Sango awakens, the television flickering in the background of the still apartment. The bag of popcorn lays forgotten on the floor. She sighs, picking it up to throw it out. The apartment is eerily silent, she thinks as she pads her way to the kitchen. Cold seeps through her socks on the linoleum floor. She takes another step, pausing when something hot and sticky permeates the soles of her feet. Even in the dark, Sango can tell the liquid isn't water. The bag of popcorn drops to the ground, kernels tumbling out.
She stifles a scream. Hands fly to her mouth in horror as she sees maroon splattered across the floor. A hand stretches toward her. Her name falls from his lips in quiet anguish. Her legs remember how to work, pumping forward. She kneels, searching his dark eyes as she cradles his face in the palms of her hands. "Stay with me!" Tears well in her eyes, hands searching for his wound to help stop the bleeding.
"...Sango."
"Stop!" she begs, putting pressure on his chest. "You'll waste your energy!" Eyes scan the apartment as she wills the tears to stop clouding her vision. "911. We need to call 911 and get you to the hospital."
Again, he says in an unnaturally calm voice. "Sango."
She shakes her head, pleading. "Stay with me a little longer! We can stop the bleeding. We can get you help. You're going to be fine."
He grips her hand, tight for someone with little strength left. "You know what to do."
"I don't understand."
Large, comforting hands cup her cheek. "Promise me," her father says with a blood-stained smile, "that you will live your life. Be strong, Sango. You have to survive. I wish you nothing but happiness." The light fades from his eyes, hand going limp in hers.
"Father," she says as she chokes on a sob. "Father, please. You can't leave me. This can't be happening. No, no, no, this wasn't supposed to happen!" Her body shakes with another cry, clutching her father's limp hand. She squeezes one last time, steeling her resolve. She will do what her father said. She has to be strong. To be brave. Time is of the essence.
Whoever did this is close by.
Sango grabs the hidden gun under the kitchen sink. Father always had some hidden throughout their home, in case of emergencies just like this. Sango grips the gun like a lifeline, checking each room with skilled precision that her father taught her. Empty. She's alone, but that does not bring her any consolation. She opens the backdoor, snow falling around her in a crazed flurry. Ignoring the cold searing her skin, she notices two pairs of footsteps in the fresh snow. Sango follows, finding her prey within minutes.
She freezes, but not from the cold.
Kuranosuke stands before her, holding Miroku against him with a knife to his throat.
Her heart hammers heavy in her chest, chipping at her resolve until nothing is left but untamed fear. "Let him go."
"Sango," he regards her lazily, his normal serene blues now a wine-red, taunting her in victory. Flakes of white snow stick to his hair. "Welcome to the party."
"I said," she warns, finger on the trigger, "Let Miroku go or I swear you'll be sorry."
"Go ahead," he says, cheek against Miroku's. His blue eyes widen a fraction, terror flickering across their depths. "Go ahead and shoot, but risk shooting his head off. Or, maybe we will see who has the faster hand? You always had a good shot. The best, even. Time to put it to the test."
Sango inhales deeply, attempting to steady herself. "Why are you doing this?"
"Shoot the gun, Sango. You have to choose between the two of us."
Her hands shake. "Please," she begs. "Please don't make me do this. I don't want to do this!"
"Sango!"
She focuses on Kuranosuke. His lips curl up in a lazy smile. "I'm doing this for us, Sango. With Miroku out of the picture, we can finally focus on taking our relationship to the next level."
She can do this. She can do this. She has the best shot of anyone around. A prodigy, that's what they call her. She bites her lip, willing the gun to stop trembling in her hands. "I…I can't." She can't risk shooting Miroku, even if she is a good shot. She can't risk losing the person who means the most to her.
"You can still save him." Hope sparks in her heart at Kuranosuke's words. "Toss the gun to the side, and I'll let him go."
Miroku's panicked words fill her ears, "Don't listen to him, Sango!"
"I want your word."
"Sango, don't I always keep my promises?"
She drops the gun, kicking it away. It slides in the fresh powder, glinting in the sinking sun. "Let him go. You can have me instead."
Kuranosuke pushes Miroku away. Sango lets out a baited breath, taking a step toward Miroku when Kuranosuke's grip on the knife tightens. Her eyes widen, her screaming coming a fraction too late as he stabs the man she loves from behind. Red coats pure white snow as he falls forward, crumpled. Just like her Father.
