. But while she still saw Inuyasha at the workplace since he had recruited her to work at the Los Angeles Times, Miroku had simply disappeared.
But then, she realized, going around the world with women, partying it up, was probably exactly what he wanted, and exactly what he planned to do.
Kagome couldn't help but frown a little at this.
"Well," said Miroku, interrupting her thoughts, "I saved up what money I had and traveled. I tried to get a sense of what life was around the world. Then I came to San Francisco, and the Chronicle seemed to like the idea of my college scholarship and culture classes. How have you been? How's work?" he added.
"Good," said Kagome dryly, seeing no way to avoid what she was about to say. "I write obituaries."
Miroku tried to muffle a strange sound that seemed to be in between a sympathetic sigh and a laugh.
"I know, I know," Kagome huffed, crossing her arms and sounding quite irritated.
"You need a mid-life crisis," said Miroku pointedly, chuckling.
"Mid-life crisis? I'm 23! Anyways...Why are you here?" she asked, not stopping to think her words before she spoke.
"Such tact," said Miroku, at which she gave him an exasperated look. The man suddenly looked quite boyish as he stuck his hands into his pockets and took a peek past Kagome.
"Is this…Your hotel room, by any chance?"
"Oh, no," said Kagome, shaking her head. "It's my friends. Sango's." Kagome noticed that the man's face expressions seemed to lift, and immediately, she was recalling Sango's strange anecdote about meeting a man last night.
Meanwhile, the noise of the shower water had stopped. "Is Sango here?" he asked.
That clinched it.
"It was you, last night, wasn't it?" Kagome burst out, a glint forming in her eyes. "You're the downtown-bump-into-a-girl-with-coffee-and-then-lend-her-a-shirt man!" Her voice was suddenly strangely animated for a girl who had just woken up a few minutes ago. But she looked happy…No, maybe…enthusiastic was more the right word.
Miroku looked slightly confused. He had not understood the whole of the rushed string of words Kagome shot at him. "Sorry?"
"Sorry? Why be sorry? Sango's here. That's why you came, isn't it?" she asked, pulling on his arm and shooting him a hasty look. Then, contemplation flashed over her face, and she set his arm down. "Wait here, okay?"
"So, she's inside?" asked Miroku, smiling.
"Just wait," Kagome answered, leaving him at the door while she walked off to alert Sango.
-
"He what!" asked Sango, dropping her towel so her wet hair cascaded onto her shoulders, splattering water all over her freshly ironed shirt. The towel landed on her feet, and Kagome stooped to pick it up.
"Shhhhh," Kagome whispered, holding it out to her. "He's at the door. He'll hear."
"I am engaged!" Sango snapped, dropping her voice to a manageable volume. "Don't you think there's something wrong with some random man dropping into my room?"
"I'll vouch for you," said Kagome, trying to make the idea sound plausible. "He is my college friend, after all." Sango rolled her eyes.
"It's still my room, Kagome," Sango argued.
"But Sango," her friend whined. "He came all this way to look for you and-"
"You said you knew him," Sango shot back. "You're in the city; why shouldn't he visit you?"
"I haven't talked to him for years," said Kagome flatly. Sango made no sense right now; she was contradicting what Kagome had been trying to tell her earlier. But Miroku sometimes had that effect on women. "But, he's a nice guy, and even if you hardly know each other, even if you're not attracted to him like you claim…He came all the way up here for you."
Sango lashed out and grabbed the towel snappishly, then crossed her arms stubbornly. "I bet he had to seduce a clerk at concierge to find out my room number."
"You're missing the point-"
"Kagome-chan. You know him. What would you say to my assumption?" Sango challenged.
Kagome gave an indisposed sigh and answered, "I'd agree with you." Sango couldn't help but be infuriated, but it really wasn't her fault. Kagome was just caught in the crossfire of her own temper.
"Well then. That, besides my wedding later on this week, should explain why I shouldn't get involved with him. I don't know why you're even asking me to contemplate it. But you already told him I'm here, right?"
"Right," the girl answered gloomily.
"Then I'll go out and talk to him," said Sango, pushing the bathroom door open, noticing with some irritation that Kagome's face seemed to brighten. She selected a black knee-length coat from her closet, similar to the one she had worn yesterday, and the claret-colored scarf, because it was the only one she had.
