InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Purity Short: The Fairy Tale ❯ One Step Forward ( Chapter 1 )

~~Chapter One~~

~One Step Forward~

 

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:University of Edinburgh:

:Edinburgh, Scotland, UK:

:Thursday, February 13, 2059:

 

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“Aww, he's out there again . . .”

 

Meara heaved a sigh and smashed her hands over her ears in a vain effort to ignore the ungodly sound of the off-key singing that was blowing in the window along with the frigid winter afternoon wind. “Close that window, will you?” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the rising din. “It's freezing, if you didn't notice, and you're encouraging him!”

 

Iona rolled her eyes and stuck out her bottom lip in a thoughtful moue. “Of course I'm encouraging him . . . he looks absolutely miserable . . . come see for yourself if you don't believe me . . .”

 

Meara didn't deign to respond to that. Heaving a sigh as she tried to pay attention to the book she was reading for one of her classes, she shook her head and wondered just how long he'd stand out there, singing and strumming his ridiculous ukulele before he gave up for the night.

 

One would have thought that'd he would have given up that particular line of pursuit over three years ago after the first time he'd tried it. All he'd succeeded in doing back then was irritating everyone else who lived in the dormitory to the point that they were throwing things at him. She supposed it was her fault that he kept it up. After seeing the numerous stuffed animals and other assorted things that were raining down on the poor man, she'd agreed to accept the flower that he'd offered her that had initiated the debacle though she had declined his offer to take her on a date.

 

`You have to give him credit for his `never say die' attitude,' her youkai ventured.

 

She grimaced. `He needs to give up,' she told herself sternly, refreshing her grip on the pen in her hand that she'd been using to take notes before the ruckus had started outside. It'd be simpler to ignore if Iona would stop opening the window whenever he started singing—which he always did whenever she refused to take the daily flower that he invariably offered her. A different flower every day—at least, a different color if he couldn't find a completely different kind. She'd often wondered if he kept a calendar with the flower types and colors listed on them so that he didn't repeat himself, though there were three separate occasions that she could name when he'd broken the rule. She'd made the mistake of pointing that out to him a few months ago on that crisp September afternoon when he'd presented her the peach dahlia for the third time along with his prerequisite invitation to take her to the movies or whatever the offer of the day happened to be.

 

“Running out of flowers, are you?” she'd asked coolly, her gaze flicking over his handsome countenance.

 

Morio grinned unrepentantly and shook his head. “Nope. This one's special.”

 

“Special?”

 

He nodded. “It's our three year anniversary of the day we first met. It's only fitting that I give you the same kind of flower, don't you think . . .?”

 

Proving, of course, that there really was a method to Morio Izayoi's madness . . .

 

“Oh . . . looks like they've gotten out the eggs . . .” Iona said with a wince. “Poor guy . . .”

 

Slamming her book closed, Meara stood up with a swish of her heather brown skirt and crossed her arms over her chest as she grudgingly made her way to the open window. Grimacing when she saw that the other tenants in the quaint apartment building really were throwing eggs at the pathetic-looking hanyou who was still singing his lungs out on the square of yard below, she sighed. “Morio! Stop that!” she hissed, grasping the window sill and leaning outside.

 

Morio stopped long enough to retrieve the wine colored rose off the packed snow. “Will you take the flower?” he called up.

 

“No!”

 

He sighed and shook his head, carefully setting the flower back on the ground before strumming a few off-key notes on the ukulele once more. “`You are my sunshi-i-ine, my only sunshi-i-ine . . . You make me happy-y-y when skies are gr-e-e-ey . . .'” he sang.

 

Someone yelled something that Meara couldn't rightly discern seconds before another egg came crashing down from one of the apartments above. Morio neatly sidestepped the obstacle and kept singing. “Mor-i-o!” Meara hissed a little louder. “Stop!”

 

“`You'll never know, de-e-ar—will you take my flo-ower and go on a date with me toda-a-ay . . .?'”

 

Gritting her teeth, Meara growled in irritation at the stubborn hanyou who just didn't know when to quit.

 

“Just take the blessed flower, MacDonnough!” someone hollered. “I've got tests tomorrow . . .”

 

“Yeah,” someone else agreed. “Put him out of our misery!”

 

A chorus of agreement ensued, and Meara heaved a sigh.

