A/N: I wish someone would iron my underwear…Anyways! Here's the next installment :) I bet you all thought I was quitting eh? Nah, I'm just slow to write. Anyways, reviews would be greatly encouraging! This story will probably end in around 6 chapters, more if necessary, and nope this won't be identical to Eloise. Thank you to my previous reviewers, I would love to write replies, but I don't know if this is allowed anymore at ff . net O.O

Warnings: AU, mild swearing, OOCness for some characters (not too far off, just taken creative license with it and made them more fun and lovable to write about)

Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha. Anyone willing to lend me Jakotsu?

The Suite Life

Maybe it was working overtime, but that couldn't be it since he was getting paid extra. Next to women, money is probably the most splendid thing he could lay his hands on. Maybe it was because he had to work at a tea party, but that couldn't be it either since the so-called tea party was turning more into a keg-party-with-waiters. It could be the fact that he was a waiter that pissed him off, but that couldn't be it because he liked his job.

Maybe because he was waiting on Kuranosuke that pissed him off. Yes, that must be it. And to make it worse, Kuranosuke was not half bad at all. Correction: this guy was practically like a god. It all started out when Jakotsu refused to serve Kuranosuke's table because he was late to go to church (synagogue or whatever other place he said) and that Miroku must serve that table because no one else is available, and that he'll promise him an inviting amount of extra pay if he did.

It was an offer he couldn't refuse. Not with valid reason anyways, and he didn't have a valid reason.

Go to and from that table would expose more than he would've wanted to hear about Kuranosuke and Sango. About their accidental bumping into each other that seemed so perfect, and how they coincidently went to the same school and also how Sango admired his ability with art (which Kuranosuke humbly declined any praise). It was all too perfect… too movie-like. And yet it was true.

That definitely aggravated him.

And to make to worse, he didn't know why it aggravates him so much. Miroku knew that he and Sango weren't an item, were never an item and never will be an item. Didn't happen, can't happen, won't happen. They were friends (in a love-hate relationship), close friends dare he say, but that was it. The line between love and friendship never blurred (did it? He wondered).

Miroku smiled serenely as he collected the plates from the table.

"My compliments to the chef," said Kuranosuke smiling with all (straight-white-toothpaste-commercial) teeth. Miroku returned one but 20 times less genuine. He rolled his eyes inwardly at how disgustingly self-mannered this man was. He yield to the temptation to drink, but had the decency to stay sober enough, unlike his drunken friends who were grinding with some of the girls already.

Is that Jakotsu making figure eights with his hips on another man twice his size? squinted Miroku. They were all probably too drunk to even notice.

"Going to church my ass," he said dryly, as Jakotsu tipped over onto another guest.

Miroku counted his lucky stars and thanked Virgin Mary and whoever else that is a saint, holy and pure that the tea-keg-party was finally over. He was going to rip his head off if he found out any more about Kuranosuke because every time he found something new, he would compare himself with it and find himself falling drastically short.

Not to mention he was already shorter by the man by 3 inches. That, in his opinion, was unacceptable.

He really needed something to take his mind off this. Anything. Women usually worked. He whipped off his apron, changed into his casual wear and made his way towards a night club four blocks from the grand hotel. Drinking away your sorrows never work, but at least you're too drunk to notice.

& & & & & &

She was not purposely looking for a certain waiter. No of course not, she just so happened to be wandering up and down the hall where he usually delivers. And those multiple phone calls for room service was because she was hungry. Yes, that was it.

That didn't explain her disappointment when she saw some other guy delivering it to her. Truth to be told, Sango was hoping (and wanting) to bump into Miroku again. She haven't seen him in almost 5 years? She lost count. Sango missed him greatly for Miroku had been one of her very few friends at the hotel. Her father already warned her of entertaining such ideas, but she hastily pushed it aside.

There were no thoughts to entertain with, she convinced herself. She just missed him and like any other sane person, wanted to meet up with an old friend. Reminisce a little. Miroku always had a knack of making her laugh, or getting her all fired up. It was their arguments she missed most. Well second most. The first would have got to be those diamond studs he always wore.

