He leaves his key in her mailbox two days later, and the line between living spaces blurs.

One week, she finds his sock in her couch. The next, he's dropping off a forgotten purse on his way to work. One week, he comes home to find a homecooked meal and a smile in his kitchen. The next, her pipes burst, and he beats her home and stops the flood before she gets there.

"Are we weird?" she asks, mopping up the floor beside him.

Sesshoumaru pauses, looks at her and then goes back to mopping. "Unconventional."

"Sounds like 'weird.'"

"Perhaps."