"And besides," said Kagome quietly, words laced with a friendly sarcasm, "you wouldn't want any of your wedding guests to get suspicious, would you?"
Sango pretended not to have heard her, and walked to the dining table to retrieve Miroku's shirt.
-
A few minutes later, she felt slightly cheated, having had Kagome shut her own hotel door in her face, giddily saying, "Have a nice time!" Somehow, Sango had agreed to spend the day with Miroku with hardly a protest or valid argument. Well, she had argued, but Miroku and Kagome had always managed to retort, and well. They were up to their necks in a conspiracy.
These thoughts sat, stewing and bubbling, while she stood outside her hotel room, looking contemptuously at the golden numbers 701 glistening in the bright lamplight of the wide hallway, ever so aware that Miroku was grinning beside her.
"Come," said Miroku, tapping her arm gently. "I promised to show you San Francisco, didn't I?" Sango obeyed his request, still silently cursing Kagome for leaving her with a man they both very well knew was a pervert.
But besides that, he was endearing, kind, humorous, and…
"Sango?" his voice burst in. "You seem a little…distracted today."
She was facing him in the descending elevator. "Wha?" she replied. This man provoked such clever responses from her, and reaped the benefit in the form of her blush. "I'm…I'm just tired," Sango managed to conjure. "Kagome isn't the only one who woke up late."
"Did the doorbell wake her?" asked Miroku.
"Yeah," she replied, smiling and attempting to look groggy.
"I thought as much. Well, here we are," he said, as the doors slid open.
Now that she realized the situation, she suddenly felt quite paranoid. What if they were seen?
Sango could just imagine the chaos that would ensue. And after all those arrangements, the flowers and the decorations, the dress, the expenses for the after-banquet...It would all just be gone?
It was strange that Sango had to ask herself whether or not she'd mind.
It was even stranger how she couldn't really answer that question, or at least with an honest answer, at the moment.
"Where are we headed?" Sango asked as they exited the hotel.
"Wherever you care to go," answered Miroku, thrusting his hands into his pockets. He seemed to be studying her. "San Francisco's a big city, and you've hardly seen any of it."
"How about the Fisherman's Wharf?" offered Sango. The trip there, she knew, was a good way from the hotel, even in a car.
"It's chilly out. We can go for chowder, or something."
"Sure. We're going by the bus, right?" asked Sango, walking a bit ahead.
"Yeah," said Miroku, who added quickly, "Race you to the stop."
Sango smiled at these words, turning around to look at Miroku. To her surprise, he had shortened the distance between them, and was running forward at a steady sprint.
She took off, determined not to let him beat her. But that was going to be difficult, she decided quickly. The boots she was wearing were comfortable, but were definitely not made to accommodate races like this, especially when they had a good amount of heel. The bus stop was also a far way off.
Sango did her best to navigate to the patches of people on the sidewalk. Meanwhile, she was sensing Miroku's relentless gain. In a few seconds, he was running at a moderate pace beside her, trying his best to look as if he was hardly making an effort. And it was working. He looked perfectly at ease.
She knew…She absolutely knew that he was going to do something now to distract her. She felt a pearly bead of sweat shake off her cheek as she turned her head, turning to the right to face him.
"Why so smug, Miroku?" she asked, glaring at him. "I'm going to beat you, after all."
"Not at all the performance I expected from a woman such as yourself, Sango!" he shot back, grinning.
"You're wearing sneakers," said Sango pointedly. "No fair!"
"Come on, motivation!" said Miroku, smirking good-naturedly. "I mean, you might still have a chance. Motivation, Sango!"
She heard herself scoff a little at that last statement. Then Sango turned so she was facing straight forward again. That bus stop was definitely a lot closer than it had been earlier…
Closing her mouth firmly and gritting her teeth, she somehow willed her legs to work faster. In the brief moment that she shut her eyes, she failed to notice that Miroku moved even closer to her, undaunted by her sudden outburst of speed.
She tried not to pay any attention. She was going to win. Her shoes were hurting less now, or maybe that was just because her toes had numbed, growing used to the contours of the boots.
Then he was coming up directly behind her, and in the next instant, Sango wished she had a set of rearview mirrors.
Miroku was running that hand of his up and down her rear.
Sango's face flushed, her face contorting to match the color of anger.
How predictable! Why had she let her guard down like that!
