Haunted
Prompt: Haunting (SessKag monthly prompt)
Universe: Canon divergence
Genre: Drama
787 Words
Inuyasha's miko was haunting him.
Faded memories of a time long past – time he hadn't thought back on for more than a century – were suddenly back, flooding his mind.
At first, it had been that girl standing in the street corner, waiting to cross the road. Walking to school in the morning, like thousands of other students in Tokyo.
Sesshoumaru usually paid little heed to them, and he did not immediately realise why this particular student had caught his attention.
Then he noticed the school uniform she was wearing. Green and white and just like the memorable garment he had seen centuries ago.
For one long second his heart stood still, as the nearly-forgotten past crashed with his present.
Every time he caught a glimpse of that damn uniform, his breath caught in his throat. He peered at each girl closely, but they were just some strangers. None of them looked like the miko.
Of course, he did not see the miko. She was long gone. But the uniform would still stubbornly show up here and there, reminding him of what once had been.
Then, one day when he was strolling down a busy street, he came to an abrupt stop.
The crowded cities these days were always plagued by a cocktail of exhaust, chemicals, perfumes, perspiration and various other odours. It wasn't the most pleasant thing – even though the hygienic habits of humans had greatly improved over the centuries – but by now Sesshoumaru was so used to the mix of countless scents he was able to tune it out, pay no heed to it.
Except this morning, underneath the cacophony, he caught something. It was faint and elusive, but it was there and it was familiar. Fresh. Sweet. Pure.
It was gone the next second, but Sesshoumaru stood there for a long time, uncaring of the people milling about him, lost in his thoughts and the past.
He caught it a few times after that – the miko's scent. Unchanged, exactly as he remembered it. And each time every trace of the scent had vanished as soon as he'd noticed it.
It left him baffled and unsure. Had the scent truly been there? Or had it been conjured by his imagination or some long-forgotten memory?
Of all the people he had known in his long life, he wondered why it was the miko who had ended up haunting him. Why wasn't it Rin's face that he was trying to find in this sea of strangers?
Late one autumn evening, near an old shrine, Sesshoumaru's youki stirred.
Something he hadn't felt in ages tingled along his skin, like a cool breeze.
It couldn't be his imagination. His youki had reacted before he had actually felt that touch of purity tease the edges of his senses.
He turned mid-stride and stared up at long old stairs, and the torii gate presiding over them at the top.
His mind made, his jaw set, he began to climb.
Beneath the large red wooden gate, he stopped. His gaze swept across the scattered buildings around the shrine complex.
There was nothing there.
The scent of the miko flooded his nose, the tendrils of reiki still danced in the air.
His instincts screamed at him and Sesshoumaru turned around.
He saw the tree and took a few involuntary steps forward.
He recognised that old energy, knew that scent. It was the same tree that had once imprisoned Inuyasha.
And as if thinking of his half-brother had somehow conjured his one-time companion, Sesshoumaru saw a ghost.
She stood beneath the tree, one hand resting against its bark. She was half-turned towards him, her blue eyes wide as she stared right back.
She wasn't wearing the school uniform, but even so, Sesshoumaru recognised her instantly.
Despite what his senses were telling him, Sesshoumaru expected her to disappear. He couldn't fathom how she could have been here. Could have been now.
But spectres and mirages shouldn't look so lifelike. They shouldn't carry a scent. They shouldn't release reiki. They shouldn't gasp audibly.
They shouldn't take a step forward and call him by his name.
"Miko," he spoke in a gruff voice.
A lone tear slid down her cheek. Sesshoumaru's sharp gaze tracked it when it fell off her jaw, landed down on the grass where it glistened.
Ghosts most certainly did not cry real tears.
Acting on instinct and needing proof, confirmation from one sense he hadn't used, Sesshoumaru closed their distance and pulled the miko into his arms.
She grasped the front of his jacket with trembling fingers, buried her head to his chest in a startling show of trust.
She was warm, solid, real.
As impossible as it was, she was here and now.