InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Cacophony ❯ Movement VII: Vivace ( Chapter 7 )

Cacophony -x- Movement VII: Vivace - -      Sango missed the entire Econ lecture the next morning, which forced her to admit something was wrong.  Her professor was moderately interesting, it was Friday, and it was a 10 a.m. class—all the requirements needed for her to pass the class.      But she could not keep her mind on anything that morning.  Her notes were a jumble of meaningless fragments and phrases—and hearts and stars and angsty song lyrics doodled in the margins.  There were a few crossed out Miroku’s too.      This is ridiculous.  She was trying so hard to get that idiot out of her mind, but he wouldn’t budge.      “Sango.”  Kagome nudged her friend from the seat beside her.  “Pay attention.”      “Huh?”  Sango jolted out of a daydream yet again.  “Uh—right.  Thanks.”  She focused her eyes on the professor, trying to figure out what exactly she was talking about.  She managed to find her place a few minutes later, and resumed taking notes.      Moments later, she found herself staring out the window again at the people walking to and fro on the sidewalks.  Once or twice she thought she’d seen Miroku, and her heart had jumped—      Stop it!      “Just read up on those theories tonight, all right, guys?” her professor was saying.  “Come prepared on Monday for small group discussions—have a great weekend!”      Sango blinked and slowly packed up her notebook and pen.  She rubbed her temples, irritated that she’d have to do double homework tonight.      “You didn’t hear a word of that lecture did you?” Kagome said, waiting for Sango.      “Uh… no… Guess I must be really tired or something.”  Sango avoided her friend’s gaze and threw her bag over her shoulder.  “Let’s go.  I want to get to orchestra early today.”      “Go ahead, I need to find a candy bar or something to eat.”      “Oh—all right, later.”      Sango started off on her own, thankful to be alone for a few minutes.  She exited the building and started her daily trek to the music department, over on the other campus, for once appreciating the busy sidewalks      Once having reached the music building, she slowed her pace, ambling down the corridors until she made it to the orchestra room.  Normally she’d go right in and start playing, but… today she felt like trying that whole playing in the dark thing again like Miroku had showed her. She quickly moved on until she’d reached the practiced rooms, and found an empty one.      She flipped on the light switch out of habit, before remembering her goal.  She turned it back off, started forward… and promptly stumbled into the music stand.      Biting back a few choice curse words, she righted herself and groped around for the chair.  I can tell this is going to be a good day already, she thought sarcastically.  Finding the chair in the dark was actually quite an ordeal, and by the time she got settled with her cello in her lap, she was close to giving up and just sleeping instead.      “But no, guilt will drive me to disctraction,” she sighed, pulling Kirara out of her case and playing a few tuning notes.      She started with old, familiar tunes, simple pieces that she’d played for competitions or concerts from her high school years.  Then she moved on to songs she just really liked and finally… she tried making up a song.  (Like Miroku had told her to.)  It really did sound terrible, but after making adjustments a few times, she had to admit it didn’t sound half bad… of course, it did sort of remind her of that guitar medley she’d heard on the radio this morning, but that was fixable.      As always, she lost all sense of time and space while playing her music, so when the door to the practice room suddenly banged open and light flooded it, she shrieked.      “Sorry,” a familiar voice said.  “I just wanted to let you know that class was starting.  I know you’ve been working hard, I’ve been listening to you—”      When Sango’s eyes adjusted to the light, she realized why that voice sounded so familiar.      “What are you doing here?” she squeaked.      “Interning,” announced Miroku proudly.  “They’re paying me, too—much better than Columbia offered me; maybe I should transfer over here?”       She hadn’t gotten past the “interning” part.  “What do you mean, ‘interning’?  Where is here?  You mean the music department?”      “Yup, I’ll be giving private lessons to any cellist that wants them, plus sit in on a few orchestra sessions to learn from your conductor, who, by the way, is very weird, but also very famous in the music world.  Hey, you okay?  You look kind of pale.”      “Yeah, you just…startled me…”  She forced herself to breathe.  “So you’ll be here—uh—every day?”      “Nearly.  Every other day, more like.”  Grinning, he leaned against the doorjamb.  “Looks like you haven’t gotten rid of me so easily, hm?”      “Yeah… looks like…”  She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. - -      “Hey, Sango, sorry I’m late,” Kagome panted as she flopped down in the seat across from Sango.  “Inuyasha waylaid me on the way here and… what are you so happy about?”      “Huh?”  Sango jerked out of her reverie, realizing she’d been smiling dreamily.  “Oh… uh… nothing.  I just love pizza so much!”  She took a huge bite of the greasy, cheesy mess.      Kagome eyed her.  “Okay, spill.”      Sango made a face at her.  “How can you always tell?”      “I’m good like that.  So.  Does this have anything to do with Miroku?”      Crap.  “What makes you say that?”      “I’ve never seen you go through mood swings like this before.  Fluctuating between depression and euphoria like this can only be boy-induced.”      “God, you make it sound like a drug.”      “Exactly.”  Kagome smiled.  “So it is Miroku.  Did he call you?  Visit you?  Propose to you?”      “You make it sound like he actually likes me.”      Kagome gave her a look.  “I will conveniently ignore you even uttered such a stupid sentence.”      “Stupid?  It’s the truth.”      “Sango.  He likes you.”      “He likes any female that breathes.”      “Don’t forget those that don’t.”      Sango choked on her drink.      “Kidding!  Necrophiliacs aren’t your style, anyway.”      “That was not funny.”      “Yeah, but now Miroku doesn’t look so bad, does he?” said Kagome cheerfully.      “I never said I didn’t like him.”      “Ah, we’re making progress.      Sango glowered.  “Shaddup.”      “I really do think he likes you,” she said seriously.  “You should give him a chance.”      “What, are we back in high school now?  And I believe you’re forgetting he has a girlfriend.  Sort of.”      “He’s a player, but that can be fixed.”      “Listen to yourself.  That was a complete lie.  Players don’t mend their ways.”      “Not often.  But the ones that really, truly fall in love end up being the most loyal.”      “Is it even possible for Miroku to fall in love?”  Sango traced the rim of her cup with a finger.  “I mean… um… yeah.  So this soda has way too much caffeine.  I’m going to be up all night.”      “Good.  You won’t be able to sleep and you ask a certain someone to keep you company.”      “Kagome!” Sango screeched.      Her friend grinned.  “You’ve been in your I-hate-men shell for too long.  It’s time for you to come out.      “Whatever.”  Sango finished the last of her lunch and slung her bag over her shoulder.  “I need to get to the library.  Catch you later.”      “Think about what I said,” Kagome called after her.      I’ll try not to.       Somehow she didn’t think that would be happening. - -      The next day Sango showed up early to orchestra rehearsal.  She firmly told herself it was because she needed extra practice.  Which was true—her mind had been wandering far too much lately and she found herself making stupid mistakes over and over again.      She found a practice room and installed herself into a practice room, trying to ignore the fact that her eyes kept straying to the door every five minutes, wishing it would open.      It didn’t.      After half an hour she decided to give up the charade and emerge.  She still had a good thirty minutes before class began, but she could just play some random songs.  Whatever came to mind—like    Miroku told her to do.      She didn’t even bother to tell herself to stop thinking about him anymore.  She’d become so broken-record-like that it was less painful to actually let herself think about him.  Lugging her cello and bow in one hand and her case in the other, she shoved her way through the practice room door and stumbled out into the well-lit hallway.  The one thing she’d always loved about the music department was the multitude of windows in the hallways—and consequently the light that reflected off the tiled floor.         She walked into the orchestra room to find a group of students already there, sitting in a group chatting.      Her heart jumped into her throat as she noticed Miroku was part of that group—the only male in the group in fact.  A wave of annoyance swept over her.   And there I was sitting in that practice room, thinking he’d want to talk to me.  She made her way over to a section of chairs that were far away from where the other group of students were talking and laughing.  Despite the fact that she’d just been practicing for the past half-hour, she once again pulled out her cello and began to run through a tricky passage in one of the songs.      Her eyes kept straying to Miroku, who was completely at ease, talking and laughing and flirting with the other girls.  When Sango reached the end of the song, she realized she hadn’t even been aware of what she’d been playing.  Holy…  This really wasn’t good.       Her gaze once again wandered over to the group in the corner—and was momentarily confused when she didn’t see Miroku there.  Now where did he run off to?      