InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Cacophony ❯ Movement VI: Larghetto ( Chapter 6 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Cacophony

-x-

Movement VI: Larghetto

The moment the studio came in sight, Sango dropped Miroku's hand. It had been a nice gesture (it was cold outside anyway) and it'd been so long since she'd just held someone's hand… but she didn't want anyone getting the wrong idea.

Although her hand seemed strangely devoid of warmth; and the look on Miroku's face made her squirm. “What?” she said.

He looked her in the eye. “If you're ashamed of being seen with me, you just had to say so.”

“Asha—? I'm not!”

He smiled softly. “Okay.”

“Miroku—”

“I believe you.”

Annoyed, she hurried ahead a bit. Why did it seem like everything she did was wrong around this guy?

She skipped up the steps to the studio and pulled hard on the door—only to be jarred backwards when the lock held tight.

“Careful.” Miroku steadied as she stumbled backwards from the inertia. “It usually helps to unlock the door first.”

Sango halfheartedly glared at him. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” He reached under the mat and pulled out the spare key, unlocking the door for her. “After you, ma'am.”

As she brushed past him, he caught her waist briefly and whispered, “I'll pick you up at seven,” in her ear. She turned, opening her mouth to speak, but he strolled right past her into the recording studio.

Sango clenched her hands into fists and stomped her feet, throwing a miniature temper tantrum.

For the life of her, she could not understand what made Miroku Hamaguchi tick.

-x-

“Sango? What's the matter?” Kagome asked worriedly, sliding into the chair next to Sango as the musicians trickled into the room, not wanting to be late after Takahashi had just given them a half-hour coffee break. “You look upset.”

“Really?” She played a few tuning notes and started to finger through part of the piece. “What gives you that idea?”

Kagome sighed crossly and stuck her reed in her mouth to wet it. “Becaush you shtalked into thish room like an angry mother tiger, and Miroku Hamaguchi shtrode in just after you with the exshact shame look on his face.”

“You know you sound like some hick farmer with a piece of straw stuck in his mouth?”

“Yesh. Now anshwer my question.”

“Yes, something's wrong.” Sango continued to pluck at Kirara's strings. “I don't understand Miroku at all.”

“Not many people do.”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?”

“I'm going on a date with him tonight,” blurted Sango.

Kagome choked and hurriedly spat her reed out so she wouldn't damage it. “Come again?”

“You heard me,” Sango mumbled.

“You? A date? With Miroku?” A big grin split Kagome's face. “Sango, I'm so happy!”

“I'm not. I'm regretting accepting.”

“Why? Don't you like him?”

“Yes—I mean—no. Not in that way. I think…” She suddenly burst into an angry melody, pressing her bow down so hard she feared it would break. “Why did he ask me, anyhow? It's not like he doesn't have a million other girlfriends, like the one I saw him making out with yesterday…”

Kagome blinked.

“But never mind that…”

“San—”

“Oboe!” Takahashi barked. “Are you going to tune the orchestra or not?”

Kagome turned bright red and stammered out a “yes, sir” before shoving her reed into her oboe. Sango, taking care not to look Takahashi in the eye, scrambled back to her seat.

“Naughty,” Miroku whispered. “It's not good to tick off the conductor like that.”

“Shaddup,” she shot back, setting Kirara up. “I don't have to go out with you tonight, you know.”

“Yes you do,” he said, completely seriously.

This threw her off guard. “What do you mean, `yes I do'?”

“Miss Taijiya,” said Takahashi. “The orchestra is ready if you are.”

You know what…? Sango was too angry, too confused to even care about being reprimanded. “I'm ready, now thanks. Go ahead, Sess-man.”

She could hear Miroku choking beside her.

Takahashi was thrown off-guard for a minute, but recomposed himself quickly. “Rehearsal number four,” he barked, cuing in the orchestra with a furious wave

of his hand.

The cello section wasn't due to come in for another eight measures—even so, Miroku almost missed the cue. It's quite difficult to see the director when one is trying to smother chuckles behind one's hand.

-x-

“You can forget about that date tonight,” fumed Sango, catching up to Miroku as they were walking out of the studio.