She stopped running and spun around, fully prepared to teach the pervert a lesson. However, he simply continued sprinting, passing by her in a blur. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but Miroku seemed to be running at a faster pace.
For good reason, too, given the circumstances.
A voice suddenly was ringing in her head. Motivation, Sango! She felt a devilish sort of smirk grow over her face. Motivation, huh.
As if any more was necessary at the moment.
Not wasting another second to let Miroku slip further out of her grasp, Sango shot down the sidewalk in pursuit.
-
An hour and a half later, Sango noticed that the reddened slap mark she had inflicted upon Miroku had managed to disappear.
Apparently it still hurt, though, Sango thought as she looked at him stroking his cheek absentmindedly.
The bus had taken them to the pier and they had spent a good hour walking around the Fisherman's Wharf. Both of them purchased a clam chowder, perfect for warming the insides on such a cold day like it was. Then they had taken the bus to a Virgin Records superstore in the downtown area, in near vicinity of Miroku's apartment as well as Kismet, the coffee shop they had met at.
He noticed her staring, being the object of her concern, and looked up, smiling. "It doesn't hurt," he reassured her.
A sudden wave of relief washed over Sango, but she forced herself to say, "I'm not feeling sorry for you, idiot. You deserved what you got."
Miroku sighed in agreement, lowering his hand and staring up at the sky.
"So, tell me about yourself," he said suddenly.
"Well," Sango said, "I don't know where to begin." She turned to look at him. "I lived in Kyoto for three years after my birth, then moved to Los Angeles, and...would you like the long or short of it?"
"Whichever makes a better story," replied Miroku with a slight smile.
"Ah, there's no story. I'm pretty boring."
"I'd say otherwise."
"Well, anyways, I grew up in Anaheim, where I met Kagome."
"Did she tell you? My college roommate, Inuyasha, introduced me to her," he said, smiling softly.
Sango nodded. "Yes, he's…"
…going to be at the wedding?
"He's a friend of mine," she invented the ordinary statement rather quickly. If he was a friend, he was only barely. Inuyasha was her supervisor at the Los Angeles Times newspaper syndicate. Sango had just transferred into the Orange County branch when Kagome told her to be delicate around her new boss, who had often taken to behavior that landed him in anger management.
She despairingly considered what would happen if Miroku were to meet Inuyasha at the hotel. "In my senior year of high school, I got a scholarship to go to Stanford, which was fortunate, because my family could never dream of affording the tuition," she continued.
"We all majored in journalism…" mentioned Miroku. "I suppose you did, as well?"
"Actually, no, though I might as well have, considering my current job. I took linguistics. Before college, I already knew Japanese, Chinese, and Korean fluently, and I had picked up enough Spanish to carry a conversation."
"I never took a second language in high school, or if I did, I can't remember."
But somehow, she really didn't think that he was the type to just forget anything. "Everybody always said I was so quick on everything. Especially words."
"I can imagine," answered Miroku. "Read a lot?"
"I'll read anything," said Sango, hoping she spoke honestly. "Granted, you can't expect I'll like everything."
"Classics?" he offered.
"Hard to say. I read so much in high school I got to thinking that I didn't care much for the genre. Oh, and I won't read romance novels. They're like a terminal disease."
Miroku chuckled. "Okay, off the subject of books. Let's play a game."
"I think the last time you said that, we wasted time going up to the 36th floor of the hotel," said Sango, frowning. She thought he was amused by her pout, which naturally made her more irritated.
"Here's the game. I say a word or short phrase, and you reply with the first thought that comes into your head. And then we switch places."
"Sure," said Sango. Hopefully, this game wouldn't result in Miroku exclaiming that Fate was intent on keeping them together. She sighed at the thought.
"Shall we go in?" asked Miroku, gesturing with a thumb into the shop. As they entered the building, he said, "Okay, first word: Music."
Sango smiled mischievously as she answered, "Something that is essentially useless, like life is."
Miroku paused in mid-step, apparently taken aback by her answer. Then he laughed quietly.
"What?" asked Sango impatiently. She hadn't meant to be amusing; she hated it when people laughed at her when she thought they had no reason to.
"Nothing. You just surprised me. I thought you would say something like, 'The speech of the angels,' or something like that."
Sango laughed at his reply, shaking her head. "You're a romantic," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "You have a lyrical soul."
"Do I?"