"It's not so bad wanting to catch up on old times right?" she wondered aloud.

"What did you say, honey?" asked Kuranosuke, emerging from their suite. He was fully dressed in designer jeans and a polo tee.

"He doesn't even have to try and he still looks good," said Sango airily. Kuranosuke blushed, thinking she was talking about him. He quickly kissed her good bye and told her he'll be back by dinner to take her out.

Sango didn't even remember waving good bye because all she could focus on was a familiar show tune that someone was humming around the corner. Warm brown eyes met pools of violet, and for a moment he paused before a layer of midnight glazed over his eyes, shattering any warmth with a blanket of ice.

"Good morning," he said stiffly. Sango smiled cheekily, ignoring the slow hammering in her heart.

"You look like shit," she chirped. Back then it'd be considered a challenge for another verbal fight, but right now, anything that came out of her mouth seemed flirty in her mind. What's wrong with me?

"Thank you," he frowned as he took the cocktail glasses from one door and put it on his cart before dutifully continuing down the hall, paying no heed to Sango's presence. He mentally noted that he should tell Kikyou that Mr. Yakima did indeed use his cocktail coupons, lest he tries to rip the hotel off again.

"Where were you last night? I was looking for you. You know, maybe catch up since we haven't seen each other for so long?" she bounced on the balls of her heel. The hall was quiet because morning was still fresh in the air. Not everyone woke up at 7am in the morning, unless you're working of course.

"I was working," he replied shortly, "I am a waiter after all." What a way to kill a conversation.

"That you are," joked Sango weakly. Miroku smoothed his apron and continued, stopping at every door that had something in front. Dishes, half-eaten cakes, garbage…

She followed him along the hall and pausing whenever he stopped. "We should go out some time, you know, to catch up, see how you've been, etcetera."

"There's nothing to tell. I'm the same as you've left me years ago. Still the same waiter, making the same pay, doing the same job." There was a hint of annoyance in his voice. One would never know that it was a mask to cover how inferior he felt.

Miroku knocked on the door and shouted 'Room Service.' "Miss Kaede, good morning, your breakfast is here." A mumble in the back and Miroku nodded. "Have a good day ma'am, and lay off those cigarettes, will ya?" He winked at the lady and chuckled.

Sango waited patiently until he was done and continued. "Oh. Why didn't you write?"

He passed four or five doors not answering. Finally Miroku stared at her with a dead expression. He leaned one hand on the cart and looked at her with an expression she couldn't put her finger on. Anger? Skeptical? "You're pulling 'The Notebook' on me."

"What!"

"I've seen this shit in a movie before. Every girl I go out with wants to see this stupid drama full of superficial crap that they think is romance that sinks so deeply in their head. They think that 'The Notebook' is the representation of what true love is. Bullshit."

"What are you talking about?" said Sango slowly, ignoring her ebbing jealousy of 'every girl' that went with him.

"Why didn't you write me? Why? It wasn't over for me, I waited for you for seven years. But now it's too late," said Miroku in a falsetto, mimicking Allie from the movie. Sango bit her lip from laughing but the scary thing was, Miroku was dead serious.

"No, I'm not going to tell you that I wrote you 365 letters, one for every day of the year," said Miroku calmly once again, "I wrote you 4 letters. And you never wrote back, so I gave up. A man's got to know when to quit. There's a fine line between waiting and looking like a desperate idiot."

"What did those 4 letters say?" said Sango, her voice so quiet it even surprised herself. I never wrote back?

"You never read them?" repeated Miroku.

"No."

"Forget it."

"What?"

"Forget it. It doesn't matter now." Now. It didn't matter anymore, does it?

"Yeah?" she said.

"Yeah," he repeated.

The two walked on, Miroku not quite sure why Sango was still following him (secretly delighted of course but too suave to show it); and Sango wondering what those 4 letters could be about.