The sound of piano music suddenly filled the room, and Sango strained her eyes to see who was sitting behind the piano.  Surely it wasn’t…      Of course, he would be able to play the piano—and well.      God, life really wasn’t fair.  Sure, he couldn’t know that it was her lifelong wish to learn to play piano… but did he have to excel at everything that was important to her?      The group of girls was now smiling and giggling, watching Miroku play the piano.  Two girls wandered over to the piano as well, taking seats close to him.  Sango squashed down the urge to join them, despite her curiosity.       What the hell.  Pushing all the annoying thoughts running around in her brain, she set down Kirara and walked over to the piano, feeling as if the open expanse between her seat and Miroku had suddenly gotten larger.  Instead of taking a seat around the piano like the other girls had done, she leaned against the back of the piano, resting her arms on the top.      “Hi there,” Miroku said, smiling up at her.      “Hey,” she said, unable to ignore how good he looked just then.  He must have just come from a gig—he was decked out in all black.  The black collared dress shirt did nothing to hide the muscles underneath; his hair was down again today, the small gold hoops in each year peeking out beneath the dark, somewhat messy, hair.      Stop.  “I didn’t know you could play piano,” she said inanely.      “Mmhm.”  His fingers never stopped, even as he was looking up at her.  “Where were you?”      “Huh?”      “I saw Kagome on my way here; she said your class had gotten out nearly an hour ago.”      “Oh—uh, I was in a practice room.”      “Naturally.  I should’ve thought of that in the first place.”  He smirked slightly.      “Did you have a gig this morning or something?” she asked, gesturing to his black clothes.      “Yup.  Preschool graduation—with caps and gowns to boot.  Wish I could’ve recruited a few of those kids for the modeling agency I’m with.”      She refrained from rolling her eyes.  “Really.  What’d you play, Pomp and Circumstance?”      “So many times I considered chucking my Elgar CD out of the car window on my way here.”      She laughed, and Miroku abruptly switched songs, going into a much faster piece, his fingers flying over the keys.  She watched his hands for a while, mesmerized.  It was almost like magic—as if his hands were moving on their own, without any help from the brain.      “What are you playing?” one of the girls asked, rising from her chair and adopting the same stance as Sango.  Her auburn hair was up in a messy bun; a few strands had fallen down and were now framing her slender face.  Sango self-consciously tucked her own hair behind her ear.  She hadn’t had time to do anything other than brush it this morning.      Miroku shrugged.  “Don’t remember.”      “You’re just doing that by memory?” the girl exclaimed.  Sango finally recognized her as one of the violinists from the chamber orchestra.       “Pretty much,” he said, winking.      “That’s amazing,” she said, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.  “I’ve been taking lessons for years and I can’t do that.”      He shrugged.  “We’ve all got our strengths.  Mine is memorization.”      “Or maybe you’re just a prodigy,” she joked.      “Maybe so,” he returned, grinning.      Sango shifted positions, feeling somewhat left out.  She didn’t want to leave, though, so she just stood there listening to the music.  Fortunately, the violinist fell silent as well after a while, and the only sound was the melody Miroku was playing.       “I wish I could do that,” Sango couldn’t stop herself from saying when he finished.      “What, play the piano?”      “Yeah.”      “You can’t?” he said in surprise.      “No.”  She wasn’t quite able to keep the annoyance out of her voice.      He stood walked around the piano in order to drag her over to the piano bench.  “That is a crime against humanity.  We’re going to remedy that right now.”      “Huh?”      “Sit,” he said, leaving his arm around her waist as he sat down beside her.       She shifted uncomfortably.  “What are you doing?”      “Teaching you to play piano.”  He removed his arm and placed his fingers on the keys.  “Now, copy my hand position.”      “Right now?”      “Preferably sometime today.”      “No, I mean, you’re going to teach me piano right now?”      “Well, starting at least,” he said, grinning.      The violinist was smiling as well.  “Come on, if anyone can teach you, Miroku can.”      “So?  What do you say?” asked Miroku.      “Uh… sure…?”      “Good,” Miroku said, satisfied.  “So, put your hands on the keyboard like this.  Thumbs go right here—on middle C.  Center space on the staff…right.  And the notes just go up the staff, all the way up to the next C, which looks exactly the same, not matter what octave you’re in.”      “Okay…”       “Now, see, if you push down C and E and G—”    &n bsp; “You get a C major chord,” Sango finished.      “Exactly.  