Help. She has to help him. She has to get help. She has to go. To get away from this monster. To get to the police. To anyone who can help. How did she ever let him put his hands on her? Kiss her? Sango turns and runs. Grips her phone from her pocket like a lifeline. Dials the one person she trusts the most. He picks up on the first ring. She shouts his name in frantic desperation.
"Sango, what the fuck is happening?"
She opens her mouth to answer, but no words leave. Only an anguished scream as blinding pain radiates from her shoulder blades throughout her back. The phone flies from her hands, burying itself in white powder. She tumbles forward, the snow cushioning her impact. She reaches forward, numbly trying to move.
"Dumb girl. You thought you could run from me?"
He rips her up from the ground. Her vision swims, black dots like snow swirling around. His eyes are red again, like the blood that surrounds them. Her blood, she dimly realizes. Hands wrap around her neck. Her own fall limply to her side.
"Pity. I thought you would have more fight in you."
"Get away from her!"
Shots ring out. In quick succession. They both fall. She gasps as oxygen seeps back into her lungs at alarming speed. Pushes. Anything to get his body off of her.
Miroku crawls to her, her forgotten gun in his hand. "Sango," he pleads, "hold on!"
She reaches out with outstretched fingers, choking back a sob. He grabs her, fingers intertwining. "You're alive," she manages with a weak smile. "I'm glad."
"Fight this, Sango!"
"I'm sorry…I couldn't shoot. I couldn't risk it. I couldn't risk losing you. I'm so sorry."
"Sango." He grips her shoulders tightly, eyes swimming. "Sango, please."
Tears leak, freezing to her cheeks. She cups his face with a shaky hand. "I'm sorry," she says again. "I'm so sorry. I could have stopped this. I could have ended this."
"Sango." Nails dig into her shoulders, voice pleading. "Breathe. Fight this, Sango!"
Her eyes drift shut. She wants this to end. Her chest heaves painfully with each breath. Her throat burns from exertion. Cries fill her ears. Screaming. She's tired of fighting. She just wants to give in to sleep. To give up. She's cold. So cold, submerged in a million snowflakes that stab her skin.
His hands brush her bangs with such tenderness. Tendrils of warmth spread from her forehead down to her chest. She opens her eyes once more, tears staining her cheeks. No snow is around them. No blood. Just dark blue eyes searching hers. Warm, comforting hands encase her cheeks. Quickly wiping away tears as they fall. A palpable, "Sango," rushes from his mouth with relief.
"I'm sorry," she croaks between sobs. "I couldn't fight like you needed me to." I almost lost you.
"Sango," Kuranosuke's timid voice calls out from behind Miroku. He turns to the man who is comforting her. "I can take it from here."
Miroku's eyes cut to his in a heated glare. "I had to come running out of my room because you were useless and couldn't do a damn thing. As if I am leaving her right now like this when you have zero idea what is going on or how to help."
"What is a fuckboy going to do, huh? She's my girlfriend. I can help just fine on my own."
"The hell you can, asshole."
Sango's wary eyes follow Miroku's to Kuranosuke. He flashes her a charming smile. She flinches, that smile turning deadly. Visions of him holding a knife to Miroku's throat fill her mind. His light eyes turn dark, like wine in the night, as he regards her. Sango reaches out to Miroku. Her buoy in turbulent waters, grasping his hand tightly in hers. She can't stop her fingers from quivering. Her legs kick, desperate to get away from him. A guttural sound escapes her raw throat. Her shattered, empty heart throbs against the confines of her ribs.
"See," Miroku hisses, "you're making it worse." He angles his body to block Kuranosuke from her vision. "Just get out of here before you cause more harm than good." His fingers wipe away her tears as they fall in quick succession. "Focus on breathing, Sango. Breathe with me, okay? You're going to be alright. You are alright."
Shaking her head, she inhales sharply. "My back— I can't–"
"You're fine," Miroku murmurs, pulling her towards him. His fingers trace her back lightly, over her scar. She winces involuntarily. "It was just a dream. A nightmare. You're in our apartment."
Pins and needles rush up her arms, stabbing in quick succession. "My arms. I can't feel them."