“I don't think so,” he said, grinning. “I'll come pick you up at five. Sharp.”

“Hey, wait you can't—” She grabbed his sleeve, stopping him from crossing the street. “Where are we going?”

“It's a surprise.”

Sango raised an eyebrow. “On second thought, I have a lot to do tonight—”

Miroku slid an arm around her waist and tickled her playfully. “Be ready.” With that, he ran across the street with the rest of the musician crowd.

“Hamaguchi—” Sango stomped her foot in frustration and uttered a few choice curse words.

Where did that man get his self-confidence?

-x-

At 4:47 p.m., Sango was pacing around her apartment, dressed in only her undergarments. “ `Be ready at five,' he says. What exactly does he want me to wear? Is this going to be dressy? Semi-formal? Casual? Semi-casual?” She was about ready to rip her hair out.

“Fine. You know what?” She ruffled through her laundry baskets of unfolded clothes, finally coming up with a pair of navy Dickies pants. “If he wants to keep me in the dark—” She found a pair of comfortable flip-flops as well “—then he can just suffer the consequences.” Throwing open her tiny closet, Sango pulled out her favorite tee-shirt of all times.

She'd found it by chance one day when she was strolling around the Village. It was a normal white tee-shirt… but with black music notes covering all surfaces. She'd practically ripped it off the rack and shoved it under the saleslady's nose. “I'll have this please!” she'd shouted. Five dollars for the “music note” shirt, as the lady had called it.

But it wasn't just a “music note shirt”—these notes weren't random. Sango was wearing a shirt with the first of the Bach Suites on it—what she'd played for her audition at NYU, which had ended up earning her a scholarship.

Yes, she'd tried to play her cello by reading off her shirt. (It hadn't really worked.)

Satisfied, she stalked over to her couch and turned on the TV, waiting for Miroku to arrive.

-x-

“You ready?” were the first words out of Miroku's mouth when Sango opened the door.

“I suppose so.” Now that he was actually here, she was having doubts about this…date. She hated awkwardness—and she hated pretense.

Maybe she really should have turned him down…

He laughed. “Please, try and contain your excitement, for my sake.”

She managed a small smile and tucked her arm into his. He had on jeans and a white button-down shirt—and what seemed to be his favorite shell necklace—so she was reassured that he wasn't about to lead her to some five-star restaurant where cocktail dress was an unofficial expectation. “And where,” she asked him as he impatiently stabbed the elevator button, “are we rushing off to in such a hurry?”

“You'll see,” he said again, grinning.

Sango sighed and allowed herself to be hauled down three flights of stairs and practically dragged down the street. “My building does have an elevator, you know,” she said.

“We need the exercise. I don't know about you, but my idea of a working out is playing fast runs on my cello.”

“You doofus,” she laughed, dodging another pedestrian that Miroku nearly pushed her into.

“My right arm is so much more muscular than my left arm. It's ridiculous. Whenever I model, they always make me face left so my more buff arm is visible. It gets annoying after a while.”

Sango couldn't suppress the snort that escaped her.

He shot her sly grin. “What, you don't believe me?” He flexed both his arms for her. “See? The right is bigger.”

“Miroku, people are staring.”

“So? More publicity for me.”

“Can you sneak me into a shoot or two sometime? I really, really want to see you model.”

He winked. “I am fully clothed, you know.”

Sango whacked his arm. “That wasn't what I was implying.”

“Honey, if you want me to model for you, all you had to do is ask. You didn't have to be so subtle about it.”

Sango punched him this time. “Just where the hell are you taking me anyway?”

“Patience is a virtue, my dear.”

“That saying went out with corsets.”

“A shame,” he sighed. “I'm sure husbands had so much fun trying to get their wives out of—”

“Miroku. Stop. Now.” She didn't think she'd make it to this mysterious place alive.

“Cave-wo-man speak good?”

This place had so better be worth it.

-x-

Sango stared at the sign hanging above the doorway. “A…museum?”