A ‘I’ chord, with fingers 1-3-and-5 pushed down, as opposed to a ‘V’ chord with…”      Miroku spent the next fifteen minutes or so going over the basics with Sango, who didn’t even notice that the room was full and ready to begin class until Miroku suddenly said, “Your professor’s here—you should probably get back to your seat now.”      She jerked her head up.  “Crap.  Uh—thanks for the lesson, see you later,” was all she said before sprinting off to her seat.       Sango had to climb over half the cello section to reach her cello, and then climb back over them to her seat at the end of the row.  By the time she’d situated herself, it dawned on her that the music professor was standing in the back of the room, looking quite relaxed, and in his usual place at the podium stood none other than Miroku.      “Well hey you guys,” he said, giving the room a friendly smile.  “I’m not sure if Professor Mushin’s mentioned me yet—knowing him, it probably slipped his mind that I was even coming at all…”      Chuckles spread throughout the room, and Miroku continued, “But I’m going to be over here every other day, interning.  Sometimes, like today, I’ll be your guest conductor, other days I’ll sit in with you all, and occasionally I’ll even hide in the back of the room observing.  But before we get started, I suppose I should tell you a little bit about myself.  I am a senior at Columbia—”  He grinned unapologetically at the playful boos and hisses—“but I’m thinking of applying to graduate school here at NYU, so don’t send your hitman after me just yet.  I’m twenty-four years old, a cellist, a part-time model, and a part-time ladies man—or so I’ve been told.”      Sango rolled her eyes.      “As of now, I only know about five of you in this room—”  His eyes briefly met Sango’s, and then moved to other girls’ in the orchestra—“so don’t hesitate to come talk to me.  I can keep up a pretty good conversation, even though I have a tendency to go on tangents.”      “What’s your favorite flavor doughnut?” someone called out.      “Chocolate with sprinkles,” he answered, not missing a beat.  “Though glazed is a close second.  But not Krispy Kreme, those make me sick.  Dunkin Donuts are usually good, although if you get those too early in the morning, they tend to make you lightheaded the rest of the day…”      Most of the class was laughing by then, at his facial expressions if not at his digression.  Sango sighed.  Ladies’ man indeed.       “With that said, however,” he continued, “why don’t we get started.  You’re working on Stravinsky’s first, correct?”      “Yes,” the orchestra chorused.      “Then without further ado…”  He twirled the conductor’s baton between his fingers and then raised his arms. - -      An exhausting two-and-a-half hours later, the class finally dismissed and the orchestra students began to file out of the room.  Sango slumped back into her chair and fiddled with the bow in her hand.  She couldn’t remember ever having worked so hard, even with Professor Mushin.  Miroku certainly did know how to challenge people—and she was even more stunned by his wealth of musical knowledge.      It was weird—knowing a person, and then a few hours later, feeling as if you didn’t know them at all.  Or even feeling inferior to them somehow.  Sango packed up her cello and started to walk from the room, seeing that Miroku was engaged in conversation with a group of other students.      “Hey—”      Sango turned at the call that came from behind her.  Miroku strode up to her, “Not going to say goodbye?”      “I—  you were busy and… uh… sorry.”  She felt her cheeks reddening and scrambled for something to say.  “That was a good class.  You’re a great teacher.”      He looked momentarily surprised, but then smiled.  “Thanks,” he said sincerely.  “That means a lot, coming from you.”      Her heart skipped a beat.  “Coming from me?”      “From such a talented musician as yourself,” he clarified.      She tried to squelch the feeling of disappointment.  “Oh.  Thanks.”      “Do you have any plans for dinner?” he asked.      “Um… I don’t think so…”  If her heart kept skipping like this, she wouldn’t live to see graduation.       “Let’s go for pizza, then, I’ve been having this craving all day.”      “You sound like a woman.”      He laughed.  “That’s something I don’t hear very often.”      “I have a flair for the unique.”      “So I see.  Hang around for a few minutes, and we’ll go together.”      “All right.”      She lingered by the door as he finished talking to a few students and the professor.  He artfully dismissed himself with a smile and walked towards her, letting his hand rest on her lower back as he propelled her forward.  “Let’s go, I’m starved.”      “Teaching makes you hungry, hm?”      “You bet.  Of course,” he shot her a grin, “I’ll take any excuse to eat.”      “So I gathered.”      Silence fell and Sango frantically searched for a topic to talk of.  