 

“If you don't want to accept the flower from him, maybe you should just accept it for the good of the other residents,” Iona pointed out reasonably despite the marked twitching of her lips.

 

Meara heaved a sigh, rubbing her forehead with a tired hand. “All right!” she called down. “Fine . . . you win, you stubborn man!”

 

Morio's grin was instant and brilliant. Without a second thought, he dropped the ukulele and retrieved the rose, clamping the stem between his teeth before grasping the ivy covered trellis affixed to the building beside Meara's window and starting to climb.

 

“Here,” he said, grabbing the flower and holding onto the window sill with one hand. “Does that mean—?”

 

“No,” Meara stated flatly. “No date; just the flower.” She hurried to take said-flower and slowly shook her head. “Be careful!” she fretted. He slipped but managed to catch himself before he took the two story plunge to the ground below the window. She reacted before she could stop and think about it, grasping at him before he fell. She reached for his shoulders, but he slipped a little more, and she gasped when her hands closed around fistfuls of hair and something . . . else . . .? Jerking her hands away, she scowled at him as he grimaced at her. Leaning to the side, he held on with one arm to free the other to rub at the little white dog ears that she could now plainly see. She might have seen them long ago if she has only tried to see through his concealment. Then again, his concealment had been a lot stronger than most hanyous . . . it bespoke his grandmother's renowned miko powers as well as his direct relation to the Inu no Taisho, she supposed . . .

 

“Ouch, Meara . . . that hurt . . .” he complained.

 

“S-sorry!” she blurted before leaning forward to inspect the ears once more. “You have dog ears?”

 

He stopped rubbing long enough to grin at her. “Well, yeah . . . I'm hanyou, remember?”

 

Inclining his head, he twitched his ears at her; a silent invitation for her to touch them. She started to reach out then jerked her hands back again, scowling at him. “I-I don't care!” she stammered, crossing her arms again to keep her itching fingers off Morio's entirely too-inviting ears.

 

He chuckled and hauled himself up enough to peer into the room. “Hello, Iona. How are you this evening?”

 

Iona giggled. “Hi, Morio. Fine as ever.”

 

“You look lovely.”

 

“You look absolutely miserable,” she remarked with a smile at the casual conversational tone he was using despite his precarious position, hanging from the window sill.

 

“Nah,” he drawled with a lazy grin. “I'm just . . . hanging around.”

 

Iona laughed. “I see . . . just don't fall, okay?”

 

He grinned. “Don't worry; I won't . . . So Meara . . . do you want your Valentine's Day gift early?”

 

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the little smile that graced her lips. “It's not Valentine's Day yet.”

 

He shrugged. “That's okay . . . I want you to have it early.”

 

“You mean you're not going to the Valentine's Day festival tomorrow?” she couldn't help asking.

 

“Well . . . probably not . . . I mean, if some other woman pulled my name out of the hat, then I'd feel like I was cheating on you, right?”

 

Cheeks pinking, she snapped her mouth closed on the retort that had been forming. “We're not together, so it wouldn't be cheating.”

 

He grinned. “Face it, Meara. We're meant to be.”

 

“You gave me the flower; now get out of here, will you?”

 

He chuckled. “Will you take your present?”

 

Rolling her eyes and stifling the desire to growl in abject irritation at his tenacity since she knew—just knew—that he wasn't about to give up, she sighed instead. “Fine.”

 

Leaning to the side, he hung onto the windowsill with one hand while digging into the inside pocket of his leather jacket with his free hand.

 

Meara winced and gripped his arm to steady him. He shot her a cheesy grin as he carefully extricated a small flat box and held it out to her.

 

She stared at it for a long moment before slowly reaching out to take it.

 

“W-whoa . . . whoa!” he exclaimed suddenly, flailing his arm and trying to keep from falling. Meara gasped and dropped the box to grab him, pulling him back toward the window once more. He laughed, and she narrowed her gaze. “Aw, Meara . . . I didn't know you cared.”

 

“You did that on purpose!” she gasped.

 

He laughed again. “No . . . well, maybe . . .”

 

“You jerk!” she growled, smacking his arm. “I thought you were really going to fall!”

 

His laughter escalated, and she heaved a sigh. “Were you worried about me, Meara?”

 

She narrowed her gaze and resisted the nearly overwhelming desire to shove the hanyou out of her window. “No, I don't think I was.”

