InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Cacophony ❯ Movement VIII: Pavane ( Chapter 8 )

  Cacophony -x- Movement VIII: Finale - - “Would you like some coffee, sweetheart, darling, light of my life?” “Mmm, yes please.” Sango accepted the kiss and the coffee gratefully. “I’m going to fall asleep into my cereal.” “We wouldn’t want that to happen now, would we shnookums?” He pinched her cheek. Miroku rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Inuyasha, that is not how I act.” His roommate stopped pretending to be the cellist and grinned evilly. “Close enough.” Sango was giggling. “So when are you two getting married?” asked Inuyasha, jumping up to sit on the table. “Tomorrow in Vegas,” said Miroku snippily, cleaning up the breakfast dishes and dumping them in the sink. “Really?” “No, dumbass, it’s called sarcasm.” “The way you two act around each other, you’d think you were already married. Seriously, it’d be the least you could do for my benefit—you don’t know how embarrassing it is to wake up in the morning and walk into the kitchen in only your boxers as usual and find your best friend’s girlfriend sitting at the table eating.” “At least it’s not summertime, hm?” “Shut up,” Inuyasha snapped. “What’s wrong with summertime?” asked Sango. “Noth—” “That’s when Inuyasha doesn’t even bother with boxers in the morning,” said Miroku. “Yeah, well, if you two would just get married and move over to Sango’s apartment, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.” “You realize that would mean Kagome would have to move over here,” Sango pointed out. Inuyasha grinned. “Exactly.” “I’m telling her you said that,” she said. “Go right ahead, she needs to get mad—all she’s been doing lately is studying. I think those textbooks have sapped out all her emotion. Now she’s like a… devoid robot or something.” “I’m telling her you said that,” Miroku said from the sink. “Or you could go over to Sango’s once in a while,” said Inuyasha, turning to his friend. “Why do you always make her trek over here?” “She likes coming here—don’t you, baby?” “That’s right,” she said, stretching lazily. “And I’d hate to interrupt Kagome’s studying.” Inuyasha scowled, sending both her and Miroku into gales of laughter. - - “Happy two month anniversary,” Miroku said to her later, slipping his arms around her waist. Sango turned from her place at the window. “You’re crazy,” she said laughing. “Crazy for—” “Don’t even finish that sentence.” She leaned contentedly against him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. “It’s true, though,” he said, making small circles on her back with the tips of his fingers. “Mmm.” His hand crept up her shirt, his fingers now playing on the bare skin of her back. She stretched contentedly. “So how are we celebrating?” “I dunno… we could play by ear,” he said suggestively. Sango laughed and slipped her arms around his neck when his hands dropped from her back to reach down and rest comfortably on her butt cheeks. “That’s your idea of a celebration?” “What better way to?” he asked, nibbling at her ear. The irony did not go by unnoticed to her. She snickered, but didn’t protest. - - “I got a letter from that audition I did last week,” Sango said suddenly. “For that one-month gig at the Rockefeller Center for that technology conference—the chamber quartet.” Miroku turned to look at her, his face passive. It was past midnight and they were lying in bed, as routine usually went. Sex was usually followed by a few hours of just talking—about politics, school, crazy ideas and theories, daily life and such until they fell asleep. Miroku always referred to sex as “lovemaking.” Sango was hesitant to call it as such until she was absolutely sure what they had was love. She’d fallen into that trap before. “Yeah?” he said, tracing the features of her face with his finger. She’d been wanting to tell him all day, but hadn’t wanted to spoil their good mood. But now she felt that if she didn’t get this off her chest, she would explode. “I was rejected. They only needed one cello player, so… it was you get it or you don’t.” “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling her close to him. “But don’t let it bother you. Even Yo-Yo Ma was rejected—he probably still is. And you know,” he said, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, “sometimes you’re rejected because you’re too good and the ensemble would be unbalanced.” Sango snorted. “I doubt that’s the case.” But she felt better anyway, despite herself. Smiling, she kissed him gently. “Thank you.” He only held her tighter. “Music is a harsh world, Sango,” he said. “The trick is to not let it get you down. If rejection gets under your skin and crumbles