“Rare prints of European artists donated by rich bigwigs.” Miroku was smiling contentedly. “The floors are covered in red carpet, and the walls look like ship sails—I don't know how they hung the paintings. But no one will bother you in there, I promise. It's one of my favorite places to go.”

Sango shot him a confused look. “Do you always take girls to an out-of-the-way museum on a first date?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“Well,” he said, taking her hand and leading her up the steps. “I figured anyone who bought and wears a shirt with the Bach suites on it would most likely appreciate a place like this.”

He was flattering her. He had to be. It was probably one of those lines—“you're the only girl I could do this with” type of thing. It didn't mean anything. Nothing at all.

Nevertheless, Sango couldn't help but blush a little when he handed her such a compliment.

Unless… it wasn't intended to be a compliment. I wanted female company, and you're the only fool that was willing to come visit a museum with me.

Or maybe she should just stop analyzing.

“You coming?” Miroku was smiling, tugging at her hand impatiently.

If that's the case, I'll enjoy myself and throw that in his face. Word. “Yes. I'm coming.”

-x-

“Look at this one!” Sango whispered, poking Miroku in the side. “Look at the texture they used—and how the colors blend like that to make that shadowy effect… Dude, that's awesome…” She trailed off and stared at the paintings like girl would stare at a crush.

Miroku smiled ruefully and shifted closer to her. His choice of the museum had been a test—he'd been thinking long and hard about his conversation with Inuyasha and decided to date a non-shallow girl… and what better place to test this theory than at an art museum?

The plan had backfired. He liked art, sure, but staring at it for hours wasn't exactly his idea of fun… But Sango was like a kid in a candy shop. He hadn't known she liked art. Hell, he wasn't really in the habit of getting to… know the girls he dated.

Not that he was dating Sango or anything.

“Miroku! You're not paying attention!” She elbowed him again. “Look! See the chiaroscuro? This is definitely a Renaissance painting, the effects are crude, but at least the guy tried…”

She's paying more attention to the paintings than me. The thought made him smile. Well he could remedy that, couldn't he? He casually slipped behind her and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her against him.

“Hey!” She pulled away and swiveled her head to glare at him. “What are you doing?”

“Getting more comfortable. If we're going to stand in front of each painting for more than an hour, we can at least be comfy.”

Sango gave him a confused look. “Why did you take me here if this place bores you?”

Damn, she's perceptive too? Dangerous. “I wanted to see if you'd like it,” he said, giving her (what he hoped was) a sexy smile.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously for a moment, but then relaxed. “Thanks,” she said, sounding surprised and pleased. “That was sweet.”

Er… crap…

“But we can leave if you're bored,” she said, pulling out of his embrace and pushing him towards the door.

Now he really felt bad. “But if you're enjoying yourself—”

She gave him a look. “Dates, by definition, are made up of two people. If one isn't having fun, that's kinda makes the point moot, doesn't it?”

Miroku stopped short in the middle of the doorway to a different gallery. “Well… geez… yeah…”

Sango rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Novel concept, Miroku?”

“I say,” a nasal-sounding Brit behind them said, tapping his foot impatiently, “would it be too much of a bother to perhaps move?”

“Bugger off,” she shot back at him.

Miroku snorted in amusement, grabbing her head and steering her towards the door. “Don't make trouble now.”

“He asked for it; impatient git.”

“Behave, now,” he said as they exited the museum, still holding hands. He was mildly disappointed that she once again dropped his hand. Moody, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “So what are we going to do now that you insisted we leave?”

She shrugged. “You planned the date.”

“If my memory serves me correctly, it takes two people to make a date.”

“But not to plan one.” She smirked.

He couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Fine, then. We'll just walk around for the rest of the evening.”

Sango did the `one-two-step.' “Works for me.”

Then they fell silent—for more than five minutes.

To Miroku, this was torture. He needed to fill up that silence… with something. “Say something,” he burst out.

“Huh?” Sango turned to look at him, as if shaking herself from a daydream.

“Is my company so uninteresting that you have nothing to say?”

Sango looked surprised. “Have you never heard of a comfortable silence?”

“Uh… Every silence I've experienced as been anything but comfortable.”

“You must hang around high-maintenance people.”

