"Another bouquet of flowers, huh?"

Sango emerges from the bathroom, damp hair coating the collar of her shirt. Miroku sits at the kitchen counter with a paper tag between his fingers. He skims the loopy writing with indifference. His eyes roll, flicking the card onto the countertop.

"He hasn't missed a Sunday yet," Sango muses, sitting next to him. "Says it's a fresh start for the new week." She grabs the card, reading.

Roses are red,

violets are blue.

Dinner tonight?

Let's pick someplace new.

"And another corny poem," Miroku mutters, voice dripping with feigned boredom. "The least he could do is switch up the flowers. I'm sick of seeing red roses on the counter."

"I think it's sweet," Sango says, placing the card back onto the tag next to a rose.

"Sickeningly so."

Sango thumbs a petal, the soft velvet comforting against her skin. The red is striking against the whites and grays of their kitchen. Romantic. That's what Kagome called it. Red roses, conveying passion and love. She pulls the petal free, rolling it between the pads of her fingers.

Quietly, she asks, "Have you ever gotten a girl flowers before?"

Miroku shrugs, taking a sip of his tea. "Not really my style."

"Ah, that's right," Sango teases, flicking the crumpled petal at him. "I forgot you'd rather fuck around and then find out."

Miroku chokes on his tea, sputtering. The tips of his ears redden as he wipes his mouth roughly with his arm. "I've been better," he says finally, choosing his words carefully, "with my…extra-curriculars."

Sango nods, plucking another petal from a rose. He loves me. "I know," she says in a soft voice. Months he went without having another woman over. Until Kuranosuke kissed her. She tosses the petal on the counter, picking another. He loves me not. "I know."

"Careful," he says, kicking her chair lightly. "You won't have any roses left if you keep ripping the petals off."

Sango stares at the three fallen petals on the counter. "I suppose not."

"So, you're going out to dinner tonight?" Miroku drums his fingers on the countertop.

"Trying to get rid of me?"

"Never."

"You just don't want to cook for me," she says with a small smile. She shifts in her chair, facing him. Her hands fold in her lap, thumbs twiddling. "I um…was thinking maybe I could have him over for dinner instead?"

Miroku's expression is neutral. His fingers stall. "Oh?"

"If…if it's okay with you," she says, smoothing a strand of hair. "I don't want to inconvenience you."

Miroku pauses, lips smacking as a thought dawns on him. His eyes narrow ever so slightly. "Does he know we live together?"

"Yeah," Sango says, watching the way the muscles in his neck tense. "But he promised he wouldn't say anything to anyone. I explained to him the gravity of the situation."

Miroku chuckles, shaking his head. "Did you now."

A frown tugs her lips down. "He was very understanding, given everything that happened between you two."

He says a terse, "I'm sure he was."

She lays a hand over his arm. He recoils at the motion, like she physically burned him. "I don't have to have him over."

"Sango," he says, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I don't want anyone finding out where I live. Especially after everything that happened on New Year's Eve."

She sits up straight, cheeks flaring. "Excuse me? And you think I do? I've been hounded by the paparazzi enough this last month, and they're finally starting to leave me alone. Those articles were painting me as a slut or a homewrecker."

"You shouldn't have told him."

"And I should be able to have my boyfriend over! And the last I checked, you've had plenty of girls over, and recently too I might add, so cut the bullshit!"

"It's not bullshit because I have them sign a NDA."

Sango blinks. "What?"

A rough sigh escapes his lips as he rubs the back of his neck. "I said, I have them sign a NDA."

"You…you make them sign a non-disclosure agreement before you have sex? Seriously?"

"I am nothing if not serious about my sex life and staying hidden," he says, lips in a tight line, "which is why I wish you would have told me sooner that you wanted to tell your boyfriend so I could have had him sign one, too."

Sango huffs, "Well, what about mine?"

"What about yours?"

"You never had me sign one."

Miroku looks at her like she has two heads. "Of course not. You're trustworthy."

"But you didn't know that when you met me," she insists.

"I did. I had Inuyasha's word, and I trust his above all else."

"I still could have gone to the paparazzi."

"You didn't even know who I was," Miroku points out with a ghost of a smirk.

Sango opens her mouth and promptly shuts it. She doesn't want to fight again.

Ever since New Year's, things were…different. They still joked. Still ate some meals together and hung out. But there was a tension in the air that lingered no matter how much she tried to disperse it. An awkwardness in the undertones of their conversations.

Sometimes she wishes she could take back that kiss.

Other times she's grateful because it led her to Kuranosuke.

Miroku stands, eyes glued to the vase of red roses on the countertop. A resigned sigh falls from his lips as he says, "You can have your boyfriend over tonight. I'll go out so you guys can have some…privacy." He attempts an eyebrow waggle, but it comes out more like a grimace.

She appreciates the gesture. "Thank you," she says in earnest.

He retreats to his room, hand raised in what she considers a "you're welcome" before he promptly slams the door with more force than necessary.

Sango sinks in on herself, staring at the wooden door between them. He's pissed again, she thinks, tugging at another flower petal until it rips free.