She was on the verge of uttering the damnable “Nice weather” cliché (in spite of the icy nearly-December temperature) when Miroku turned to her and said:      “So.  Hands or butt?”      Sango choked, despite the fact that there was nothing for her to choke on except saliva or air.  “What the hell?”      Miroku laughed at her expression.  He had a nice laugh, one of those that made you want to join in on the merriment, although you had no earthly idea what you were laughing about.  “Most girls I’ve talked to are either hand girls or butt girls—they either have a strange fascination with guy’s hands, or an unhealthy obsession with male asses.  I thought I’d go ahead and find out which one you are without struggling in vain to figure it out for myself.”      Now Sango really laughed, harder than she had in a long time.  “You’re a crazy mofo, you know that?”      He smiled complacently.       She gave in.  “Being a musician—especially a string player—I can’t help but be attracted to hands.  But, before I actually started getting serious with music, I was more admiring of butts.  So what does that make me?”      “Selfish.  You want a little bit of everything.  For shame.”      “Well…”  Sango stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to face him.  “I think I may have found a remedy.”      He stopped as well and cocked an eyebrow in anticipation.  “Oh?”      She spun him around, reached around him and pulled both his arms back, placing his hands on his buttocks.      “There,” she said, giggling.  “Nice hands on a nice ass.  It’s perfect.”      Miroku snorted and quickly removed his appendages from his rear.  “I have a better idea.”  He turned back around, pulled her toward him, and then cupped her butt cheeks with his hands.  “There,” he mimicked her.  “Nice hands on an even nicer ass.”      Sango squeaked and pulled out of his grasp, trying to look stern.  “Pervert,” she half-heartedly chastised him.      He shrugged, still smiling.  “You asked for it.”      They resumed walking.      “So,” he said.  “How bout this weather?”      She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and they both burst into laughter. -      The conversation didn’t lag once after that, even though he insisted on taking them on a half-hour trek to an “über-special place”, and by the time they hurled themselves into the comfortable joint away from the bitter wind, Sango was almost positive she’d fallen for this guy. - -      “This place is nice,” she said.      He gave her a look and smirked knowingly.      “I’m not saying that just to make conversation!” she protested.  “Or get into your good graces or whatever—I really do like this place.”      “I know,” he said.  When her defensive look didn’t fade, he added, “That you really do like it.  And that you’re not that kind of girl.”      “Good.”  She dragged her fork through the remaining bit of spaghetti sauce across her plate, drawing random designs as Miroku finished his meal.  Her eyes wandered around the inside of the café and landed on and old dingy piano in the far left corner of the joint, near the restrooms.      Miroku noticed her gaze and smiled.  “Come on,” he said, reaching across the table and taking her hand in his.  “Let’s go.”      “Huh?”      He tugged her out of her chair and led her over to the piano.  “It’s lesson time.”      “What?  Now?  Here?”      “Why not?”      “There are people around!”      He seemed to find this highly amusing.  “Sango, you’re studying to be a professional musician.  If you have issues with stage fright, I think you’re in the wrong profession.”      “I only have stage fright when I’m not confident,” she said.      “Don’t worry, no one’s even paying attention to us.  And it’s too loud for them to be able to distinguish it to be anything beyond extra noise.”      “But—”      He sat her down on the piano bench and then swung his legs around her so he was sitting directly behind her.  “Now,” he said, “put your hands on the keyboard.”      She gave him a look.  “Where on the keyboard?”      “Anywhere.  It doesn’t matter.”      Sango placed her hands in position to play a C major scale.       “Good.”  He placed his hands on top of hers; she shivered slightly at his touch.      “What are you doing?”      “Playing you a song.”  He paused for a second.  “Wait.  No, you’d better put your hands on top of mine.  Switch.”      She did so, and felt him smile.  “Much better,” he said.      Then he began to play her a song, a haunting minor melody, not something she recognized, but something vaguely familiar.  Her hands and fingers moved with his, so that it was almost as if she was playing, and him merely guiding her…       She turned her head to glance back at him and found his face dangerously close to hers.  She sucked in a breath.  God he’s hot…      He dipped his head and Sango nearly stopped breathing altogether, anticipating—      The kiss that never occurred.      “Miroku?” a voice behind them asked.      