"Sure," she replied casually, acting indifferent, going on to concentrating on her buzzword.
"Okay…My word is…hearse," said Sango.
"Feeling particularly morbid today?" Miroku asked her, though he seemed to be taking it in stride. "Father Time's delivery van."
She smiled at the metaphor. "Or maybe just an automobile on its way to the Grim Reaper's slaughterhouse?"
"I see I'm not the only one with music written in my soul."
"It's the crash and burn sort of music. Like percussion, per se. Next word," she prompted.
"Since we're both foreign born, how about the United States?"
Well, that one was easy, Sango thought. "U.S. stands for Unlimited Spending," she said.
"You're clever," said Miroku, laughing at her witty comment. He was browsing through a clutter of CDs in a basket labeled "Sale."
"That's a separate thing from wisdom," said Sango, standing next to him and raising an eyebrow.
"Where'd you hear that?" he asked, still grinning.
"From about everyone I meet," she said, her gaze falling to the ground. She was actually a bit pleased that he was laughing at her responses. She enjoyed his company; he was quick to return a good word or sarcastic remark.
"What's the word?" asked Miroku, still focused on going through the rummage of CDs.
"Oh. Home," said Sango after a second of thought, then added, "You better not say it's where the heart is."
"Darn," replied Miroku, feigning disappointment. "Actually, I was going to say that it's where the mortgage is."
"You're not so stupid, yourself," said Sango, grinning.
Miroku paused for a second before he returned to tossing the CD in his hand aside. "Oh. That's a compliment. With you it's hard to tell, see."
"Oh, sure," answered Sango. "What I meant to say was that when you're not feeling me up or trying to be charming, you're not so stupid."
He smiled all the wider. "Truth."
"What God says about things," said Sango readily, seeming to finally get the hang of the game. It was fun, in a way; she quipped well when she was being honest. And she liked the prospect of finding out more about Miroku. The philosophic side of him she was only beginning to see reminded her of her parents; when they were alive, she used to have the most wonderful talks with them, about trivial things, stupid things, but also how they fit into the greater picture. She felt an unexpected pang of wistfulness, but said, "Parents."
"People whose only chance to sleep is when the baby isn't looking," said Miroku. Sango suddenly wanted to stop; it sounded like something her father would say to her jestingly. But at the same time, it intrigued her.
She looked up at him, searching for some sort of laughter in his violet eyes. At this moment, he was smiling earnestly, but his eyes danced with calm intensity. They acted a bit like mirrors in a dark, forbidding room.
-
Sango found her patience, or rather, impatience, being tried throughout the day for obvious reasons that would be fairly useless to state here due to their repetition.
She determined that the cause of Miroku's actions was that he was more interested in either a. seeing her blush or b. receiving a quite solid blow to the cheek.
It was strange that just in a several hours she'd grow used to his perversion, like a habit. Maybe he was growing on her?
Then that was a habit that had to be broken.
She mulled over things like this constantly, developing a system where half of her brain was closed off for thought while the other half listened and responded to Miroku.
He would laugh if she told him later- say that he expected such efficiency from her.
Though there shouldn't be a later. Though there never should have been. Sango's conscience repeatedly strangled the strange impulses she had been getting since she met Miroku.
But those things never died, and she went along and let him entertain his ideas of Fate and Destiny and Kismet- a word that still puzzled her. She never seriously contradicted him, and she sensed that Miroku knew that the rules were loosening. Because the larger part of herself, with a passion she never understood before, was trying to drown her better judgment, do away with all sense of logic.
If only she wouldn't keep fighting back. Having those little tugs of instinctive doubt. Her different perspectives were having a war inside of her.
It was the indecisiveness, the near truce between them, which prevented her from doing anything. So she was still with him, sitting in a Barnes and Nobles Booksellers eating a steaming, crispy loaf of croissant together with a cup of coffee.
Miroku set down his Starbucks cup, letting out a refreshed sigh. "I have another idea," he said promptly to Sango, who, hearing this, offered no efforts to cover her dismay.
"Spare me," she said oh-so-tactfully, putting both hands on her face and dragging them over her eyelids.
"Oh, come on. I'm not so horrible, you said it yourself," Miroku said, putting both hands on the table and leaning forward.