She figured it must be her father that intercepted the letters since the chances of 4 letters getting lost in mailing were slim. What did he write in those letters that would not matter now anymore? Sango's heart did a little jig as she pondered over possibilities. Confessions of love? Sango bit her lip but a smile spread across her face. She knew this wasn't true. Miroku wasn't the mushy type of person.

"So I'm guessing all those girls you took out ended up crying on your shoulders?" joked Sango, realizing it sounded a lot funnier inside her mind than when she choked it out.

Miroku shrugged cockily, his eyebrows raised as he smiled.

"I'll take it that it was a good date then," Sango rambled on not quite sure where this was going.

"Oh it was more than good…" Miroku let on.

"Do they always leave you souvenir lipstick marks on your neck?" Sango asked disgustedly, pointing to a smudge that was now visible on Miroku's neck.

"Only when they put out," he grinned. Sango's eyes narrowed.

"Bastard," she snarled, slapping his head with her purse before stomping away.

& & & & & &

"So I found these really nice towels at Linens N' Things…"

Miroku jingled his keys as he entered the apartment. Inuyasha was on his rampant speech about the money he saved on the latest dishcloths or the difference between Palmolive and Sunlight detergent. He was quite passionate about these things. Poor guy, that could be why he hasn't been on a date in years.

"Honey I'm home," he yelled out. Kikyou ignored him and continued to watch her T.V. Inuyasha walked out with a load of laundry in his arms. "Good, start folding."

Miroku sighed and mumbled something about wanting a warm welcome for once as he picked up the shirt and quickly folding it. He saw a flash of off-white fabric and quickly snatched it up. "He brought out the good tablecloths?" he wondered.

"Inuyasha, did you have a date?" Miroku hollered out, running around the apartment to find Inuyasha. He found him in his room, sorting out the dishcloths and tea towels. "You son of a bitch, you had a date didn't you!" he accused, pointing his finger.

"What made you think that, dumbass?" he retorted, grabbing the soft cloth before Miroku's fingers wrinkles the fabric.

"You brought out the good table cloths!"

"…so?"

"So! What do you mean so! This is the GOOD tablecloth we're talking about. The one you bought that WASN'T on sale. And you know, you never buy things that AREN'T on sale," he hyperventilates.

"Why the fuck are PMS-ing over this?" asked Inuyasha annoyed. He grabbed the stack of clean underwear in the white laundry basket (white basket for clean clothes, blue for dirty clothes) and started ironing them.

"You're killing me man, you're killing me," wailed Miroku. If looks could kill, Miroku would be pushing up friggin' daisies by now.

"You're ironing your underwear," he said.

"No, really Captain Obvious?" Inuyasha said sarcastically.

"Can you guys shut up, I'm trying to watch T.V. here!" yelled Kikyou.

"Are you done folding those sheets yet?" he asked her, ignoring her complaint.

"I hate laundry day," she said quietly with venom.

Miroku grabbed his underwear before Inuyasha would start ironing those too. He knew it was wasted effort because Inuyasha irons them anyways, even after he tries hiding them.

"You're crazy," confirmed Miroku. "And you're getting on my nerves," he replied back. "When do I not?" Good point.

"So who did you go out with?" He got a groan in reply.

"Look man, I know it must be something big because you NEVER take the –good– tablecloths out. Like me, I would never share my hotel stationary supplies with anyone unless it's something big."

"That doesn't make sense," Inuyasha argued, "Why would you share your stolen, cheapass, pens and paper with anyone? No one wants them."

"You know those pens write good," Miroku argued back. Only the best of friends could argue the way they could, over things that don't even make sense yet they could carry out a conversation (if you call it that) for a long time.

"Look, it was the time I ate with Kikyou okay?" he said impatiently.

"What? Again? And you didn't tell me?" Miroku asked innocently.

"Yes! Now can you get out?"

"No. Answer me one more question first." Inuyasha gave Miroku the dirtiest look he could give, but that went right past him. Typical.