 

“Ah, well . . . how about a Valentine's kiss for me?”

 

“How about not.”

 

He heaved a sigh but looked anything but contrite. “Can't blame a guy for trying, now can you?”

 

Reaching up, she braced her hands on the bottom of the window, the threat obvious. With a hearty laugh, he hauled himself up to kiss her cheek before letting himself drop back to the ground below. “Morio!” she hollered, poking her head out the window before she could stop herself.

 

He landed on his feet and stood up slowly, turning and looking up to wave at her before gathering his ukulele and loping off into the night.

 

“I think he's trying to kill me,” Meara grumbled as she slammed the window closed and snapped the latch into place.

 

“I think he's sweeter than sugar,” Iona contradicted, rubbing her arms as she adjusted the thermostat to warm the apartment up quicker. “So what did he give you this year?”

 

Meara wrinkled her nose as she stared at the carefully wrapped package. Silver foil paper festooned with deep red and pink hearts shone in the weak light of the lamp beside the sofa, and she bit her lip, trying to decide whether or not to open it.

 

“Well, it's too small to be another stuffed dog,” Iona remarked, peering over Meara's shoulder with a soft giggle.

 

Meara tried not to smile at the reminder of the present Morio had bought her last year—a huge white stuffed dog that was currently sitting in her bedroom—not that she'd ever admit as much to him, of course.

 

“Sure, but what do you think it is?”

 

Iona tapped a delicate claw against her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm . . . too big to be jewelry . . . too flat to be a flower . . .”

 

Casting her friend a sidelong glance, Meara slipped her claw under the configuration of ribbons that were tied around the flat box and slit them. They fell away onto the floor. Tearing off the paper, she couldn't help the little giggle that escaped as she stared at the small box of gourmet chocolates—her favorites. How had he known . . .?

 

`You ready to admit that he isn't as bad as you want to make him out to be?'

 

Meara frowned at the teasing in her youkai's voice, and she abruptly handed the box to Iona. “Here,” she said, shoving the chocolates into Iona's hands. “I'm on a diet.”

 

“A diet?” Iona echoed with an arched eyebrow. “Really . . .”

 

“Yes,” Meara stated flatly. “Now I have to finish that report.”

 

Iona's laughter trailed after Meara as she grabbed her book off the sofa and stomped off toward her room.

 

`You gave away your Valentine's Day present?'

 

Scowling as she sank down on the edge of her bed and kicked off her shoes, Meara pursed her lips and tried to ignore the stinging reprieve in her youkai's voice.

 

`Three years, Meara . . . that's a long time for him to be hung up on you when you won't even give the poor guy so much as a second of your precious time.'

 

Opening her book, she shook her head and tried to focus on the words printed on the pages.

 

`And those ears . . . admit it: you really liked those ears . . .'

 

Wrinkling her nose, Meara bit her lip and heaved a sigh, squelching her eyes closed a few times as she tried to read once more.

 

`You can try to ignore me if you'd like, but you know I'll just keep talking . . .'

 

With a heavy sigh, Meara slammed the book closed and tossed it aside before flopping back and dragging a pillow over to cover her face—and hopefully drown out the ever-increasingly annoying voice of her youkai blood.

 

`La la la . . . I'll leave you alone if you'll just admit that you really don't dislike Morio Izayoi.'

 

`Okay!' she relented with an accompanying snort. `I don't dislike Morio Izayoi . . . I just don't like him, either.'

 

`Are you sure about that? He's awfully cute . . . and those ears were just adorable . . .'

 

Wrinkling her nose, she rolled her eyes. Leave it to her youkai blood to point out something as entirely irrelevant as Morio Izayoi's cute little puppy dog ears.

 

The soft knock on the door sounded just before Iona poked her head inside. Lowering the pillow in time to see the strange expression on Iona's face, like she had just discovered something that could change the world, Meara narrowed her eyes on her best friend. It was the kind of expression that Meara didn't trust; not at all. “Why do you look like the cat that ate the canary?” she asked.

 

Iona shook her head and walked into the room, perching on the edge of the bed beside Meara with an entirely amused glint in her shining green eyes. “Remember that concert you wanted to go to but couldn't get tickets to?”