“I'm a model.”

“Oh… right… but seriously, don't you think it's kind of nice just to walk around with someone else and just… not say anything?”

He shrugged. “Never done it before.”

“Never?” She stared at him. “Don't you have any friends?”

“Of course I do.”

“I mean girlfriends.”

“Despite what I appear, I've never actually done two at once—”

“No, I mean—ew, Miroku—I mean friends that are girls. Like, just friends. Platonic.”

“Uh…” He thought back. “Well… I've started off with friends that are girls… but somehow it always seems to progress…”

She shook her head. “That's a shame,” she declared. “I will force you to go on walks with me in complete silence every week. As friends.”

He looked at her sideways and smiled a little. “Heh. That's fine with me.”

“Good,” Sango said, grinning back.

Miroku quickly looked away. God. She's gorgeous when she smiles. Flawless skin, genuine smile… even the magenta eyes somehow added to her—radiance?

I sound like a freaking poet. “Hey, Sango… I wanted to ask you. What's with the contacts?”

Sango brow furrowed for a moment, but then her expression cleared. “Oh. Sorry, dazed off there for a second… um, I like them?”

“What's your natural eye color?”

“Brown.”

“What's wrong with brown eyes?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why the contacts?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

Miroku had the feeling that he wasn't getting the whole story. “Okay. So you're a music major?”

“Mmhm.”

“Performance?”

“Well, I definitely wasn't going to do music education.”

“You don't like kids?”

“No, no, I love them—but I wouldn't be able to stand hanging around them all day and then coming home to my own.”

“Your own?” he repeated nonchalantly.

“Well…yeah…I mean, eventually.”

Is she blushing? Miroku hid a grin and surreptitiously moved closer to her as they ambled down the streets of the city. Although it was the City that Never Sleeps, the pedestrian traffic was a little more relaxed, so they didn't feel as bad taking such a slow pace. “I thought you were a… how did Inuyasha term it...? Oh yes, a `man-hater.'”

Sango scowled slightly. “Inuyasha always manages to distort my philosophies. I'm not a man-hater. I'm just getting over a bad relationship and am a little… wary of the opposite sex right now.”

“Ah. Well, at least that explains the contacts.”

“Wha—?”

Miroku grinned a little and poked her arm. “Self-defense. You think the weirdness will turn guys away. Am a right?”

She turned her head away. “Absolutely not.”

Miroku reached out and took hold of her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Liar,” he said lightly.

“Am not.” She pushed his hand away.

“I've known a few girls like that. Dying the tips of their hair purple. Wearing 3-D grey contacts. You girls think it pushes guys away—when it really only intrigues us.”

“Is that right.”

“Mmmhm…” He pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I'd like to see your real eyes.”

“Only people I'm close to have that privilege.”

Miroku wasn't sure if she meant that as an insult or discouragement—he took it as neither. He considered it an invitation. Or challenge.

Yeah, he preferred to think of it as a challenge.

“I'll look forward to seeing them,” he said.

She gave him a slanted look. “A bit presumptuous, aren't we?”

“Just intuitive.”

“Okay, Mr. I-Know-Everything-About-Women, shouldn't we be heading back now?”

“Getting tired?”

“I've had a long week,” she said defensively.

“Cool it,” said Miroku mildly. “We've all had a long week.” He took her hand to turn her around… but this time made sure to drop it before she had a chance to.

He wouldn't say he wasn't disappointed when she didn't seem to notice. He moodily shoved his hands into his pockets and unconsciously adopted his “model face”—the slightly-bored, stand-offish look. I just wish she would say something…

They finished the rest of the walk in silence, save for Sango commenting a woman's shoes, an advertisement posted on a wall, and Miroku responding in kind.

Feeling even more dejected once they reached her apartment building, he raised a hand to wave goodbye—

When Sango pulled him into a hug, resting her head on his shoulder. “Thanks,” she murmured.

Befuddled, Miroku tentatively wrapped his arms around her. “For what?”

“Tonight.”

“For the museum and the walk?” Geez, if this was all it took to please her…

“Yeah. It was nice. No one really likes to walk. They think it's a pointless waste of time.”

