Confessions

Miroku heard the feet shuffling quietly against the floor and immediately knew who it was. He felt a little sheepish admitting that he could recognize Sango from the mere sound of her footfalls, but he could argue that it was just because she was a huntress. Like everything about her, her steps were graceful and precise.

The young slayer took great care to approach his side quietly, and once there he heard the gentle whispering of fabric as she dropped down to his side.

"I was hoping you'd come," he admitted aloud, slowly opening his blue-violet eyes.

"I was hoping you'd be awake," she admitted in return, a little smile playing upon her lips. Much to his surprise, she reached out and gently – oh so gently – pushed a strand of his raven hair from his forehead. He expected her to immediately withdraw, but was surprised when her warmth did not depart from his skin; instead, she slowly turned her hand to trail the back of her fingers down his face.

The raw tenderness of the gesture startled the immobile monk, and he choked a little as his throat constricted of its own volition. His mind reeled a little at the unexpected display.

Sango continued her feather-light caress, tracing his cheek, and then his jaw line, watching and caressing him with a rapt kind of fascination that made him flush and forget all his earlier pain.

Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in the rare display of affection. Feeling her touching him matter his stomach flutter with warmth and desire, and for a moment, Miroku wondered feverishly if this were some sort of a wonderful dream… Could she possibly feel the same for him as he did for her?

Absently, the reached to place his hands over both of hers, still trailing fleetingly over his features. He captured the hands and pressed them harder against his face, as if to substantiate her fleeting caress, to assure himself she was really there.

He twined his fingers among hers, squeezing her small hands tightly within his. As cheesy as it sounded, the mere embrace of their hands seemed amazingly intimate. He knew there must have been some confusion in his violet gaze as he shifted to look at her in askance…

And found himself staring raptly into a pair of deep brown eyes from across a suddenly very narrow distance. He could feel her warm breath in his face, and he felt another sharp pang of desire, even as she leaned in closer…

Their lips were so close he felt their breaths mingling – it felt hard to breath…

'It's because you're dying,' a small part of his consciousness refused to let him forget, and the reminder was like a sharp jab in the gut. 'Don't do this to her, Miroku. Not now.'

Abruptly, Miroku let go of their intimate hand clasp, his hands quickly moving to her shoulders to gently keep her at bay. "Sango –" he rasped guiltily, trying to shrink away before his emotions got the better of him.

He expected her to look hurt, or confused, or angry. He expected her to blush embarrassedly, mumble something, and make a hasty exit – but she didn't.

Instead, she smiled, but there was no joy in that smile. There was sadness in the expression, and her eyes seemed to glitter with restrained emotion. She stared at him, silently contemplating for several moments. When she finally spoke, her voice was filled with a surge of feeling he couldn't really begin to interpret.

"I know, Miroku. I know." Strange, how so few words could convey so much; something reverberated through the statement, and Miroku couldn't bring himself to doubt it. She knew – everything.

The hands that he had disengaged from his face returned slowly, as if she were afraid that moving quickly might frighten him. "It's okay." Certainly there was sadness in her voice – but there was also resolve, and… love.

He didn't need to be told twice. Hearing it in her voice overwhelmed him, and for a moment, the normally perfectly-composed monk lost his resolve to hold the woman he longed for so greatly at arms length. After only a heartbeat of hesitant confusion he flung his arms around her, pulling her down into him into a strong embrace.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her slender body, crushing her against him, fiercely willing this moment to last forever. He was pleased when he felt her return the passionate embrace.

"It's okay," she repeated again, her voice muffled now since she had her face pressed into the robes of his shoulder. "It's okay. Because I love you."

"Sango –" The air rushed from his lungs; had she just said – that she loved him?

"I love you," she repeated again, as if she knew his internal disbelief. She disengaged herself from his robes so as to look into his eyes. "I love you."

His heart skipped a beat for joy, and yet still squeezed with pain. He couldn't bring himself to lie to her – not now; not ever again.

"I love you, too, Sango. With all my heart. With all my soul!" he vowed fervently, crushing her into another embrace. For a moment, a bemused thought entered his mind…

'I'm glad I love such a strong woman, or I'd be afraid of breaking her…' As it were, he probably left her breathless for a few moments for the tightness of the squeeze, and yet still it wasn't enough. He rubbed his cheek against hers, and then breathed in a deep scent of her, catching the gentle scent of jasmine.

Abruptly, he felt her pulling slightly back. When he looked at her in askance, she just slowly leaned back towards his face, and once again, their lips approached –

But still, his conscience insisted that he give one last warning…

"Sango – I don't know how much longer –"

"I know, Miroku," she repeated her earlier statement, emphasis now in the words. She looked into his eyes meaningfully, and his heart skipped a few beats.

'She knows I'm going to die, and she loves me anyway.' "I don't want to – hurt you –"

"It's okay," she breathed, and silenced any more protest by gently – oh so gently – caressing his lips with her own…

All protests (and, admittedly, self-restraint) died right there, and what little more they said that night was of secondary interest.

Hours later they lay in silent contentment, basking in each others scents and warmth. Miroku's heart was still thundering wildly; he could scarcely believe that he was lying here with Sango in his arms, his hands twined in her silken locks. He was rather sure he had slipped into the reverie of sleep until he heard a very quiet whisper from the woman he was cradling.

"Miroku? Are you still awake?"

He couldn't smother the grin. "Of course I am. I want to relish every moment."

To his mild confusion, she shifted slightly in discomfort; he immediately pulled back, his violet eyes flashing with worry. Before he could ask anything, however, she continued, staring fixatedly at a point beyond him rather than meeting his gaze. "I just needed you to know – that if ever there were a way for this to end happily…" her voice cracked slightly with smothered tears, but she courageously finished, "If ever there were a way for this to end happily, I would have gladly taken it."

"I know Sango – I know," he whispered, smothering her in another tight embrace. "And I, as well…"

Something about her words nagged at the back of his mind, but once again all suspicions and protests were shoved aside in favor of relishing the moment…