 

Meara snorted, sitting up and making a face at the reminder. She'd tried to get tickets for the much-anticipated show, but it had sold out in record time, much to her irritation. She'd fumed about that for nearly a week afterward. Who would have thought that it would have sold out in a matter of hours? “Yeah . . . what about it?”

 

Iona's grin widened, and she handed Meara a plain white envelope. “This was in your box of chocolates, Meara.”

 

She reached out slowly, unsure whether or not she really ought to take the envelope. Iona's grin widened, and she rolled her eyes. “It's not going to bite you,” she chided.

 

Meara wasn't so sure. It wasn't sealed closed, and she bit her lip as she hesitantly pulled the folded paper out, along with two VIP tickets: box seats and backstage passes to meet the members of Trinity, the hottest band in Great Britain. “Oh . . .”

 

“What does the letter say?”

 

Casting Iona a suspicious glance, Meara shook her head and set the tickets aside. “Did you read it already?”

 

Iona snorted. “Contrary to popular belief, I don't make a habit of reading other people's love letters,” she pointed out. “Anyway, yes, I saw the tickets, but no, I didn't read the letter.”

 

Meara drew a deep breath and unfolded the slip of paper.

 

:

 

`My dearest Meara,

 

`I heard from a little birdie that you really wanted to go to see this show, and while I know it isn't really a great Valentine's Day gift, I hope you'll forgive me and enjoy yourself. Take Iona or someone, and have a good time.

 

`Happy Valentine's Day to the light of my life.

 

`With all my affection,

 

`Morio.'

 

:

 

“That jerk,” she mumbled, gripping her forehead in her hands, crumpling the letter against her temple.

 

“What? Does he want you to meet him there or something?”

 

She shook her head, foisting the letter into Iona's hands. “Worse.”

 

Iona spared a moment to stare at Meara before uncrumpling the note and reading it through. “Wow . . . he really is an ass, isn't he?” she deadpanned, quirking an eyebrow at Meara.

 

That earned her a deep scowl as Meara shook her head and sighed. “Don't you see? He's trying to guilt me! How fair is that, I ask you?”

 

“Or maybe he really does want you to go and have fun at the concert.”

 

Meara shook her head. “But how did he get those tickets? They're box seats . . . with backstage passes, no less!”

 

“Well, don't look a gift horse in the mouth . . . but you know, you could see if he wanted to go with you, if that'd soothe your soul.”

 

Flopping back against her pillows once more, Meara frowned at the ceiling. “Maybe I will,” she allowed grudgingly. “Maybe . . .”

 

 

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Morio pulled the cottage door closed and rattled the handle to check the lock. Satisfied that the place was secure—then again, who would really want to rip off a college student?—he grabbed the handle on the suitcase and headed for his car, staring at the pristine white Narcissus in his other hand. He had to drop this off before he left, but that shouldn't take too long, providing Meara accepted it . . .

 

`Traveling on Valentine's Day,' he thought with a shake of his head. `This sucks . . .'

 

Heaving as sigh as he held out the keychain to release the trunk, he was settling the suitcase into the back and mumbling under his breath about transcontinental flights when a soft voice interrupted his thoughts. “Where are you going?”

 

It took a moment for him to recognize the voice, mostly because it was one that never actually sought him out. Slowly turning his head, as though he was afraid that she was just a figment of his imagination, Morio broke into a hesitant smile as his gaze lit on Meara MacDonnough. Standing just behind him with her hands clasped in front of her, she was scowling just a little as the crisp February air whipped her hair into her eyes.

 

“Got to go to home for a few weeks,” he informed her. “Family thing.”

 

“Oh?”

 

He nodded, closing the trunk of the car before turning around and leaning against it. “Yep . . .” He grimaced. “Here.”

 

Staring at the flower in his hand, she almost broke into a smile as she hesitantly reached for the blossom—almost. “So you weren't trying to make me feel guilty about going to that concert without you?” she ventured as she lifted the flower to her nose.

 

Morio blinked, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “No . . . why would I do that?”

 

She nodded slowly as, her nose buried in the bloom. “Oh, I don't know . . . most guys would, I should think . . .”

 

“Maybe . . . but I'm not most guys.”

 

Meara wrinkled her nose and snorted indelicately. “You're up to something; I know it.”