The look of pure frustration on Miroku’s face was a small consolation in Sango’s sudden plunge in humor. She felt like a kid who’d been promised cake after dinner, only instead to be sent upstairs early.      “Yes?” he said.      “You’ve a phone call,” the proprietress of the establishment said, handing him the telephone.      “What?” He took the phone. “Hello? Oh—uh—hi…” he said guiltily. “Um, no. No, not busy at all, baby, what’s up?”      Sango took her hands off the piano.      “Right now? But… okay. Fine. I’ll be there in a few.”  He handed the phone back to the owner of the restaurant, thanked her, and turned to Sango. “I’m sorry to cut this short—but I need to be somewhere.”       “It’s fine.”       He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her fingers. “Sango, I really don’t want to leave… but I have no choice.”      “I said, it’s fine. I understand.” And your actions speak louder than your words.      “You sure?”      “Positive.” She smiled and smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Get out of here.”      He squeezed her hand: “I’ll call you tonight.”      “Mmhm.” Sure you will.      Miroku left, not glancing back once.      Sango sat at the piano for a while longer, just looking at the keys, and then trying to create a decent-sounding tune, but failed miserably. - - “You do know that you just dragged me away from the most enjoyable date I’ve had all year,” said Miroku sourly, closing the apartment door behind him with more force than necessary. “Yeah, I figured as much. Sorry. Here, take a look at this for me.” She tossed a folder of papers over to him. “Don’t beat yourself up about it now,” he said sarcastically, opening the folder. “It wasn’t as if she was my potential future wife or anyth— holy shit.” She just smiled grimly. Miroku looked up, his face suddenly pale. “Is this accurate?” “See why I dragged you over here now?” “Jesus.” He rubbed a hand over his face and then found a spare cardboard box to sit on. “We’re going to be here a while.” “That’s an understatement.” She unceremoniously dropped onto the floor and leaned over his shoulder, studying the papers as well. “Where to start?” He glanced at the clock, thinking of Sango. Damn… - - Sango checked the time on the TV—almost midnight. And Miroku still hadn’t called. Not that she’d expected him to. Still… She turned off the TV with a decisive flick of the clicker. Go figure. Stretching out on the couch, she stared up at the ceiling, playing with the idea of stopping by his apartment. Just to surprise him. Yeah, what if he has a girl there? That’d be awkward. But the more she thought about it, the more she felt that urge to get up and see him. Just to have closure—just to figure out if he was worth all these feelings that were swirling around inside of her. It took another quarter of an hour to get off the bed and throw on a coat and boots. She accepted that her idea was crazy and stupid—but she also accepted that if she didn’t do this, she wouldn’t be able to sleep at all tonight. Stepping out into the freezing cold night energized her. The sky—or what she could see of it—was actually clear: not a hint of snow anywhere, and the last traces of the snowfall from the week before had long since vanished. She walked briskly, enjoying the unexpected exercise. It wasn’t until she was about five minutes from Miroku’s apartment that she truly began to realize the utter stupidity of her plan. A young woman walking alone at midnight in New York City when the person she was going to visit didn’t even know she was coming… She sped up her pace until she was nearly running, actually breaking out into a full-blown sprint at one point, after being spooked by a weird man who stared at her as she passed.  This was a really, really bad idea— It was a miracle that she reached his apartment unscathed. Still somewhat frightened, she pounded up the staircase, not even bothering to try the elevator, and ran down the dark hallway, searching for his apartment number. There it is. She skidded to a stop in front of the door and banged her fist on it, wanting nothing more than to be inside, away from the dark and—and whatever the dark hid. The door cracked open. “Do you fucking know what fucking time it f— oh. Sango.” Inuyasha squinted at her. “Sango? What are you doing here so late?” “Uh…” She’d momentarily forgotten that Miroku had a roommate—and that his roommate happened to be Inuyasha. Add that to the list of reasons why this was a really really stupid idea. How could she have forgotten Inuyasha? That wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do. He was watching her, waiting for an answer. His long hair was tousled, and he looked half asleep. “I came to see Miroku,” she said finally, opting to tell the truth. His eyebrows shot up. “On urgent… uh… music business,” she hastily amended. “Really.” His face lost none of its skepticism. “Okay, if you say so. He actually just got back, go talk