He loves me not .

She thinks about what Miroku said, about ruining the flowers. Not that it mattered. She'd get another fresh batch of flowers in a week's time, anyway. Just as radiant as the week before.

Turning away, she pulls out her phone and texts Kuranosuke. Want to do dinner here tonight?

He responds almost immediately, like clockwork. I'll be there at seven thirty. Hope you like steak and risotto ;)

Kuranosuke arrives half an hour late. He comes in, holding a brown paper bag full of groceries and apologizes profusely. He grins from ear to ear. "Sango, dearest!" He swoops down for a chaste kiss before setting the bag next to the stove. "I was so happy when you asked me to come over for dinner tonight. I've been wanting to cook for you for ages. I am sorry that I am so late; I got caught up in a meeting that ran over."

"It's okay," she says with a practiced smile, as if she hadn't been sitting around wondering if he was alright while staring out the window. "I figured it would be a nice change of pace. What do you need me to do?"

He waves her off, rummaging around her cabinets to find what he needs to cook. "Sit and look beautiful, as always! I brought over a Cabernet Sauvignon if you want to open it and let it breathe."

Sango peers into the bag, taking out an expensive looking bottle of wine. "And how do I let it breathe?"

A deep, hearty laugh rumbles from his throat. "You just open it. I brought a portable decanter too."

"A…what?"

"It helps it breathe," he clarifies with a charming smile. "Brings out the flavors of the wine more."

Sango laughs doubtfully, eyeing the bottle and the decanter. Honestly, it looks just like a small, fancy strainer to her. "If you say so."

"I'm a bit of a wine snob," he admits, pulling out multiple skillets and pans. "I hope you don't mind. This wine pairs perfectly with filet mignon."

Sango digs for a wine opener in one of the drawers. Thankfully, she finds one. "I'm open to trying new things," she says, "but I should warn you that I normally drink sweet white wine, if I drink wine at all."

"I'll make you a dry red lover yet." He swoops down for a kiss on her cheek before resuming his preparations. A gasp erupts from his mouth, eyes bright as an idea comes to fruition. "We should go wine tasting."

"Okay," she hums in agreement, pulling out two of her stemless wine glasses. "That would be a nice date."

"Napa Valley is beautiful in the Spring."

The wine glass slips. She curses, thanking her lucky stars that it didn't break against the countertop. "You mean in California?"

He sends her a quizzical look. "Is there another Napa Valley?"

"I just," she pauses, setting the wine glass back down. "California is far," she finally decides, "and I'm not sure that's financially in the cards for me right now."

"Sango," Kuranosuke says, gripping her shoulders, "I am inviting you. I wouldn't expect you to pay a dime."

"I can't accept that," she says with a frown. "That is far too generous."

"Sango," he begins, fingers trailing down her arms before encasing her hands in his. "Nothing is too generous when it comes to you. I love you. I truly love you."

Love? He loves her? Her heart hammers in her chest. Her eyes flicker toward the red roses. Love. Passion. That's what Kagome had said. Perhaps he had been alluding to his growing feelings, but love? Is this love? It's different from what she felt for Miroku. "I…," she licks her lips, mouth as dry as the maroon wine yet to be poured. "I'm flattered. I'm…happy to hear how you feel."

He kisses her, long and hard. When he finally releases her lips, he smiles down at her with fondness crinkling his eyes. "You don't have to say it back yet. I'm just happy you've accepted my feelings."

Her hands fall from his as he turns to continue his task. "I…I can help cook," she says, pouring the wine into the glasses hastily, decanter forgotten. Anything to keep her hands and mind occupied. "Miroku has been teaching me."

He waves her off. "Darling, just sit and relax. Let me treat you to a delicious meal."

"Oh," she says, finger tracing the rim of the glass. "I just thought it would be fun to help? You could teach me."

"I don't need the help." He flashes a smile back at her. "I've been making this dish for ages. Just tell me about your week, will you? I want to hear all about how this project has been going at work."

Disappointment seeps into the crevices of her heart. She begins to talk, but her thoughts drift back to when Miroku had her help make tacos. How his chest pressed against her back, cheeks flushed from their close proximity. How his hands curled around hers, guiding her precise cuts. How his touch brought goosebumps to her arms when all she felt was heat. Intimate with the smallest of gestures.

She sips the wine as they talk about work. She asks him questions about his cooking. He answers with enthusiasm, but always turns her down when she offers to help. She sits there, a nice accessory with swirling red liquid in her hand. Maybe, she thinks, if she swirls it more it'll somehow make it taste less bitter.

Dinner is nice. They laugh. Exchange pleasantries. He touches her hand as they eat, eyes trained on her. When she feels small under his gaze, she takes another swig of wine, forcing it down while pretending it was something sweeter. Something different.

He asks if he can stay longer than dinner. Pours another glass of wine for them both after the dishes are cleaned and put away. Pulls her to the couch, rambling about this movie he heard was fantastic that he wants to watch with her. He wraps his strong arms around her. She leans against his chest, glass clutched in her hands as he presses play.