“That's narrow-minded.” Yeah, you're one to talk. You like walks, just not silent walks. But then again, for Sango…

“Mmhm.” She pulled out of his embrace and smiled brightly, causing his heart to skip a beat. “See you tomorrow, okay?”

“Our last recording session.”

“Yeah, thank god, right? I'll bet the group is gonna go out for a celebratory dinner or something—blow their entire paycheck.”

Miroku smiled back. “Most likely.”

“So… see ya later.” She waved and walked through the doors into her apartment building.

“Bye,” he called after her, once again adopting his model stance. He watched her disappear through the door and start to walk up the stairs before he allowed himself to leave.

He was getting much too attached.

-x-

Sango rolled over on her side, burying her face in her pillow. The moonlight was shining through her window and for once, the apartment was silent (the people next door with the teenage night-owl were on vacation), but she still couldn't fall asleep. She was stuck in that irritating rut of tossing and turning, because her brain couldn't turn the thinking switch off.

Stop thinking about Miroku.

She hadn't expected to enjoy their “date” that much—but he really was good company. Better than she'd expected. They'd laughed and talked and had a good time, which was rare occurrence with guy friends.

Sango should've been happy.

Only… she wasn't.

She kept thinking about the fact that he was a model and a playboy and had dated many, many girls over the years.

And he was competition. You hated him at first, remember? That would be great fodder for a relationship—“sorry, honey, I got the job.” “So what? I got the LAST job.”

She buried her face further into the pillow. Stop thinking about him! But geez, I wish I had his number so I could call him and get me out of this agony. Maybe I could find it in the phone book. But what if it's unlisted? Hm, I could ask Kagome. No, too suspicious. Off the internet? Yeah, I could find it somewhere there… and then I could call him and be all like, `Sorry for calling so late, but I can't sleep and I thought—' What am I doing? STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM!

It took her another two hours to finally fall asleep.

-x-

Miroku actually roused himself out of bed early that morning, looking forward to the recording session today. He whistled Tchaikovsky's Fifth as he shaved, not even deterred by the numerous pillows thrown at him by a grouchy Inuyasha, who had stayed up till the wee hours of the morning watching a Star Wars marathon with Kagome.

He'd just reached his favorite part when a pillow actually made contact with his head. He was thrown off balance and cut himself. “Damn, Inuyasha.” He was more surprised at his roommate's aim than he was upset.

“S'what you get…” Inuyasha mumbled from his place on the couch.

Miroku sighed and rummaged around the kitchen for a good fifteen minutes trying to find a band-aid before deciding to just show up to the recording session with a cut on his face. Who knew; maybe chicks really thought cuts were a sign of virility.

… or then again, maybe not.

“You still coming at one to meet us at the café for lunch?” Miroku called to Inuyasha as he shoved his sunglasses on his head. “Kagome'll be expecting you.”

“You expect me to be up by one?” complained Inuyasha.

“Slacker, your girlfriend's got up at six this morning.

“She's…amazing like…that…” A slight snore informed Miroku that his roommate had gone back to sleep.

Kagome's probably the best thing that happened to Inuyasha, he thought. Grabbing Kazaana, he made his way out of his apartment and hurried down the stairs. Something told him he was going to be early today…

-x-

“Sango, do I really have to do this every morning?”

Sango distantly heard Kagome yelling at her. She just pulled the pillow over her head… god, what was that pounding noise? And why was the room so damn hot?

Kagome burst into her room, tripping over a pile of clothes on the floor. “Geez, San, first you make me come drag you out of bed, then you make me trip over your dirty laundry? Thanks a lot.”

“Nuh.”

“Get out of bed, lazybones, this is only touch-up recording… it's only, what, forty-five minutes long?” Kagome yanked the sheets out from under her and swatted the pillow aside. “Come on you— Sango, you're burning up!”

“Mmm?” Sango didn't open her eyes. She felt Kagome lay a hand on her forehead (Ugh, it's so cold) and then leave the room. She vaguely wondered where Kagome went.

“I'm taking your temperature,” her friend announced as she reentered the room.