"Focus on me," he commands kindly. "Breathe with me. In and out. Just like last time, okay? Five things. Focus on five things."
Her chest burns with exertion. She focuses on his fingers tracing invisible lines along her back as she watches his mouth. A sob tears itself from her lungs, and she curses herself for being so powerless.
"Hey," he murmurs, thumb wiping away another tear from her cheek. "Hey, don't go back there. Stay here with me. You're safe."
She wraps her arms around his torso, digging her face into the crook of his neck. She breathes in his scent, a cross between sandalwood and fresh ink on newly printed pages, relishing the comfort it brings. Allows the warmth to spread throughout her body, thawing away her sadness and guilt. His chest heaves against hers, gently guiding her breathing back to normal.
"It was just a dream," he whispers against her ear. "Just a night terror. You're safe, Sango."
She nods against his skin. Flashes of them holding each other in the snow float through her mind. It was just a dream, she tells herself. Miroku was never there. He was never stabbed.
The real version was that of Kohaku and her. Both dying, encased in the snow that fell around them. Both saved from the brink of death. Her little brother, who had never wanted to hold a gun in his life, took the life of the man who took their father's when she could not.
"I should have shot him. I should have done better. I could have done it. I should have done it."
His arms tighten against her body, pulling her closer. "You can't change the past, Sango. We can only shape our future."
His words sink in. Floating around freely in her mind like soft flurries. Sango takes a deep breath, emerging from his hold. Quivering palms rest against his chest as she stares up into worried blues.
Miroku, as always, brings her ashore through waves of doubt that threaten to pull her under, drowning her in her hellish nightmares.
"You're shirtless," she murmurs as she pulls away, wiping her swollen eyes with the back of her hand. "That's the second time now."
"Well," he says, lips tilted in a smile, "that's what happens when you get me out of bed in the middle of the night."
"I'll try not to make a habit out of it." The joke comes out flat, and she grimaces. Her vision trails toward the door where Kuranosuke stands, alone and forgotten. His hands wring together in nervousness, like he's not sure if he should stay or go.
Before she can stop it, a laugh topples out of her mouth. The sheer contrast of dream Kuranosuke and the real Kuranosuke is outstanding. Confidence shattered in a matter of minutes at her hands. She tries to stifle the jarring sound, but it keeps spilling out between her fingers. Both sets of blue eyes shoot to her in concern and alarm.
"Sango?" Kuranosuke hedges, body angled toward the door.
Another giggle surpasses her barricade. "I'm sorry," she says between fits. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
He reaches out, as if he can breach the empty space between them. "I can stay." She hears the words unspoken. I can be the one to help you.
But never says nothing is wrong with her. He knows she's broken. Trying desperately to put the pieces back together, even when they never fit quite right.
"The hell you're staying," Miroku mutters.
"She needs comfort."
"And you're going to be the one to comfort her? Just like you did when she had her fucking nightmare?" His voice is quiet fury.
Kuranosuke's eyes slant, just a fraction. "She's my girlfriend."
"Yes," Miroku says with a short laugh, "You keep saying that."
"Miroku, stop," Sango says, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Both of you, just stop. Kuranosuke, I'm sorry I ruined our note. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"
His hand falls to the doorknob. "You didn't ruin anything, Sango," he says, but they both know that's a lie. He shoots Miroku a final glare. "Call me." He leaves without another word. Without a goodbye. Without an 'I love you' that he proclaimed earlier that evening.
The click of the door shutting causes her to flinch. She stares at the door feeling hollow inside. Like all her emotions left her body with each teardrop. He didn't even fight to stay. Only fought with Miroku.
Her name being called softly brings her back to reality. Her hands cradle her head, pushing her bangs back. She takes a long, deep breath, settling the restlessness brewing in her bones. She allows her hands to drop into her lap, brown eyes glancing up at her savior.
He stands, blues pinched with concern as they flicker between her and his bedroom door. A flicker of uncertainty sparks between them.
Sango's heart jumps into her chest at the realization that the girl he brought back is probably still in his room. He left his date to comfort her. The thought makes her giddy and sick at the same time. Her hollow chest fills with butterflies, lifting her spirits slightly. "Miroku?"
"I…I better get back to her," he says with quiet resolve. His fingers jump at his sides, curling and uncurling.
