Author's Note: It has been four years. Yikes. One thing is for sure, the writing is not the same. I wrote the last chapter before college. Now, a college graduate, I have a different sort of style. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. I'd really like to finish this because I feel horrible just leaving it here to fester like all other dead stories. Enjoy!

A Poet's Muse

By Kikanemi

One thing Miroku would quickly learn is that, despite all follies and circumstance, you should never lend a friend your nightshirt. Especially if said friend is a lady, a beautiful and shapely lady.

After Inuyasha had carelessly launched a watermelon onto Sango's poor, awaiting head, Miroku made a sad attempt at cleaning her up. But cloth and water did little to save her clothes – clothes that had become somewhat crusty and crisp from the fruit's sticky center. That was when Miroku made a most grave and terrible mistake.

"Here," he offered, his voice somewhat hoarse for what he believed was no reason at all, "it is my nightshirt."

Sango raised her brows in a brief flash of confusion before it dawned on her what exactly she was meant to do – wear Miroku's nightshirt. Surround herself in something that touched his skin, most likely molded to his body every single night. She caught herself before she squealed girlishly in delight.

After Miroku left, she quickly shucked her clothes away, happy to finally be free of them. She just as speedily donned Miroku's shirt, smoothing away the wrinkles. Then she took it upon herself to really enjoy her predicament – bask in his scent, hold it close and really feel like she was part of his life, no matter how small that part may be. Sango hugged herself and sighed.

A few minutes later, Miroku barged in, mid-thought, "I just had this wonderful i…dea…"

Of course, this is how and when he learned one of life's most important lessons – the one where you never give your lady friends short and personal articles of clothing. He stopped to stare, forgetting about the idea and the meaning of the word wonderful – wonderful was the woman sitting on his windowsill, outlined in the pale glow of overcast drifting in from outside.

He was next terrified to discover that he was blushing. Quite hard, as a matter of fact. He cleared his throat and crossed the room in a few strides, leaning over his desk to occupy himself otherwise.

Miroku shuffled his papers anxiously. "Oh really? I've always wanted to see you at work. I am a follower of your work myself." The words sounded so close, Miroku swore he felt her breath all over, sending a shot of something – lust, want, desire, what have you – straight to his palpitating heart. He turned to see that she was much closer than expected. Sango was, in fact, standing right beside him, eyes wide and doe-ish, legs long and bared as if they had no idea of their effect on him. The worst part was the clouds and what the clouds were doing with the lighting. He almost swore he could see the faint tracing of her silhouette, even through the shirt.

Miroku started at this new discovery and leaned onto his desk. Today was going to be hell.

Meanwhile, outside, Inuyasha was busy chuckling to himself for his job well done.

"What have you got to be so amused about?"

This stopped his celebration for one immediately. Instead, he lost all sense of time and direction for a moment, wondering how this had come to be. Kagome – the woman he'd met in dream both in bed and waking – was standing before him, smirking.

He almost asked, 'Where am I?' before he realized that would make him look idiotic and insane. Clearly, he was still wandering the marketplace and this was, in fact, real life. "Nothing that concerns you," he answered.

Inuyasha knew he had her baited – she looked positively furious with his curt response. Rather than lashing out at him, as he expected her to (as that was their thing – fight, bicker, nag, fight), she simply 'hmphed' and walked completely in the opposite direction.

Oh, horse manure.

He'd have to go after her. If he didn't, he'd wonder – he'd spend all day, all night wondering where she might have gone off to, who she'd come to see in town, what she found interesting, what kind of noise she made when she liked a particular offering from a shop owner. And she'd get a lot of offers, beautiful as she was. He couldn't have that. He couldn't have that at all.

So, of course he trailed her, whistling nonchalantly, nodding only briefly in the general direction of those he passed on the street, calling for his attention.

Kagome glanced back and shook her head when she spotted him, though she wasn't angry if her upturned lips meant anything, anything at all. It was a teasing little smirk, a beckoning. A game. Just like their game of arguments – their game of protests, and accidental touches, their game of hidden want and unexplainable need.

"Would you kindly quit that, sir?" Kagome finally said, not bothering to even turn as she approached a particularly intriguing shop stall close to Miroku's home. He hadn't even realized they were headed that way. He sidled up next to her and plucked an apple from a basket, shining it against his shirt.

"Quit what, my dear?" He swore he heard her growl, low under her breath, a quite dangerous sound coming from such a little thing. "I'm just shopping for apples. Juicy, juicy apples. Cheers!" He held the apple up and then delved into it, smiling at the shop owner who he knew well enough and didn't care if he divulged once and a while. Inuyasha gave her a wicked smile and grabbed her hand, pulling her along the street. "Come on. To my friend's home."