They get a few minutes into the movie before the door opens. Laughter booms through the apartment, like thunder in a dark sky. Adrenaline sets her nerves ablaze as her eyes dart to the dimly illuminated entryway. A girl hangs from Miroku's neck, cheeks flushed with pleasure. His lips move against her ear and she shrieks with delight.

Kuranosuke shoots her a look. "Should we take this to your bedroom?" he whispers.

"No," she replies a little too fast. A little too loud.

His eyes widen, as if realizing the implications of what he stated. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Sorry for intruding," Miroku calls over to them. His eyes are on Sango's alone. Unreadable in the dark. "I thought you guys would have wrapped up dinner by now."

"Just decided to watch a movie," Sango says, staring at the girl with perfect features. She finishes her wine and sets the empty glass on the coffee table. She allows the harsh flavor of the wine to seep into her tone as she adds, "Didn't know we weren't allowed to do that."

"Didn't say you weren't," Miroku says, eyebrow raised as he leads the girl on his arm to his bedroom. "We'll try to keep it down. I only ask that you do the same." The door slams behind them.

"The nerve of that guy," Kuranosuke mutters. His thumb caresses the back of her hand for a moment before squeezing tightly. A silent signal that she is his and his alone. "I don't understand why you live with him."

Sango hums faintly in reply, not wishing to discuss Miroku.

Kuranosuke takes the hint. Vocal chords rumble against her back as he talks low against her ear, discussing the actors and actresses and how this movie is based on a real story. She half listens, nodding when appropriate. But she replays Miroku coming in over and over again in her mind. Anger flows through her veins, which is ridiculous because she's with Kuranosuke. She shouldn't be worrying about him in the other room with that stupidly perfect looking girl with the skimpy outfit. Shouldn't be imagining Miroku taking off his shirt before pulling the girl into bed, ravishing her with kisses.

She should be happy. She should be kissing Kuranosuke silly on the couch instead of watching the movie. She shouldn't be thinking of her roommate at a time like this. Shouldn't be letting him invade her thoughts when she was nothing but an afterthought for him.

"I think I'm going to make some popcorn," she announces suddenly, standing. His hand falls from hers.

"Good idea. Do you want me to pause the movie?"

She shakes her head, escaping to the kitchen. "Nah, I can hear it from here."

Sango takes her time rummaging through the cabinets, the light of the TV illuminating the kitchen in shades of shifting colors. She grabs the popcorn, putting it in the microwave for the allotted time. The hum of the machine drowns out all noises, but not her loud thoughts.

The two are so different. Her feelings for both are a stark contrast. Kuranosuke, the guy who sought her out. Who declared his love for her. Miroku, the one who gave her butterflies and comfort, but who didn't return her wanted feelings. The roses catch her eye, looking the same shade of dark wine in her now empty glass. Her eyes then drift upward, meeting a lovely hue of blue that widens in the dark.

They stand face to face. Frozen. Staring, unmoving. Miroku clears his throat, smiling softly.

Her heart leaps upwards in her chest, pounding painfully loud in her ears. She averts her gaze back to the microwave, lips pulling down. She curses him for making her feel like this against her will. Like her heart could fly towards the sun, setting her entire being ablaze.

Miroku continues toward the kitchen, pulling out drinks from the refrigerator. He pauses as the door shuts. Contemplating. Finally, he passes by her whispering in a bittersweet tone, "I wish you nothing but happiness."

Time stops. The last of her breath leaves her body. Eyes swim before a lone tear falls down her cheek slowly. I wish you nothing but happiness . Did he…? She whips around, hand outstretched as he retreats to his bedroom. Only the back of his head greets her as his door shuts quietly. Alone. Once again, alone in the kitchen. His words echo throughout her mind, a repressed memory emerging to the surface. She swallows it down, wiping her eyes clear of any evidence.

Why did he have to say those words?

The microwave beeps. She jumps, barely managing to contain a scream. Taking a deep breath, she steadies her racing heart. She's fine. She's with her boyfriend. She's safe. They're all safe.

With shaky hands, she grabs the bag out of the microwave and brings it back to the couch. She falls into the cushions, gripping the bag tightly between her fingers. Kuranosuke pulls her against him, whispering a word of thanks against her ear. His lips tickle her skin. She doesn't react.

She barely hears his words. The TV. Her heart hums loudly in her ears. She can't stomach the popcorn, feeling sick. Lets the snack fall back into the bag. Kuranosuke pays no mind to her, popping the kernels into his mouth with his free hand while the other hand rubs her arm. Slowly, she leans her head against his shoulder, seeking comfort. She finds none. She closes her eyes, thinking back to when Miroku comforted her. How his mere touch put her at ease. How she fell asleep within minutes, his warmth curling around her like a protective blanket.

It's at this moment, she realizes how exhausted she is. Physically and mentally. Probably the two glasses of wine. This is why she doesn't drink wine often, she muses. Something about it makes her want to sleep. To curl up and escape reality.

I wish you nothing but happiness. The words echo throughout her mind like a sickening lullaby, pulling her to sleep.