She knows it's selfish, but the words leave her mouth anyway. "Please stay. I don't want to be alone."
He shakes his head, smiling without warmth. "You were so eager to kick your boyfriend out just now. He's probably already pissed at how I yelled at him. How I was the one to comfort you. I wouldn't want to make him more upset by staying with you like last time. He's the one who should be doing this," he says slowly, eyes cutting through her like the sharpest of knives, "not me."
His words steal the breath from her lungs. Gutted. She nods without saying a word, because what else was there to say to that? He's right. Even if all she wants is his comfort, not Kuranosuke's. She blinks at the thought, hand clutching her chest. She watches with a forlorn gaze as he retreats back to his room.
Miroku casts one last glance her way before the darkness swallows him whole, shutting her out one last time.
A fresh set of tears cascade down her cheeks as she sits alone on the couch. Why? Why of all nights did she have to have a night terror tonight? How did she, once again, manage to ruin everything? Kuranosuke is pissed. Miroku is with another girl. She probably interrupted their fuck session.
She is utterly alone, only the darkness of the room and her thoughts wrapping around her like the tightest blanket. She numbly wonders what time it is. Gathering what little dignity she has left, Sango trudges to her bedroom. The clock reads past midnight, but Sango knows she won't be able to sleep. Not anytime soon. Not when her mind is awake with regret and what ifs. Not when her veins are ablaze with nostalgia and adrenaline and regret.
Sango lays on her bed for a few beats, kicking the tips of her toes against the carpet. Slowly, timidly, she climbs off the bed and reaches in the depths of her closet for a box that hasn't been opened since she was sixteen. When she first placed the items there, doomed to darkness for all eternity. Wiping the dust off the lid, she takes it off and places it on the ground beside her.
Family photos smile up at her. Her father's favorite gun goads all of her past failures. A newspaper clipping shatters her heart all over again. A police badge stares up at her. Taunting her. Screaming that she wouldn't be doing this. That she isn't strong enough. That she's a failure. That it's all her fault.
But Miroku's voice strikes through all doubts that course through her body. "You can't change the past, Sango. We can only shape our future."
Perhaps it's time she did something about her future. Shaky fingers touch the cold, unforgiving metal before she recoils, red eyes glimmering through the dark with a smirk. She blinks the memory away, instead pulling out a stack of photos. Her father and Kohaku beam up at her. She touches her father's face, memorizing the smile that lit up his features. Her fingers move to Kohaku. How light and carefree he looked holding a little Kirara. Before he held the weight of a man's life in the palms of his bloodied hands.
A devastated breath falls from her mouth, her free hand quivering against her lips. Her father's last words echo through her mind. The same words that Miroku had said quietly in the kitchen earlier that night.
I wish you nothing but happiness.
She had forgotten about the words her father had uttered, knowing his last breath would be taken shortly after. If only she hadn't been late that night due to a stupid fight she had earlier that day. If only she had pulled the trigger when Naraku had Kohaku. If only she had been faster. Maybe they could have all survived. Blood wouldn't be on Kohaku's hands. Her little brother, who wanted nothing to do with the police academy, was the one to stop the famed serial killer the police sought after for years.
The one who hid within plain sight. The most dangerous criminal, her father had told her, was one who blended in with society with no remorse for their actions.
Sango sighs, dropping the picture back into the box. She stares at the gun, long and hard, before grasping it in her hands. Her lungs squeeze with panic. Kohaku's face and bloodshot eyes flicker before her. She forces herself to keep a hold on it. Embrace the fear. Ride it out. She swallows thickly, blinking away visions of scarlet. She drops it back into the box, flexing her fingers. "Baby steps, Sango," she tells herself, "baby steps."
Grabbing her phone, she shoots a message to Kuranouske.
You home safe? I'm sorry about tonight.
She waits a few heartbeats before he replies.
Yes. Please don't worry about me. Are you alright now?
A laugh topples from her mouth again at his question. Is she alright? Sango shakes her head, thinking about how she hasn't been alright since that night. How she keeps running away.
Except tonight. She faced her past tonight, even if only for a moment.
Yeah, I'm doing better.
I'm glad to hear it. You had me worried. Can I call you?
He doesn't give her a moment to respond. Her phone lights up in the dark, buzzing between her fingers.
"Sango," he breathes, "Sango, I am so sorry."