 

Shaking his head as he raised his hands in an innocent gesture, he grinned unrepentantly. “I'm not; I swear it. I just want you to have fun.”

 

That answer didn't seem to please her, either, and she uttered a low growl under her breath. “I don't trust you, Morio Izayoi.”

 

“You should,” he countered lightly, letting his hands rest on either side of him, drumming his claws against the trunk of the car. “It's not good when you don't trust your future mate.”

 

“My future . . . what?” she blurted, cheeks pinking as Morio's grin widened.

 

“Your future mate,” he stated once more. “I'm telling you, Meara . . . we're meant to be.”

 

Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms over her chest and tried for an aloof stance that was completely undermined by the tingeing of pink that deepened on her face. “I have no idea what you're talking about,” she mumbled haughtily.

 

He chuckled. “It's okay, Meara . . . one day you'll admit it. I can wait.”

 

Slowly she shifted her gaze to meet his and sighed. “You just don't know when to give up, do you?”

 

Pushing himself away from the car, he ambled over to her, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans as he tilted his head to the side and shrugged. “When it comes to you? I'll never give up.”

 

“Maybe you should,” she murmured, silver gaze wide as she stared up at him.

 

To her surprise, he nodded slowly then heaved a sigh. “Maybe . . . but I don't want to.”

 

“Are you always this persistent?”

 

“Only when it comes to you.”

 

She shook her head and stepped back as though she needed to distance herself from him—maybe she did. “It'd never work, you know,” she said softly. “It wouldn't . . .”

 

“You don't believe that, do you?”

 

She shrugged. “Don't I?”

 

Heaving a sigh, Morio nodded. “All the more reason for me to convince you,” he told her. “We'd be great together. You'll see.”

 

She looked vaguely amused for a moment before she shook her self, digging into her purse and pulling the tickets out. “Here,” she said, smacking his chest with the flimsy bits of paper.

 

He shook his head and gently pushed her hand back. “Nope . . . these are for you. I'm serious. Take someone with you, and enjoy yourself.” He grinned. “I hate to rush off like this, but I'll miss my plane if I don't get moving.”

 

She nodded and watched him as he strode over to his car once more. “Coffee,” she blurted as he reached for the handle.

 

He stopped and peered back over his shoulder at her. “Come again?”

 

Fighting back the furious blush that rose to stain her cheeks, Meara hooked a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear and hurried forward. “Give me your cell,” she demanded, looking completely consternated and yet wholly adorable.

 

Morio raised an eyebrow but did as she commanded, digging his cell phone out of his pocket and handing it to her.

 

Casting him a narrow-eyed stare, she quickly programmed in her phone number and thrust his phone into his hand. “Call me . . . when you get back,” she said, her expression a mix of belligerence and irritation. “Just coffee, though—not a date.”

 

Very slowly, Morio broke into a grin—small at first but brightening fast as he finally threw his head back and laughed. “You can count on it, Meara,” he said as he wound down to soft chuckles.

 

Meara let out a deep breath, peering up at him through the thick fringe of smoky eyelashes. “Why do I know I'm going to regret giving you my number?” she muttered.

 

Morio grinned. “You won't regret it, Meara . . . I promise.”

 

She rolled her eyes but stepped back as Morio got into his car and started the engine. Rolling down the window and sticking his arm out in a jaunty wave, he pulled away from the curve, beeping the horn as she watched him adjust the side panel mirror his gaze meeting hers just for an instant.

 

“You won't regret it, Meara . . . I promise,” his voice echoed in her head as Meara watched the car disappear around the corner.

 

Biting her lip as she tapped the tickets on the palm of her hand, she sighed and turned around, heading back toward the university and the class she was going to be late for. Flakes of snow fell around her, and she stopped, tilting her head back to watch the fluffy bits float to the earth. Smiling golden eyes danced before her, and she shook her head, trying in vain to force the image from her mind; the silvery hair . . . those little ears . . . those startling eyes that she'd never, ever forget.

 

She wouldn't regret it? She grimaced.

 

Maybe that was what she was ultimately afraid of . . .

 

 

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A/N:

 

“You Are My Sunshine” writtenby Jimmie Davis & Charles Mitchell- Copyright1940 by Peer International Corporation. Copyright Renewed.

 

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Final Thought fromMorio:

Coffee and her digits … ni-i-ice …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Fairy Tale): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~