She looked at his eyes, unwavering, confident, and frowned. "My exact words were that you weren't so stupid. When you're not being a pervert," Sango said stubbornly, ripping apart a piece of her croissant. "Which you are- a good portion of the time that I've been with you." She placed the flaky, floury pastry in her mouth.
He ignored her and went on, saying, "I'll write my phone number on the inside cover of a romantic somewhere in this store."
The look she returned with was blank with confusion and indifference. "But I already know where to find you."
"Yes, but this is so you call me. Once I know your phone number, I can pester you after your vacation," said Miroku, grinning.
"Why would I call you in the first place?" asked Sango, her annoyance stirring again. She tore another piece, notably with more force.
"I don't know. Why would you?" His grin widened. It was strangely compelling to her.
"I wouldn't?" Sango tried.
"Wrong. You would," said Miroku, "because you're attracted to me, despite my shortcomings?"
Sango folded her arms obstinately over her chest, eyebrows raised, and muttered, "Mmm."
Miroku probably had been expecting a snappish reply, and he leaned forward further, intrigued. "What do you mean by 'mmm?'"
Sango's eyed narrowed. "Nothing. I just said, 'mmm.'"
He cocked his head and had the capacity to give her a pert smile. "Oh, but there's so much behind that 'mmm.'"
The next thing she knew, he had gotten the idea into his head to slip a hand onto her thigh from underneath the table.
In retaliation, she brought the heel of her shoe directly on top of his, trying to crush it and cripple him. She saw him give a surprised little wince, but he failed to remove his hand.
So Sango slapped him on the cheek, leaving the idiot grinning.
-
Nothing stopped Sango from spending the rest of the day with him, and rather than doing the regular sightseeing of San Francisco, they spent a few hours in a Wal-Mart. Somehow, Miroku had convinced her to decorate the furniture section with several rolls of Charmin toilet paper, to drop random women's toiletries into men's shopping carts(inadvertently, of course), and to set alarm clocks to go off within the hour. Later, they were found in the Outdoors section having a peculiar camp-out in a pitched tent(where Sango was, of course, an unwilling participant). They were immediately reported and thrown out by the management.
Now they were headed to the Four Seasons hotel. Sango was surprisingly taciturn, her chin supported by a propped up arm resting on the taxicab's window.
"Pity," said Miroku suddenly. Sango looked up.
"What is it?" she asked, curious.
"Do you think they'd recognize me if I went back there?" he asked her, smiling. "I used to shop there."
"If you went doing the same things," said Sango, frowning as she felt color rising to her cheeks. He had hit on two or three young women in the store.
"It was half your fault," said Miroku, half-knowing that what he said would annoy her. Sure enough, she looked frustrated.
"You were the one who insisted on groping me in front of that woman passing by," said Sango.
"We were in the tent," he answered, shrugging indifferently. "I thought we were out of sight."
"So that makes it all right, does it?" she asked, looking out the window. "Right, I forgot. It isn't a crime till you're caught."
"Well, I didn't think we were going to be caught…Maybe if you hadn't let out that scream…" Miroku trailed off, his eyes fluttering to the rearview mirror, where he caught the driver's eye. The driver had obviously done it accidentally; he quickly looked away, out towards the road, pretending that he was hard of hearing.
"So now it's my fault?"
"Well, you were the direct cause of that woman's attention," Miroku said, smiling. Sango huffed.
"Here's our stop," said Miroku distantly. Despite Sango's arguing, he insisted on paying the taxi fare. She frowned at him as he helped her out of the car.
"If only you were half as gentlemanly as you pretend to be," she muttered, to which he smiled. She blushed; she had not meant for him to hear.
Together they walked into the hotel, and Sango was unsure of why she wasn't hiding herself like earlier. It just wasn't on her mind right now- somehow, being with Miroku all day had managed to push her worries of her engagement beneath the surface, to the back of her mind, hoping it was to be forgotten.
They took the elevator to the seventh floor, and it seemed to her that both of their movements were slow. Sango didn't want to reach her hotel room, because it would mean a return to her life, the one that awaited wedding rehearsals and Kuranosuke. The life she had planned before Fate decided to interfere.
-
Sango stood in front of the hotel door, facing Miroku, her hands thrust into her pockets.
"I'll be the enduring pessimist," she said quietly, "and say that today wasn't completely horrible."