She blinks, confused as she cradles the phone against her ear. "Why are you sorry?"
"I should have done more to help. I just didn't know what to do. You were suddenly screaming and thrashing, and I couldn't snap you out of it. It was terrifying. I felt powerless to help."
She clutches the phone. "There was nothing you could have done. The night terrors…sometimes I just have to ride them out. Wait to snap out of them. It's…it's pretty terrifying for me too."
"He was able to do something though." The jealousy in his tone is unmistakable. She imagines he's pacing through his bedroom, footsteps heavy with anger. Tie loose around his neck. "And it wasn't the first time he's helped you through them. Is it?"
Her voice softens as she explains, "That's because Miroku understands." She opens her mouth to tell him that Miroku has nightmares too, but shuts it. It's not her information to divulge.
"I should have been able to calm you down. I'm your boyfriend. I don't understand."
"I know you don't." Silence pours over the receiver. "Kuranosuke?"
A heavy sigh fills her ears. "No. No, I think I do understand. I was just hoping…trying…," he trails off.
This time, it's Sango who says, "I don't understand."
"You and him. I should have read the signs on New Year's. No, even more than that. It's been here all along. You like him."
"It's not that simple," Sango says, eyes falling to the box beside her. "Nothing with me is simple."
"That's not a denial."
"No," she says, resigned. "I suppose it's not."
He says nothing. Waits for her to continue. To explain herself, when she's not even sure she knows how to explain it.
Words fail her. She picks up the picture of her father and Kohaku again, as if they can give her answers. But she knows they can't. No one can. She's been running for so long, she's forgotten what it's like to stop. She slips the picture into her pocket.
Finally, she asks, "Why roses?"
"What?"
"Why do you buy me roses every week?"
"Don't all girls love roses?" he asks, confusion ringing through his voice.
"I suppose most girls do," she says with a resounding sigh. She thinks back to Miroku. How he told her she wasn't like most girls. The thought makes her smile sadly. "Kuranosuke…."
"You don't have to say it," he murmurs. "I know you love him and that this is goodbye. I wish you nothing but the best, Sango."
Fresh tears blur her vision. "I'm sorry," she croaks out. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Miroku is a lucky man," he says with a humorless laugh. "Don't think I'm giving up on you, though. I'm glad I ran into you, Sango. Truly."
Sango opens her mouth. Goes to tell him that it's not true because her feelings are unrequited. That he shouldn't wait around for her. But he hangs up before she gets the chance. She drops the phone to the floor, staring at the now dark screen. She leaves it there, along with the box of items. She goes to the kitchen to grab herself a cup of tea to help calm her nerves.
The light above their bar shines brightly. Miroku sits on the counter, staring off into space. His head turns, staring at her as she stops in the doorway.
"Hi," she says sheepishly.
His lips tilt up a fraction. "Couldn't sleep?"
"No," she responds. She forgoes the tea and hops up next to him. Fingers twiddle in her lap, unsure of what to say. She glances up at him, a small gasp escaping when she notices the handprint tattooed across his face. "Did you deserve it?"
He winces, cheeks a faint hue of pink. He rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, I did." He regards her, frowning. Reaches out, as if he wants to brush the remnants of tears off her face before remembering himself. "You alright?"
She touches her wet cheeks, wiping them away. "Yeah. I deserved these too."
His eyebrows pinch together. "Sango, you don't deserve to cry. Especially after what happened earlier."
"We broke up," Sango blurts. She takes a stabilizing breath, wiping her palms on her pants. "I guess it was him that broke up with me…but I deserved it."
Silence hangs heavy in the air between them, like the silence just before the heavens erupt with mighty rainfall.
Miroku's hands curl into fists. They shake with barely contained rage. "He broke up with you? After everything you went through tonight? After waving the word girlfriend around like a fucking trophy? Are you kidding me?"
"It was mutual," Sango says, lightly touching his hand. "No need to go punching anyone for my sake." She smiles up at him. "Wouldn't want your name to end up in the papers again because of me."
At her touch, he uncurls his hands. She withdraws hers. "I guess that means we can finally get rid of those roses?"
She laughs, feeling lighter than she has in ages. "Good. I couldn't wait to get rid of them."
Miroku shoots her an incredulous stare. "What? You gushed about them every time they came."
