Warm nostalgia greets Sango when she opens the door to their apartment, the scent of sugar cookies wafting throughout the kitchen. Her heart constricts in her chest for a mere moment before she realizes what the smell means. It soars immediately with happiness as she drops her purse on the floor and sprints across the room. Heels are discarded, flying through the air as she kicks them off in her haste.

"Kohaku!" She wraps her arms around him, pulling his body off the floor by a few inches.

He whines in protest, but sends her a large, toothy grin. "Hi, Sis. Surprise!"

Sango releases him and smacks his arm lightly. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I thought you were staying at school for the holidays this year."

He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks pinking. "Rin wanted to come home to visit her father, so I decided to come back too."

Sango titters knowingly. "So you'll come back for your girlfriend but not your sister." She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow in question.

He stammers, tips of his ears coloring as he struggles to come up with an excuse.

"Leave him alone, Sango," Miroku pipes up, pointing his rolling pin at the pair. It's covered with flour and remnants of dough. "He's clearly in love and doesn't want to be apart from his lovely lady for even a second."

She startles at the sound of Miroku's voice. She'd been too preoccupied with the arrival of her little brother to see him standing there. Flour smudges his left cheek and the tip of his nose.

A giggle topples from her lips. "Are you making cookies or wearing them?" Sango leans forward and wipes the white substance from his cheek. Her thumb lingers for a second longer than necessary, his skin warm against hers.

Miroku stares down at her, amusement dancing in the blues of his eyes. "Says the one who can't cook."

"I can't cook," she agrees, hand falling to her side, "but I never said I couldn't bake. Huge difference."

"How is there that much of a difference?"

"There is," Kohaku interrupts. "Cooking you can deviate from the recipe. Make it your own. Baking is precise. If you deviate you could ruin the whole thing. Sango is good at following directions. Not so good at improvising."

She sticks her tongue out at him. "You never complained when you came home to yummy treats after school."

"And you never complained when I made you dinner because you ruined everything you touched."

"I've gotten better," Sango says with a huff. "Haven't I, Miroku?"

"You can successfully cook a meal without me gagging, so yes," he says with a laugh. "Though you did burn eggs a little while ago, if I remember correctly."

Sango's cheeks explode with warmth at the memory. Did he…bring that up on purpose? She searches his face for any inkling of a clue, but his eyes seem to evade hers each time she tries to make eye contact. She gnaws on her lip, wondering what it means.

Inuyasha's voice rings through her mind, "Said he wouldn't." Of course he didn't bring it up because of their near kiss. He doesn't want to date her. He doesn't feel the same.

"So," Sango continues, clearing her throat and her evasive thoughts, "I see you've met my brother, Kohaku." She turns to him, "And I see you've met my roommate, Miroku."

Kohaku stares at her, clicking his tongue. "Everyone knows who he is, Sango."

Miroku smirks, rolling out the dough on the cutting board. "Everyone but your sister."

Her cheeks puff out as Kohaku laughs. "Listen, just because I don't keep up with the tabloids doesn't mean I live under a rock."

"I know, I know," he says, touching her arm gently. "I can't believe you're roommates with the Miroku Houshi, though." Kohaku turns his attention to Miroku. "Our father loved your father's novels. He raved about them all the time."

A ghost of a smile haunts Miroku's face. "Thank you."

Kohaku seems to realize the shift in mood. In a quiet voice, he adds, "Rin is a huge fan of your novel. She made me read it. It's quite good. Are you coming to Christmas dinner at Sesshomaru's house? She would love to meet you."

Miroku's blues finally meet hers, melting in a smile. "If Sango will have me."

"Is that even a question? Of course you're invited."

"I did not want to presume anything. Besides, what if I had a hot date?"

Sango snorts. "Then you would have been bragging about your hot date. Need I remind you about all the hot dates you used to bring to my apartment?"

"Our apartment," Miroku corrects, "and it's been months since I've brought a girl home."

"Precisely why I knew you didn't have a hot date tonight," Sango says, hands on her hips. "You're on a dry streak."

Miroku balks for a moment before bursting out laughing. "Says the virgin."

"Shh," Sango says, covering her brother's ears. "Not in front of the child!"

Kohaku wines, trying to get Sango's hands off of him. "I'm not a child. I'm a bonafide adult."

"You'll always be my baby brother," she croons, squishing his cheeks together so he looks like a puffer fish. "And I'm not discussing topics like this in front of you. So, how many cookies have you both made thus far?"