“Kay…” Sango's voice was barely more than a whisper.

A few minutes passed. Then: “One hundred and one degrees. How did this happen? You were fine yesterday!”

“Dunno…” Sango cracked open an eye and saw Kagome standing above her, a worried look on her face.

“Well you can't go to the recording session today, that's for sure.”

“Wait… what?” Sango tried to sit up. “Yes, I am!... oh, ugh—” She fell backwards as the room began to spin.

“No you are not. Don't worry, you'll still get paid—sickness is excused, right?”

“Yeah, tell that to Takahashi!”

Kagome's face adopted that familiar stubborn look. “All right, I will!”

Sango just closed her eyes again, too tired to argue.

Ten minutes later, Kagome returned. “That asshole,” she fumed. “Thirty minutes out of over… uh… how many minutes in six hours? Whatever… and he'll only pay you half. Half. Where does he get off?”

“It's my responsibility to be there.”

“That's not fair, though!”

“We're musicians. Get used to it.” Sango slowly sat up. “I'm going.”

“Like hell you are.”

“I'll leave as soon as it's over, I promise. Now help me get out of bed.”

“You're barely able to sit up, much less play your instrument.”

“I need to pay this month's rent.”

“With what, your life?”

“Very funny. Do you… hm… d'you think Inuyasha could give me a ride on his bike, maybe? Oh wait… you two were gonna go together…”

“No, that's a good idea. I'll walk today—I need the exercise anyway, I ate so much popcorn and candy last night, it's not even funny. Inuyasha and I really have to stop these movie marathons if he doesn't want me to get fat.”

“Kagome—”

“Oh right… I'll go call him now.”

-x-

Just as Miroku was reaching for the handle on the door of the Shikon recording studio, he heard a motorcycle pull up behind him. He turned his head instinctively, but did a double take when he saw Inuyasha pull his helmet off and help… Sango?... off of his bike.

Miroku suppressed a scowl and walked towards them. His brow furrowed when he saw Inuyasha slip an arm around Sango's waist and sling her cello case over his shoulder.

You get your hands off her, you two-timing—

“Oh, Miroku,” Inuyasha said, sounding relieved. “Here, can you help Sango? Thanks, I'm about to fall asleep any minute now. Here—” he handed him the cello and then the brown-eyed musician. “Catch y'all later. I, uh, hope ya feel better, Sango.”

Inuyasha always had been awkward about relaying sympathies.

Miroku watched him practically run to his bike and speed away in the blink of an eye. He looked down at the woman in his arms. Her head was on his shoulder, her eyes closed.

“Why are you here, Sango?” he asked gently, shifting her a bit so he could carry both her and the cello into the studio.

“I have an obligation.” She straightened, taking her shoulder off his head. “I can walk, thanks.”

“Would it kill you to accept help from a man?” He pulled her closer. “We're early, we can take it slo—” He froze in his tracks. “Your eyes are brown.”

She promptly squeezed them shut. “Kagome helped me get dressed, but she drew the line at sticking her finger in my eyes.”

“You sure you're well enough to play today?”

He smirked as she automatically opened her eyes. “Yes,” she said testily.

“Whatever you say.” Why does she hide those eyes? I could stare at them all day.

They slowly made their way to the front door (it took some careful maneuvering to fit all three of them through) and then into the studio. Miroku carefully settled her in her respective chair and got out her instrument for her.

“Miroku, I could've at least gotten it out,” she said crossly, accepting the bow from him.

“I know,” he said simply.

She gave him a look and sighed. “Sorry. I'm acting like a b—”

“You're sick. It's okay.”

“Being sick isn't an excuse for being rude.”

“Yes it is.” His eyes focused on something over her shoulder. “Hey, I'll be right back, okay?” He stood and walked away.

Sango's eyes followed him until he stopped to talk to one of the female violinists. Figures, she thought, and closed her eyes, hoping that she'd at least feel a little better when Takahashi started.

-x-

“Well congratulations, people,” Takahashi said, lowering his bow. “We have officially completed the recording for the In the Shadows soundtrack. Yura, my secretary, is sitting at the table in the lobby with your paychecks. You will all receive free tickets to the opening show of the movie too.” He paused. “I heard it… er… `sucks'… but at least you can go enjoy the phenomenal music, right?”