"The gesture was sweet, but roses are what most girls like. And as you've told me before," she says, glancing up shyly, "I'm not like most girls."
He smiles, eyes crinkling. "That you aren't, Sango."
She takes a deep breath. Gnaws on her lip. "Miroku," Sango begins, "I don't think I told you how truly sorry I am for the last few weeks. You're right…I imploded. Took you and everyone else out in my wake. I bolted and kept on running. It's what I do best, I guess. But for the first time, I stopped tonight." She takes the picture of her father and Kohaku out, putting it on the bar between them.
"Sango, you don't have to."
"I know," she says, smiling fondly as she glances at the picture. "This was taken a few months before my father was killed. My father was hunting this serial killer, Naraku. Every time he got close, he would be just out of reach. He would miss him by seconds."
"I remember hearing about him on the news," Miroku says, eyes glued to the photograph. "You look like him. Your father."
"I think I inherited just about everything from him. The day he died, I was mad at him. We got into some sort of argument, and you know what? I don't even remember what it was about. I told him I wasn't coming home that night and I was going to stay with Inuyasha. I ended up leaving and going home because I felt guilty. I wanted to patch things up. 'Tis the season and all that bullshit. When I walked in, I found him bleeding out on the floor. His partner, Onigumo, was there. Hand over the wound. Trying–" Sango inhales sharply. "Trying to stop the bleeding. Told me he had already called the police. That he didn't see who did it, just that the door was open when he came to stop by. He used to drop by a lot. He was a close family friend."
Sango blinks rapidly, trying to stop the tears from flowing again. "He was stabbed. There was blood everywhere. We couldn't stop the bleeding. He brushed my hair away, joked around about how all this stressing would give me white hairs early. Told me that all he wished for was my happiness in life as he took his last breath."
A whoosh of air releases from Miroku's lungs. His eyes snap to hers. "Sango."
"It's okay," she says, knowing he was blaming himself for her night terror. "I didn't understand how he could be so lighthearted in the face of death. So calm. It was a few minutes later, when Kohaku came home, that I realized my father had been sending me a silent message with his joke about white hairs. There was a white hair on Onigumo's jacket. I don't know if you know much about Naraku…but he wore a baboon mask with white fur to hide his identity. My father figured it out. That Naraku had been hiding in plain sight, pretending to be a detective to stay one step ahead of the police. I couldn't let him know that I had figured it out. I was terrified. I sent a message to Inuyasha, telling him to call the police and what I had figured out. Tried to sneak it because Naraku was standing right in front of me and had just murdered my father and tried to frame it as a break-in."
Mirou's hands intertwine with hers with a reassuring squeeze.
"Naraku must have read it on my face. Seen the change in my demeanor. He grabbed Kohaku, put a knife to his neck, and told me if I moved a single step my brother would be dead. He stepped out the back door. My brother cried out for help. I couldn't let him take away the only thing left I loved, so I grabbed one of my father's hidden guns and ran outside to follow. I had the opportunity to shoot him but I just…I froze. The thought of potentially shooting my little brother, the one person I adored most in the world, had me frozen. They called me a prodigy. Best shot in the Academy. Never missed a target. And yet, when it mattered, I froze."
She stops to take a breath. To blink back tears because she was so sick of crying. "So, we made a deal. My life for his. Except he didn't hold up his end of the bargain. Almost killed Kohaku. Stabbed me in the back, literally. Ripped me from the ground, choking me. Kohaku shot him with the gun I had dropped earlier. Ended it when I couldn't. My little brother, who used to cry whenever we accidentally stomped on a bug, killed a man. Police came a short while later. Somehow, we both survived our injuries."
"It wasn't your fault."
She laughs, shaking her head. "Of course it was. I should have been home. I should have figured out my father's message earlier. Shot Naraku when I had the chance. If I had figured it out sooner, I could have saved him. Could have stopped my little brother from becoming a murderer. We almost died, and I could have stopped that."
"No," he says again, voice firm. His hand clenches hers firmly with conviction. "It was Naraku's. Not yours. You were sixteen. A kid, not a trained policeman. You witnessed your dad dying. Saw your little brother held at knife-point. Feared for your lives. It was not your fault."
