I'd never understood the idea of a fine line between love and hate. It seemed to me that it was a pretty clear distinction - either you loved someone, or you didn't. How could someone who brought you so much joy cause pain at the same time? There was no logic to it. Sure, I'd loved until it hurt, but that's not the same thing. I'm talking about the whole notion of 'so in love I can't eat, can't sleep, fly me to the moon so I can take off your helmet and kill you'. After all, if the one you loved had a godawful habit (like humming off-key while cleaning) wasn't the love supposed to make those same habits cute? I automatically dismissed it as angsty/romantic nonsense.
It was a windy afternoon, the kind I love most. Late September winds carrying a promise of chilled frost in November, cool enough that I needed a jacket but warm enough for the long, crimson skirt I had bought at the flea market. Strands of my hair were seduced from their tie by the wind, and stroked my face even as I pulled the tickling curls behind an ear. Every time I did more hair slipped away, teasing the nape of my neck, my cheeks, and getting in my eyes.
My seat atop the monkey bars was an odd one for a twenty-something University student like myself, but pleasant nonetheless. I had always been small for my age, and hadn't grown so big as to cause the equipment to break. Few people were around to stare (not that I cared when they did) and I allowed myself to get lost in my memories. Time-faded faces of old friends, old enemies, playground wars and almost weekly visits to Principal Ashura danced through my mind like a private picture show, and I smiled. Bracing myself with my hands, I leaned back so that I hung upside down, supported only by my firm grip on the bar and my knees. The tie popped out of my hair, letting the tumbling, frizzy mess fall free. Let it, I thought. Why should I care?
I opened my eyes for a moment, and my mouth formed a tiny 'o' of awe. I could see the sunrise over the cityscape, the silhouette of a hundred buildings contrasting the soft glow behind it. Pink clouds fading to white lolled in the sky, tempted downwards by the deep golden-rose tint of the sky. The barest hint of blue still shone at the top, quietly giving way to the moon that wasn't quite there yet.
A shock of silver flowed past my vision, and I was jarred from my reverie. I went to turn and look, but had forgotten about my precarious suspension from the monkey bars. With a graceless squawk, I tumbled off the bars into the soft, stinging sand below. As I flailed in a worthless (and pathetic) attempt to regain my grip, a sandal flew off my foot and connected with the stranger's head at about the same time I ate sand. Spitting the grains out and swearing, I stood to collect my shoe and slink away - only to find myself face to face with the man whom I had beaned with my flip-flop.
He reached forward and dusted some of the sand off my cheek. His amber eyes locked with mine, but even though I was certain he could see everything about me, his eyes were like polished glass. There was nothing behind them, no feeling. I felt my face growing hot with embarrassment - for my fall, and for the fact that I couldn't stop staring and say something. With only the slightest smirk, he handed me my sandal and turned away. The moment was broken, and I regained the ability to speak.
"Serves ya right for making me fall," I said accusingly. Briefly I wondered if I gave myself a concussion when I fell, to have said that. He paused for only a moment before he kept walking.
"Don't blame others for your own ineptitude," he told me over his shoulder. I was suddenly furious - how dare he? He didn't know a thing about me! Part of me knew that I started this, but I didn't really care. That wasn't the issue at the moment; it was Mr. Pretentious.
I pulled on the sandal and hopped after him.
"Excuse me? Who the fuck are you, talkin' to me like that?"
He didn't respond, and I moved a little faster, grabbing his shoulder to spin him around and give him hell. Maybe even make him cry a little (Hey - I'd done it before).
"Hey, buddy, I asked you a -"
He grabbed my arm and I was up against a birch tree faster that I could keep up with everything. His face hadn't changed a bit, except that there was now annoyance behind his eyes. He said nothing, only looked over the length of my body before stepping back.
I was suddenly curious. There was a distinctly…detached feeling to the look that he had given me. Most men who look at me that way get their asses handed to them but this was different. Not only was the look rather non-sexual, I wasn't so sure at that point that I wasn't the one who'd end up getting hurt if I tried anything. This was a new feeling - one worth exploring a little. I smiled, showing my teeth.