about your… music business all you want, but I’m going to bed, so try not to be too loud.” Before she could interpret that statement in any way, he pulled her inside and shut the door behind her. With a loud yawn, he bolted it shut and disappeared into a room off to the side. Sango stood uncomfortably in the kitchen/living room area of the apartment, wondering if she’d actually have to go search for Miroku. The door on the other side of the apartment opened, and Miroku emerged. “Inuyasha, who’s at the—” He stopped dead in his tracks. “Sango?” “Yeah,” she said, feeling more foolish by the second. “Well, hey,” he said, smiling. “I’m glad you stopped by. I was just about to call you, but I think I like this much better.” “Were you,” she said, realizing too late that her response didn’t line up. He understood anyway. “I know it’s late, and I’m sorry. My sister called—apparently our  godfather has hit his way-past-midlife-crisis and tried to use nearly all our assets to buy himself an antique Harley-Davidson motorcycle collection…” Sango blinked. “But although he’s not the brightest crayon in the box, he loves us to death and will do pretty much anything we ask, so we got it all straightened out. Now,” he said, striding towards her and taking her hands in his, “would you like something to eat or drink? A jacket? Blanket? Sleep?” “All of the above?” He chuckled. “Sure, why not?” Steering her towards the couch, he pushed her down and ran into the room from which he’d emerged, reappearing moments later with a blanket, coffee mug, and a bagel. “I was only kidding,” she halfheartedly protested, even as she accepted the mug and blanket. Miroku kept the bagel for himself, munching contentedly as he sat down beside her. The only light on in the room was the light above the stove and the dirty light shining through the window—both cast odd shadows on him and—she didn’t even know how this was possible—made him look more appealing than ever. “Um…” She started to give an explanation to why she was there, but thought better of it and took a sip of the coffee instead. “This is good.” “My sister made it. She’s a caffeine addict.” “Oh.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “So, you going to let me in on why you’re here?” Damn. “Um.” “Missed me that much, did you?” he joked. Annoyed, she took another sip of the coffee. His hand closed on her arm. “Sango. I was kidding.” He pried the mug away from her fingers and gently turned her face towards his with two fingers. “I’m—” She looked away. “I don’t know why I came.” He shrugged, still smiling. “I’m glad you did.” Sango didn’t know what possessed her—maybe an inner demon of some sort—but at that moment she nearly lunged towards Miroku, kissing him with a passion she was surprised to discover she had. Miroku pulled back, laughing. “Sango…” He rested his forehead against hers and laughed harder, making her giggle as well, although she didn’t know what she was laughing at. “You kiss just like you play.” “What!” “You jump right in, without thought, but play by ear so convincingly and aggressively that the result is beautiful.”  He burst into a fresh round of laughter. “I couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or insult,” she said. “It was good, believe me. But here—why don’t we try my way?” He kissed her softly, sweetly at first, then slowly becoming more passionate. Sango licked her lips as they pulled away again. “So which way to you like better?” he teased, playing with a strand of her hair. She grinned.  “My way.” Pushing him back onto the couch, she began to make good of her statement. “You really do like it on top,” he mumbled. - - Sango awoke the next morning happier than she’d ever felt in a long time… although she couldn’t quite figure out why. Then she turned over on her side and realized why. Oh god… “What the hell did I do?” she blurted out. Next to her, Miroku stirred and opened his eyes—his gorgeous purplish-bluish eyes. “Morning, sunshine,” he said, stroking her cheek. She didn’t even remember making it to the bed last night. He snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against him. “This feels so right,” he mumbled. It was a line if she’d ever heard one. But the way he said it didn’t make it seem that way. And the scary part was that she was thinking the same thing. A wave of doubt and anxiety washed over her and she turned her head, panicked, to face him— And then saw his smile, which she somehow understood was meant just for her. Unable to stop herself, she smiled back, tremulously at first, then burst into laughter for no reason at all, snuggling back up against him and feeling safer than she had in a long time.     -x- A/N: I’m alive! (And currently freezing cold. Just in case you wanted to know that) Hope you all had a great holiday season—hope you all liked this chapter. This is NOT the last chapter, still got one or two to go… just hang tight, they’ll be coming soon, I promise (;