"We just started making the dough," Kohaku says, ducking and escaping his sister's hands. "Go grab some sprinkles and help decorate."

Sango complies, rummaging around through the pantry. "Makes sense. No wonder Miroku is covered with flour. Rookie mistake."

Miroku mutters under his breath, "I've made Christmas cookies before. I'm no rookie."

Sango places multiple containers of colored sprinkles on the counter. "But," she says in a sing-song voice, "you've never made our Christmas cookies before."

"True," he says, smiling at her. "I can't wait to make them with you guys. New traditions. Speaking of which, I have something for you." He wipes his floured hands on his pants, unconcerned with the hand-prints stained on blue jeans.

Sango's eyebrows raise in confusion. Kohaku glances up at her momentarily before resuming cutting out pieces of dough in the shape of sleighs and trees. She can tell he's trying to hide a smile by how his mouth pinches together.

"I thought we agreed to hold off on gifts until later tonight?"

"I know, I know," he says, waving her off as he walks to his room. "But it's small! And not really a gift."

"It still counts," she calls after him. Whirling toward her brother, she asks, "Did you know about this?"

Her brother grins up at her. When Miroku disappears from sight, he whispers, "I really like him, Sango."

She stares wistfully after him. "Everyone does."

"You know, I think–"

"Gonna cut you off right there, little brother," Sango says, throwing some sprinkles on a snowman, a confetti of colors. "I know what you're going to say, and I've heard it enough from Kagome. It's not happening."

"You didn't even know what I was going to say!"

She flicks some sprinkles his way. "I absolutely do. Sibling ESP."

"Found it!" Miroku waltzes back out into the living area, holding a small gift bag. "Here you go, my dear Sango."

"So to be clear," she says, eying the bag with suspicion, "this is not part of the gifts we bought each other."

"Right."

"It's just extra."

"Yes."

"But I didn't get you anything extra."

Miroku laughs, leaning on the counter. "Just open it already and stop stalling."

"Alright, alright," Sango huffs, pulling out some white tissue paper. "But you really didn't have to do anything else." Her fingers twirl around in the bag, dancing until they come in contact with something hard and ceramic. She grasps the object, pulling it out, an inkling of what it could be forming in her mind. "An ornament."

A Christmas tree with three penguins hanging off the decorations with Santa hats upon their heads stare up at her. The names read Sango, Mirou, and Kirara. Beneath the tree is a banner that states Best Roommates Ever with the date.

Sango can't help the smile that lights up her face. "You put Kirara on there."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Help me find a place for it on our tree," Sango says, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the small Evergreen in the living room.

She refused to let them get a giant tree, but compromised on the Charlie Brown Christmas tree as Miroku dubbed it. She thought it was endearing. He complained it was a war on Christmas. But she still caught him humming songs as he decorated it the other day.

"There's hardly any space left on this tiny tree," Miroku states with a short laugh. "Should have let me get the five foot tree."

"It's more homey this way," Sango rebukes, knocking into his side. "What about near the top? With the star?"

"Because I'm a star?" He flashes her an award winning smile.

She pats his arm. "Whatever gets you to sleep at night." Sango hangs the ornament, watching the limb bend under the weight of the ornament. She prays it won't break. "There. Perfect."

Miroku nods in agreement, admiring their handiwork. "I think it definitely rounds out the tree. Too bad we won't have room for the pickle."

"That what now?"

"You know," he gestures vaguely, "the pickle."

"Why would you put a pickle on a tree?"

Miroku pinches his nose, feigning a sigh. "My dear Sango, must I teach you everything?"

"If this is another dumb tradition–"

"It's not dumb," he says, cutting her off with a pointed look. "Whoever finds the pickle on the tree gets an extra gift."

"But you already got me an extra gift. What would be the point?" Sango asks, tilting her head.

"Touché," Miroku says with a short laugh, ruffling her hair. "Always have a comeback for everything."

"Miroku," Sango complains, smacking his hand. "You're getting flour all over my hair!"

"I bet you–"

"Am I going to be the only one making cookies tonight, or are you two going to help?" Kohaku calls from the kitchen, eyebrow raised as he stares pointedly at Sango.

She knows that look. The silent question. Her lips purse with a short shake of her head. "Sorry, sorry, little brother. Of course we are going to help." She points a finger at Miroku's chest. "Stop distracting me."

A smug grin erupts. "Oh? I distract you?"

Her face flames as she stutters a response, hating the way her heart skips a beat in her chest. Teasing. He's only teasing her. "I bet it's because you know I'll make a better cookie than you."

"You're on."