"Your 'not completely stupid' ruling still stands, right?" Miroku replied. His hand caught hers, bringing feeling and warmth. She didn't bother to let go. Sango had always found it ridiculous when lovestruck girls stated that their hands were made to fit perfectly with their significant other's. Still-she liked this gesture.
"Depends on that possessed hand of yours. It was fun today. And-"
"Miroku?" shouted a puzzled voice. Sango spun around, immediately slipping her hand out of his. Beside Inuyasha, to whom the voice belonged, was Kagome.
And he was frowning, puzzled. "Don't tell me. He's managed to seduce you, too?" It seemed that Sango was the last person he would expect this of.
Sango, Miroku, and Kagome all burst in with an earnest "No!"
The awkward silence in the air seemed to weigh tons.
Sango was the first to speak. "You don't beat around the bush, do you? I just…I just met him yesterday."
"And we just came back from our date," said Miroku, wearing a triumphant smile. As if he had tamed a wild stallion. Something like that.
"Not a date, just…" Sango fumbled.
"A date," he repeated.
Inuyasha looked angry and concerned. The first emotion was not particularly foreign, but the last one he usually showed less of. "Miroku, did you know that-"
"Did you know that Sango thinks that you seduced a hotel employee to get her room number?" Kagome burst in, looking nervously at Inuyasha.
"Don't interrupt me, wench!" he said, facing her.
She looked slightly apologetic- she had only interrupted Inuyasha to save Sango from a potential disaster. Kagome set her mouth into a thin line of disapproval. "What you've got to say can't be any more important than what I said."
"You think I seduced a hotel employee?" Miroku meanwhile asked Sango.
She vaguely remembered mentioning of the like. It wasn't hard to put two and two together. "Well, am I right?"
"No. Good guess, though," Miroku answered, smirking.
She gave him a glare through narrowed eyes. "You're hard to believe."
"Sango!" called a voice from not very far off. A sinking feeling suddenly throbbing in her stomach, she and the others glanced up.
Kagome moved immediately, somewhat mechanically, in between Sango and Miroku, prodding her a little bit to get her to move. Inuyasha was fuming about the fact that she was near the lecher, though he didn't make an inappropriate move towards her.
"Ku…Kuranosuke…" Sango stuttered, the breath leaving her as the man approached.
"Didn't see you at all around the hotel today," he said, smiling.
"Um, no. I was out sightseeing, with…"
"With me. With me," said Kagome hurriedly. Miroku made a small movement; his curiosity was provoked.
Kuranosuke chuckled. "You got a late start on the day, I suppose. I was out with Mother. All she wants to do here is shopping."
"Y-yeah," said Sango dumbly.
"Pity. Days before our marriage and I'm out with my mother." Sango laughed stiffly at the statement, trying not hard to make eye contact with Miroku. It wasn't that hard, Kagome's hair and face being in the way. Sango was beginning to wish more and more that the hallway floor would come up and swallow her. If they had been just a few minutes quicker, she wondered…Miroku sneezed suddenly, and only then did it seem that Kuranosuke was aware of his presence.
"Oh, hello. A friend of yours, Kagome?"
The girl smiled quickly, a little too superficially, and put an arm on Miroku's shoulder. Sango couldn't help but feel that he didn't need that extra weight.
"Miroku Aikawa. College alumni, the three of us," put in Inuyasha. Sango looked up, surprised that her boss would say anything at all for her to be spared. But she only felt all the more shamed, and while she tried not to look at Miroku, she knew that he must have been standing there, prostrate and cold, not wanting to look at her.
"Pleasure to meet you," said Miroku, speaking in that low, musical voice of his. He sounded quite unshaken. He stepped forward and offered a hand; Kuranosuke shook it.
"Do you live in the city? Or did you just come across them, by chance?"
"I live in the city, yes. But our meeting was purely coincidence," Miroku said, the bitterness in his tone evident to only Sango.
"Glad to hear you've been showing them a good time. You're welcome to come to the wedding," her fiancé said, brimming with pride.
Miroku was now standing where Sango could fully see him. He tossed a quick, meaningless glance at her before turning to Kuranosuke and saying, "Thank you for the invitation. I'll definitely consider coming."
-
Sango stopped a few seconds to catch her breath, but felt it racing to burst out of her lungs again as she came to stand before the apartment door.