"My dream of being a detective like my father died that day too," she says, staring down at their intertwined hands. Her fingers tremble beneath his. "I can't hold a gun without seeing his taunting eyes. The blood that was shed."
"Dreams change," he says, "You told me that once."
She sighs, trying to disperse all the guilt from her lungs. "I suppose. I guess, childishly, I've still been holding on to it even though I know it'll never come to fruition with how useless I am now."
He chimes in immediately, "You're not useless. You're anything but useless."
"I appreciate the sentiment, but I sure feel useless."
"You're brave," Miroku murmurs, thumb tracing her skin. "If I had gone through what you did, I doubt I would have handled it with half your grace."
"I don't know about that. I pulled a Miroku and latched on to the nearest dick."
He sputters, eyes wide as pink pours into his cheeks.
She laughs. "Just kidding."
"I was about to say, for shame, Sango."
She pats his hand in an endearing manner. "I bolt, you whore. We make quite the pair, you and I."
His lips quiver, like he's trying to suppress his smile. "Did you just turn whore into a verb?"
"You should put that in your novel."
He loses his battle, his lips spreading in a full on grin. "Done."
"Really?"
"Why not?"
"You'll have to add me as a secondary author now," she warns. "I expect thirty percent on royalties."
"For one word?" He shakes his head, incredulous. "More like one percent."
"Ten percent. Gotta pay the bills somehow."
"I missed this," he says in a quiet voice that doesn't quite sound like him. "I missed you."
"Yeah," she agrees, leaning her head on his shoulder, "I missed you too. I'm sorry."
Miroku pauses a moment before leaning his head against hers as well. "Yeah. I'm sorry, too. And…er, I'm sorry you guys broke up."
She snorts. "No you're not. You hated him."
"Yeah, he's a piece of shit."
"The biggest piece of shit," she agrees. "Well. Maybe not. I think I am."
She can hear the eye roll as he says, "So competitive."
A genuine smile. Her heart feels lighter than it has in ages. Like she could soar toward the sun, basking in its warmth without fear of her wings burning, sending her crashing back to Earth.
Miroku lifts his head. Clears his throat as he declares, "Let's make a fort."
"What are you, five?"
He stares down at her, blue eyes swimming with mirth. "Is that a no?"
"I'll get the blankets."
"That's what I thought."
They spend the next half an hour turning the living room into a ginormous fort full of blankets, cushions, and pillows. Laughing. Joking around like the last month and a half hadn't happened. Like things are finally back to normal between them. They huddle under precarious sheets, the television roaring to life. Comfortable.
"So, what have you been up to? Besides the whoring, of course." She laughs as Miroku pushes her. "Careful, you'll bring this whole thing down upon us!"
"Writing," he answers. "I've got a deadline to meet."
"New book?"
"Yeah," he says, pausing. He looks pensive as he says, "I just wasn't sure how it was going to end. I think I have an idea now, though."
"So mysterious."
A bittersweet smile plays upon his lips. "It's still up in the air, though."
"Isn't the ending the first thing you're supposed to know?" she asks with genuine curiosity.
He shrugs. "Depends on the author."
"What about you?"
"Honestly, I just get a feeling and go with it. Let the characters guide me. Sometimes they do things I don't expect, and I just have to roll with it."
Sango nods like she understands, even though she has no idea what he means.
They talk until their voices are hoarse between fits of laughter. Until sleep claims them beneath the sheets covering their heads, tendrils of sunlight passing through dark curtains.
Sango doesn't have any nightmares. Only sweet dreams, the color of calming and loving indigo invading every crevice of her mind.
When Sango awakes, she's alone. Curled up on couch cushions on the floor, a duvet of navy draped over her body. She blinks sleep from her eyes, crawling out of their makeshift fort. The apartment is bright with the warmth of the midday sun. She blinks sleep from her eyes, stretching her aching muscles.
She trudges to the kitchen for coffee, noting Miroku's absence but also the new vase of flowers on the counter. Her breath catches, cheeks pinking the same shade as the velvet petals. Picking up the card, she reads:
Keep fighting, and conquer your dreams.
-Miroku
P.S. Don't worry…these aren't true lilies. Don't want to harm Kirara!
Tears well in her eyes as her heart explodes in her chest. Lilies. Her favorite. She recalled his previous words, how he never gave flowers to any girl before.
Until now.