The three of them spend the next hour cutting cookies out into various shapes. They decide to have a decorating contest, each sprinkling colors on their chosen object. Surprise to no one, Miroku decides on a tree. Sango chooses a sleigh and Khoaku chooses a gift. Sango snaps a picture of the three cookies so everyone at dinner can vote.

"Mine will win for sure," Miroku boasts. "I mean, look at the exquisite colors."

"It's too busy," Sango says, shaking her head. "Mine is simple. Simple is better."

"They're both terrible," Khoaku deadpans. "Mine is a work of art. I should win, considering I want to do this for a living."

"It's beautiful, little brother," Sango agrees, "but it won't be enough to secure the winner's title."

"Your sister is very competitive."

Kohaku laughs with fondness. "Extremely. Don't play Monopoly with her. You won't win."

"Noted." Miroku scoops the rest of the cookies into the container to bring with them to the dinner party. "I'll do the dishes so you two can catch up before we go."

Sango flashes him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Miroku. Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Kohaku and her retreat to the couch. Miroku hums along to the music playing in the background, content while washing dishes. White Christmas, she thinks with a frown. Sango bumps her knee against Kohaku's. "So," she says slyly, "had to come back to spend Christmas with your dear Rin, hmm?"

A sheepish laugh falls from his lips as he tugs at his sweater. "I think I want to propose soon."

This startles her. "What?"

He twiddles with his thumbs, feet tapping rhythmically against the floor. "I mean," he hesitates, "life is short. Anything can happen. I love her. I want to spend my life with her. Why not start now?"

"Because you just started school," Sango says, her frown deepening. "You're so young, Kohaku. I admire your dedication and commitment, but you're both in college still. At least wait until you graduate. Start with something maybe a little less permanent? Like a promise ring? Or moving in together? Because I feel like Sesshomaru will kill you if you pop the question this early."

"Yeah, I suppose I do need to ask for his permission first." His cheeks pale at the thought. "I am not looking forward to that."

"See," Sango says, elbowing his side with affection, "you need more time. Don't rush a good thing. Rin knows you love her, whether you put a ring on it or not."

"What about you?"

Sango tilts her head. "What about me?"

His eyes flash to Miroku in the kitchen before retreating back to hers. An inaudible question.

Her lips press tight. A silent warning. "You know me," she says with false laughter, "a crazy cat lady in waiting."

Kohaku holds her gaze with sincerity. "You deserve happiness, too," he says in a quiet, but caring voice. A gentle scolding, if she's ever heard it. "Don't spend your life waiting for something only to realize it's passed you by."

"Such wise words for such a young man," she teases. She shifts in her seat, wishing she could evade the conversation. Especially when Miroku was so close by.

A yelp from the kitchen draws their attention away from each other. Sango jumps up and rushes to Miroku's side. She freezes, blood turning to ice in her veins, when she spots specks of red scattered on the counter and floor.

Miroku curses under his breath, running his finger under the faucet. The water mixes with crimson. Glass shards lay in the sink, forgotten in the moment. "I'm okay," Miroku says, eyes finding hers. "The glass slipped out of my hand while cleaning and a piece cut my hand. Just stings. It looks worse than it is."

Sango can barely hear him over the roaring in her ears. Her feet won't move, rooted to the spot. Dimly, she feels Kohaku's hand on her shoulder, pushing around her to go help. Even now, Kohaku is a man of action. Sango wishes she could be. Why must she always freeze when it matters?

Air. She needs air. She steps back. The blood on the floor taunts her. Bile rises in her throat. Running. She's running before she even realizes that her feet are carrying her out of the apartment and onto the patio. She practically throws herself onto the railing, gripping it tightly as she pulls air into her lungs in large gulps. Her vision swims. The sensation of needles pricking her skin travels from her hands up through her arms.

She's losing it. Sango knows she is. Normally, blood doesn't bother her. But normally she doesn't see blood scattered in the kitchen days before the anniversary of her father's death.

"You okay?"

She breathes a sigh of relief that it's merely Kohaku. "No," she answers truthfully. Her eyes sting as she blinks back tears that she refuses to let fall.

He joins her, leaning against the balcony. "It's freezing out here."

"I mean, it is Christmas Eve. Of course it's cold out. There's snow on the ground."

"You should come back inside," Kohaku says, bumping lightly into her. "Blood is all cleaned up. Your boyfriend has on a bandage. No harm done."

She has to admit, Kohaku is doing a great job of distracting her. "Not my boyfriend."

"Yet?"