"Sorry," I said absently, extending my hand. He glanced at it for a moment, as if he was unsure of what I wanted him to do with it, before giving me a proper handshake. I flipped his hand over, and dug a pen out of my skirt pocket (I have to admit, I was amazed it was still there). Quickly I wrote my number on his palm. He waited for me to finish before withdrawing the hand, and raising his eyebrow.
"Th' name's Kagura," I said as I collected my purse and began to leave. "Gimme a call sometime."
To my complete and utter shock, it was a little under a week later that I heard from him. Introducing himself initially in a dry voice (that I would later learn was him being amusing) as 'the man you assaulted in the park', I learned his proper name to be Sesshoumaru shortly thereafter. We met for coffee a few times, and I was surprised to find that I was drawn to this quiet, irritatingly calm man. He wasn't much older than I was, and I enjoyed his silence most of the time. It was oddly…soothing to not have to converse. Many of my friends (Jakotsu comes to mind) were rambunctious, overexcited children trapped in the bodies of University students. Sesshoumaru was nothing like them, and I liked him even more for it. As time wore on, one of our most common pastimes was laying on my overstuffed sofa, my head in his lap. We each read our own books (textbooks or otherwise), and said not a word to each other. Our relationship has continued in a similar vein to this day, four years later. He still manages to irritate and soothe me all at once in the space of a hour, and I'm sure I do the same to him (or at least that I'm irritating).
So here I am, my own most hated cliché. I love Sesshoumaru as much as I hate him. There are times I want to tie him to the back of a pickup and drive down a freshly paved road in the middle of August. And there are times when just a look from him can make a bad day perfectly good again. Even when we kiss, it isn't always soft and loving. He's no more afraid of breaking me than I am of scratching him too hard. I've kissed him so hard his lips were bruised, pouring frustration and anger out in a way that required no words (not that we speak often anyway).
Today's not our anniversary - not officially. It's four years to the day that I assaulted him with a flip-flop (I still own the pair, and the skirt). I remember because it also happens to be the day before my birthday. I've never spoken to him about it, and I actually feel a little stupid even remembering it. That's the behavior of silly, flippant little things. Girls who buy their men cute cards on Valentine's Day, and who get cute cards on White Day. I am neither. In fact…I believe I forgot last Valentine's Day, until I saw Jakotsu wrapping something unmentionable for his latest lover.
Sesshoumaru walks into our flat, and hangs up his coat. It's the same reliable routine every time. He comes in, hangs his jacket, and goes to the kitchen to cook supper. I do the dishes (my cooking kills) and we curl up on the couch to read or work or watch TV. As I watch him with a nonchalant smile, a tiny box flies my way. It nearly slips behind the couch, but I catch it.
"I assume you can make the necessary preparations. All I ask is that we have a minimal number of people."
I raise my eyebrow, and open the box. Nestled in shadowy velvet is a thin band of gold, inlaid with two small (and one large) diamonds. My heartbeat quickens, but my voice is still calm. I've learned a thing or two from Zen!Sesshoumaru over the years.
"Aren't you supposed t' ask me? I mean, that's pretty pretentious, just thinkin' I'll say yes."
He looks at me over his shoulder as he pulls a pot down from the rack above the counter.
"Is that a no?" he asks, impassive as always. He sounds for all the world as if he was asking if I wanted bread or salad with dinner. I know better by now, he's not fooling me. There's a lot riding on this question, and the bastard already knows the answer. That's what I get for letting him in.
"You won't be rid of me that easy," I tease, the ring already around my finger. All I get is a brief nod, and he returns to preparing our evening meal. I smile, and head for the phone in our bedroom with the intention of screaming like a two-year-old on sugar. He has that effect on me.
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Y'all had to see this coming. After all, it was Valentine's day recently. This, I will admit, is a bit of a deviation from my usual obsession with M/S, but I think I like this pairing almost as much (if not more). Enjoy!