She came to set things right. Last night, Kuranosuke had taken her to speak more about the wedding plans, leaving Miroku in the hallway, heaving out a great sigh, his anguish so heavy in the air it could crush him. She came to tell him what she had been too afraid to the last two days. She came to be brave and face what had to be faced, but felt all the more like a coward.
Sango gathered her words in her mind; always so eloquent, yet why did her articulations fail her now? She rapped apprehensively on the apartment door, deciding then to clear her wits. She wished on a lark that the words would come to her as she spoke them.
A sing-song-y female voice wafted out into the hallway.
"Miroku, honey? I'll be at the door in a minute."
Her heart skipped a beat. No; a few beats. She was a bundle of tangled nerves as she waited. This...was the apartment, right?
Of course it is, she snapped rather sullenly at herself. Why else would the woman inside be expecting Miroku? Perhaps...a sister or relative of his, then? Of course not.
"I picked up lunch at the corner deli." The woman speaking reached the other side of the door and turned the lock. It swung open quickly, and Sango saw a short girl, sleeves of her white turtleneck rolled up, wearing an immaculate pink apron. She said, "You're not Miroku."
Of course not. Do I look like a pervert to you?
Ignoring her obvious disappointment, Sango tried to speak. "I'm..." she tried, but her mouth seemed too dry, too limp, unable to make discernable sounds. Plans shot to nothing. She hadn't been expecting to speak to anyone other than Miroku.
"Oh! You must be his office assistant," said the girl, smiling.
Sango was about to say something, but her brain was too stupid, unable to create any words but a coward's. "Yes, I'm his secretary. But since he's not here, I'll leave." She turned hastily, taking a step for the staircase.
"No, no. I don't mind. Miroku should be here any minute, now. He can talk with you then. It has to be urgent, if you came here during your Christmas holiday, after all," said the girl, wiping her hands on her apron. "Come in, please," she said graciously, leaving the door open to bustle back into the kitchen. Sango wandered in aimlessly.
"Mr. Aikawa," she said, hating the phrases her brain now came up with, "didn't tell me he was married." Not a lie, after all.
The girl burst into giggles. Not indignant shock. "Oh, I'm not his wife," she answered happily. What disgusted her more- that she had thought the girl was initially was Miroku's sister, or that the girl thought she was Miroku's secretary?
Sango didn't speak, moving instead to the mantelpiece. The photographs had disappeared, and more multi-colored scent candles had sprouted up in their places, looking quite misplaced on that sober gray surface.
"Would you like to have lunch with us? I can't cook, so I bought a few sandwiches. I'm sure Miroku would like to have you here."
"No, it's alright," said Sango, absently sweeping a finger across the thin layer of dust on the mantelpiece, writing her name.
"Plus, I was on a run from the airport- I actually thought Miroku would be waiting here." The girl was moving things in the drawers, making brittle rattling noises everywhere of silverware, glasses, and plates.
"How was your trip?"
"Oh, fine. I went back to New York to see my family."
"Mr. Aikawa didn't go?"
"No," said the girl ruefully. "He's gotten pretty busy at work." Then, more brightly: "Before I left, I didn't even know that he had a secretary."
"Really," Sango breathed softly. "I'll be going...I can always talk to Miroku after the New Year."
"That might be better. He has too much to worry about nowadays," said the girl, nodding as she came out of the kitchen, tossing off her apron to bid Sango goodbye.
"Yes." That was alright, then. Miroku having someone else. Especially such an innocent as this. They both wouldn't feel so empty. It couldn't be that bad, living without someone you'd only known for a couple of days. They'd continue into the lives that they had before they met each other, and they would be alright. Though Sango might always regret and wish for more than alright.
The girl was staring at her, slightly puzzled, as she strayed out of her thoughts. She had paused at the door for a bit too long. "Well, goodbye..."
"Mmm. I'm Koharu."
"…Sango. Maybe you shouldn't tell Mr. Aikawa I was here," she added hastily. "He might have too much on his mind for Christmas."
"I suppose I'll see you again sometime?" Koharu suggested naively. "Miroku brings me to company functions sometimes."
"Yes, I guess you will," Sango heard herself say in a falsely cheerful voice as she walked for the door, with such seeming hopelessness that it tore through the fabric of her own wishes, leaving Miroku's Fate stripped and cheated. "Happy Holidays."
-
A/N: The button's willing you to push it. Yes it is. You must.