"At all." She pushes off, glancing up. Sango wonders when Kohaku got taller than her. She can't remember. "He doesn't want to date me."

"Yet."

As hard as she fights it, a smile pulls at her lips. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"I know what they say about him in the tabloids," Kohaku says. "Rin likes to follow updates on him. You know her. They've talked about how he sleeps with women. But it stopped. It's like he vanished off the face of the Earth. No one knows where he is. Why do you think that is?"

"He's working on his next novel and doesn't want to be distracted. Or maybe he's finally growing up."

Kohaku hums thoughtfully. "Could be. He's a lot different than I expected. I like him. A lot. I think he's good for you, just like you've been good for him."

"What makes you say that?" Sango asks, breathless. The cold air commands the hair on her arms to stand on end.

"He told me," her brother says with a simple smile. "He may not want to date you, using your words here, but I can tell he cares for you."

"Maybe," she muses. "Thanks. For distracting me."

"You know, Sis," he hedges, face morphing into concern, "maybe you should talk to someone?"

"I'm fine," she says, shrugging it off like an old sweater, "I'm fine. Let's go check on Miroku."

They walk back inside, warmth curling around her body. Miroku throws glass into the trash, his finger now bandaged. He glances up, worry wrinkling his eyes. "Sango, are you okay?"

"I should be asking you that." She stops next to him, grabbing his hand to glance over his finger. The bandage is stained with his blood. A wave of dizziness washes over her before she reminds herself where she is. "A battle wound for the ages."

"Yeah, but the glass kicked my ass."

"You'll get them next time," she says, patting his hand. "I believe in you."

"I'm glad you're alright," he says, squeezing her hand. "You had me worried."

"The only thing you should be worried about is if I am going to like your gift or not," she says, deflecting. She doesn't want to talk about her father. Not now. Not when the anniversary is so close. Not when this is his holiday that he looks forward to every year. She's not going to take that away from Miroku. "It was tradition in our family to give a gift to each other on Christmas Eve. Can I give you yours before we go to dinner?"

"You've adhered to my traditions," Miroku says, smiling warmly. "I think I can adhere to one of yours."

Realizing she's still holding onto his hand, she hastily drops it, wiping her palm on her jeans. "Kohaku, do you mind if we do this real quick and then we will head out?"

"Yeah, sure, no worries." Her brother gathers the cookies and other various items and starts to pack them up.

Sango grabs her gift for Miroku from under her bed. As she stands, he appears in the doorway, holding a small gift bag of his own.

"Here," he says, a soft smile gracing his face as he holds out the gift. "Merry Christmas, my dear Sango."

"That's not fair, I already got a gift from you. You should go first."

"I insist." Miroku wiggles the gift in front of her.

She sighs, "Fine." Pulling out the tissue paper, she's surprised to find only paper at the bottom. She sends him a quizzical stare, pulling it out. "You shouldn't have," she deadpans.

"Just open it."

Unfolding the paper, Sango reads. "A…cooking class for two?"

"I thought it would be fun to take one together," he beams. "Improve your skills! And enhance mine. We can even make it into a competition of who can make the food better."

"That's very thoughtful," she says, staring at the words for two. Did he mean it in a romantic way? Or just two friends cooking together? She glances up, and he's staring at her expectantly. "I love it. Truly. Thank you." She places the paper on her nightstand before shyly extending her own gift to him.

He takes it wordlessly, eyes lighting up with anticipation. He brings the box to his ear, shaking lightly.

"Oi," Sango exclaims, "careful! I don't know if you'll break it."

"Oh, so it's breakable, then?"

"You're the worst. Just fucking open it."

"With pleasure." Miroku carefully undos the tape, slipping the box out with ease. Sango has to hold back the urge to roll her eyes. He's one of those people. Opening the box, he takes out a frame. "Oh, Sango," he breathes, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "I love it."

"You didn't have any pictures or decorations in your room," Sango explains, tugging at the hem of her sweater, suddenly feeling self-conscious. His gift must have cost a lot of money and here she was giving him a picture. "I thought you could use a reminder that you have friends that love you."

Miroku thumbs the picture of them next to the snowman, affection pinking his cheeks. Without warning, he pulls her into a tight hug. His lips tickle her hair as he says, "This is my favorite gift. Thank you."

"It's not much," she stammers.

"It's more than enough." He pulls back, beaming at her. "I'm going to put it on my nightstand right now."

Sango follows him out of the room, watching with a fond and heavy heart. He might not be hers to keep, but maybe the best gift was having him in her life, even if for a mere moment.