"Do you have the hots for Kikyou?" said Miroku devilishly. Inuyasha's face turned as red as his sweatshirt.

A wide smile spread across Miroku's face. "No…don't…" Inuyasha tried warning him but he already bolted out of the room. "Oh shit," he sighed. It was too late. The wheels on Miroku's matchmaking-mind was already turning with schemes and fluffy date ideas.

& & & & & &

"I hate you."

What?

"Umm.."

Kikyou looked up from her work and saw Miroku leaning over her counter as well as Inuyasha.

"To what do I owe the honor of this pleasant unexpecting surprise visit," she said dully to Miroku, but a small smile to Inuyasha. Definitely had more tolerance for Inuyasha than her annoying playboy cousin.

"Unexpecting isn't a word," said Miroku grumpily. Kikyou threw him a pin, which he tried to catch but ended up cutting his palm. "Shit," he cursed looking at the small drops of blood dotting the red oak wood office counter. Inuyasha quickly wiped it up before it bled into the wood leaving a stain.

"Why not turn that frown upside down," replied Kikyou with an equal amount of enthusiasm.

"Maybe this will teach you not to catch every hotel stationary supply she throws at you, cheapskate" suggested Inuyasha. Miroku growled as he blindly groped around for a Band-Aid.

"He's mad that I didn't tell him about the chicken casserole dinner we had," explained Inuyasha. Kikyou smiled grimly, waiting for the tantrum to come. It didn't.

"No, that's not why," Miroku said sourly. "Just make sure you at least tell me about your wedding and I'll be okay."

Kikyou and Inuyasha adverted his gaze, their cheeks coloring a bit. After an awkward pause, Miroku continued. "I'm petulant." His roommates both knew that Miroku didn't know what the word 'petulant' meant but didn't say anything.

"Can you believe Sango is engaged?" he quietly exploded so the hotel guests won't notice. Inuyasha shrugged noncommittally. They'd been over this before but the last time he mentioned it, Miroku mumbled it, barely cohesive that no one bothered asking anymore.

"And to who? A fine outstanding scholar who excels in arts. Arts! That's no man!" his voice raised a notch higher. Kikyou took a sip of her orange juice and as patiently as she could, continued to listen before stapling his lips shut. With the hotel's stapler of course.

"Is this what she wanted? To marry the perfect guy and live a perfect live in a perfect house surrounded by a white picket fence and tulips? She's selling out!" Miroku was now yelling, in a calm tone. If that was possible, and with him, anything is.

"Miroku…"

"She changed. The Sango I knew wouldn't have wanted this!" he insisted.

"Miroku…listen…"

"And did you know what she hit me with the other day? A Prada purse. Prada! She could've hocked that and save an entire nation."

"Miroku you fool listen to me!"

"And- what Kikyou?" barked Miroku.

"Why are you getting so worked up over this?" asked Kikyou shaking her head. Inuyasha watched from the side, knowing better than to get involved. He'll step in when necessary (as in if Kikyou decides to tack Miroku's hand onto the table).

"She's my friend," he snapped back quickly.

"You're never that worried about me…"

"I am. But you fucking push me away."

Kikyou's eyes narrowed as he swore. Miroku doesn't swear, not seriously anyways. She bit her tongue before she'd whiplash him back with insults.

"Can I get some service here?" croaked an irritated old lady.

"Just wait a damn minute Kaede," Kikyou snapped. The lady shrank back in terror.

"See? You push everyone away Kikyou. Me. Inuyasha. Everyone! You can't even see with your damn eyes that people around you care for you…"

"And you can't see with your damn eyes that you are crazy over Sango. I don't know why you're suddenly getting all possessive over Sango. She's not just a friend to you anymore. I don't know what she is, but figure it out for yourself before she gets married in …oh I don't know… 2 days?"

Miroku licked his dry lips and stood mutely as the biting cold reality grazed across his cheek. Kikyou hit somewhere near home.