The orchestra snickered.

“I thank you all for your cooperation and participation,” he said stiffly. “You're free to leave now.”

Sango slumped down in her chair, relieved that the ordeal was over.

Miroku turned to her and smoothed a strand away from her eyes. “I'll get you a cab back to your apartment, okay?”

“What? No! Miroku—”

But he was already out the door.

“Stubborn, stupid man,” she ranted under her breath, carefully (and slowly) packing her cello back up.

Miroku returned, an odd look on his face. “Found you a cab,” he said, smiling a little. “Ready?”

“Yeah… what's the matter?”

He tilted his head. “Nothing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. Now let's get you into that cab.” He helped her to her feet and slid his arm around her waist.

Sango was surprised the cab driver was still waiting by the time they got outside; she suspected Miroku had paid him a little in advance. “So… I'll see you around sometime, okay?” she said, climbing into the car.

“Yeah…”

She looked up at him and smiled. “Don't look so down—you know where I live. Feel free to stop by whenever.”

This brought a small smile to his face. “Deal.”

Sango pulled Kirara into the cab and set her on the seat. “Take care, Miroku.”

“Bye, Beautiful.” He shot her one last devastating grin and shut the cab door.

Sango waved as the cab pulled into traffic and then settled back into the sticky leather seat, feely vaguely disappointed. I actually think I'm going to miss him…

She sighed and stared out the window for the remainder of the ride, trying to swallow the lump that had somehow appeared in her throat.

When the cab driver jerked to a stop in front of her apartment building, she stumbled out of the car, trying to gain control of her wobbly legs. She set Kirara down on the sidewalk and began to rummage through her purse to find some cash, but the cabbie yelled, “Don't bother, missy, your boyfriend already paid for ya. Haveanicedaybye—” and then he hurtled off back into traffic.

Sango just stared after him, seemingly frozen to the sidewalk.

The tears that had been burning behind her eyes finally started to fall.

-x-

Miroku dejectedly shuffled into his apartment and set his cello on the coach before falling into his beanbag chair by the TV. He'd left the celebratory party early, not feeling up to it, which bothered him. He usually loved partying with friends, but today he could not rid the image of Sango out of his mind.

He was under no false illusions—Manhattan was geographically small, but it was highly unlikely that he'd ever see Sango again, except if he made a point to go visit her apartment every day. But they were both busy and their schedules probably wouldn't allow time for that.

Running a hand through his hair, Miroku sighed and snuggled down farther down into the beanbag. Maybe a nap would help.

If only they went to the same college. That really sucked. It would be much easier to keep in touch if they were at least on the same campus. Even if it was only for music classes. They could snag a practice room together and rehearse together or tutor each other on various—

Miroku sat straight up. Tutor…

He shot out of the beanbag and sprinted to the trash can, praying Inuyasha hadn't emptied it already (not that there was much of a chance that he had). He rummaged through it, looking for that letter with the purple letterhead—

Yes! There it was!

He smoothed out the wrinkles and read it again. “Dear Mr. Hamaguchi, we here at New York University's Music Department have heard many positive comments about you and your musical ability and are offering you the opportunity to become a menor, or tutor, of sorts, to the music students here on campus. We will pay you accordingly, of course, for your time. You can pick your schedule and come in however many days a week you wish. We feel that peer-to-peer instruction will help the students here at—”

Miroku lowered the letter and went on a mad hunt for a writing utensil, envelope, and stamp. He'd originally rejected the idea as a waste of his time… but now…

A large grin spread across his face as an image of a certain brown-eyed girl entered his mind, clear as day. In his mind, she was smiling at his good fortune as well.

A/N: why does mm.org like to screw up my formatting? Double-spacing everything by hand is a pain in the you-know-where. And why are my words blue? -_-; Other news! I turned 17 on May 23… I have just recently fallen in love with Josh Groban's voice… school let out for summer today… and Miroku and Sango are my most favorite couple ever? ^_~