Time slows down, blood rushing in his ears.

Unable to move, Sesshoumaru sits, frozen. His heart pounds in his chest, and she's not looking at him—won't. The playful humor from moments before is gone, her hand pressed to her mouth, eyes focused on her lap as his foot slips from her grasp.

She is uncertain, small. And her anxiety saturates the room.

"That wasn't supposed to come out like that," she whispers, folding her hands.

He watches them tremble against her legs, his throat dry. "Was there another way?"

She wipes away tears and, bitter, laughs. "About a million."