"Hold on just one minute!" Kagome dug her heels into the ground and got him to stop. Inuyasha took another bite of the apple as she yanked her hand away, breath uneven and pronounced – he'd obviously been pulling her along quite fast. "You cannot just grab a woman and drag her to alleyways and street ways and otherwise, expecting her to follow! It is completely improper." She rubbed her wrist and sighed. That's when Inuyasha started seeing all kinds of things – angels, light, gold, God, too – must have been a bad apple. A really bad apple. Otherwise Kagome wouldn't be carefully lifting her skirts up to his face, wiping at the corners of his mouth with a soft, fond smile. "Apple juice. You are absolutely disgusting. An animal." Still, a little secret grin.

Inuyasha suddenly didn't care about propriety, especially since Kagome still had her ankles exposed in some random alley, shaded and out of reach from the rest of the world, the people who could watch and comment and ruin everything – this moment, this absolutely perfect and still moment where time ticked to the drumming of his Kagome ridden thoughts. He pushed forward, backing Kagome against the wall of the opposite building, relishing in the tiny gasp she released. He bathed in that gasp, took it in and tasted it – it meant something forbidden. His hands found the wall on either side of her head. He caged her in.

Inuyasha's fingers scaled her cheeks, her lids dropped, his eyes found her jaw and then her lips. "Come with me," he said, his voice registering at least an octave lower than average. He didn't bother to clear his throat; it was far too late for appearances. "Come with me right now."

"Where to?" Kagome whispered in response, though the situation didn't call for whispers. There was no one in sight, no one but them – a stolen moment for two.

"Anywhere. Anywhere at all," was all he had to say before he had her hand again and they were off.

It wasn't until Inuyasha had forcefully pushed open Miroku's door – Sango now donned in a pair of Miroku's britches as well, thankfully – seeing the two engaged in a play swordfight, laughing smiles all over, that he remembered that he had left this place occupied. Quite occupied.

"What is this?" Kagome asked, suddenly soured. "Sango? Whose clothes are those?"

Sango blushed and dropped the piece of wood she had been using to fend off Miroku letting it clatter noisily against the floor. "Mine were soiled." She gave a helpless shrug, and became suddenly interested in finger combing her lustrous hair over her shoulder.

Kagome noticed Miroku staring at Sango, high color in his cheeks, chest heaving. She was about to reprimand him but couldn't bring herself to do it – she'd had a man looking at her the exact same way only moments earlier. "Well, I suppose it was the right thing to do – wash the clothing before appearing before Lady Savanna. Who knows what mood she may have been in, seeing you in a mess."

Inuyasha stepped forward, taking hold of Miroku's play sword and turning it over in his hand, inspecting it thoroughly. "What is this all about, then? Were you two playing?" He should have added the qualifier 'like children' but didn't bother, knowing his words were teasing in their wake.

Miroku grabbed the sword back, throwing it carelessly to his desk a few feet away, giving Inuyasha the most stern look. "Never playing. I never play. You know that. We were practicing."

"For his new play," Sango clarified, now tugging at the hem of Miroku's nightshirt, hoping to stretch it a few more inches. "It's quite…lovely."

Inuyasha had never witnessed or experienced anything so awkward in his entire life and that was saying something. His friend was blushing – something he thought to be impossible – he couldn't just stand there, watch them flounder in their feelings. He had to push them, push them forward with all his might. He knew just the thing. "Say, you two should share a meal with us. There's this wonderful place just around the corner."

Kagome said a short, "No, we couldn't" at the same time Miroku said, "We have no money" and Sango muttered an embarrassed, "But my clothes."

"Of course you can, and it'll be on the house. I have some favors to cash in on." Inuyasha ushered Kagome toward the door, giving Miroku a sly grin. "And Sango, don't be absurd. You look stunning. In love, I'd say."

Sango turned to Miroku, face aflame, jaw unhinged. He caught himself from mirroring the look, shyly offering his hand. "He's right, you know. You look beautiful."

He felt right when her palm collided with his, his fingers devouring hers – hardworking calloused hand, against hardworking calloused hand. He felt the need to protect. To pull her to him, guard her from leering eyes and harsh whispered words. He wanted to hold her and never let her go, though he knew that couldn't happen. He'd already given away a thousand forevers – to one girl after another and the next – and he couldn't bear to give her just any never and forever. Sango was something different. Decidedly real. And confusing.

Did friends call friends beautiful? Did friends lose their composure when the other entered the room – did they feel as if they had a swift kick in the ribs? Did friends want to swallow the other's breath, mingle with their lips, become acquainted with their thoughts, their workings, their anything and everything all throughout?

If not, then Miroku was quickly finding himself in trouble. Deep, deep trouble. Lady Savanna be damned.

He gulped.