your self-confidence, you’re sunk.” “Yeah.” “Just remember that you’re good—very good. Just play from your heart and enjoy your music. No one can take that away from you.” “Yeah,” she said again. She flipped over so that their bodies were spooned together, his arms encircling her waist. She could feel him breathing, and found the easy rise and fall of his chest comforting. It was like they were two parts of a sculpture—she perfectly within the lines of his muscular chest, and with their legs and hands respectively entwined, it was almost as if, for a moment, they were one person, one entity, two cogs of a clock fitted together so that time could tick on. - - “Baby, Professor Myoga wants me to teach his chamber ensemble class in an hour, so I’ve got to run.” “All right,” said Sango, kissing him goodbye. “Be good—try not to be too sarcastic.” He grinned down at her as he fixed his earring. “Yes, ma’am.” He leaned in for another kiss and then ran for the door. “Remember, meet me at seven!” “Okay!” The door shut, and Sango returned to her book, snuggling into the soft cushions of his couch. They were going to have dinner tonight at the café where they’d first had hot chocolate together. It was his idea, a two-month-and-two-week anniversary and nearly-Christmas celebration. Which reminded her, she needed to buy him a present. They were only in the first week of December, but there was never enough time to try and find the perfect present for a picky boyfriend. The telephone rang and she startled violently, having been deeply lost in her thoughts. She reached for the cordless phone that should have been on the windowsill right next to the chair… but naturally it wasn’t. She sighed in frustration and rushed around the apartment in a frantic search for the phone. Miroku never remembered to put the phone back where it belonged—and he claimed it was her fault, since he liked to wander around while talking to her. Stupid man. And where in the name of sanity did he leave the stupid phone? She finally found it by the sink, hidden behind a tall stack of dirty dishes. She let out a whoop of triumph and answered the call… only to hear a dial tone on the other line. The impatient caller had decided no one was home. Sango angrily replaced the phone in its rightful spot, seriously contemplating duct-taping it to the windowsill, just to make a point. She was on the verge of going off to search for duct tape when the doorbell rang. “Ugh, why is it that I just can’t seem to get the upper hand on this day?” she muttered, rapidly turning the locks on the door. “Surprise!” Kagome said, grinning, once Sango finally managed to wrench the door open from its sticky doorjamb. “Surprise!” echoed the second person, smiling just as merrily. Sango blinked. “Jakotsu? Uh…wow, hi. Haven’t seen you in a while.” Since Kagome beat you up in that bar after you tried to hit on Inuyasha, to be specific. She turned a questioning glance toward Kagome. Kagome nodded reassuringly. “Can we come inside?” “Sure. The boys aren’t home.” Sango stepped aside. Jakotsu whistled appreciatively. “Nice place your boyfriend’s got, Sango.” “Yeah, it suits him. A little too messy for my taste, but…” She shrugged, hating that she was making small talk, but saw no other option. “So how are you doing?” “Not bad!” chirped Jakotsu. “Making a fair profit off freelancing. Model shoots are very highly paid, for telling a bunch of toothpicks to smile and pad their bras a little more.” He patted the expensive Nikon hanging around his neck. “Um. Nice…” She waited for some sort of explanation as to why they were there, but Kagome was just smiling amusedly as Jakotsu chattered on about his last freelance job photographing a pair of newlyweds who hated each other so thoroughly that Jakotsu had to keep applying makeup to the girl’s arm to cover up the bruises after a “cuddling shot.” After about ten more minutes of this, Sango finally cut it, “Okay. Why exactly are you two here?” Kagome rolled her eyes, but Jakotsu burst into giggles. “Direct as usual,” he said. “Tactless would be a better description,” said Kagome. “We’re here to help you get a Christmas present for Miroku,” she added to Sango. “Huh?” Jakotsu held up his camera enthusiastically. “We’re going to take some beautiful shots of you—black and white film, I’m thinking, unless the color just really works out—and then get them professionally framed so Miroku can still stare at you even when you’re not here.” “Uh…no offense, because that’s a really cool idea and I really appreciate you guys wanting to help me out, but isn’t that a little… self-absorbed?” Both he and Kagome laughed. “Get over it,” Kagome ordered. “He’ll love it. Trust me on this. I asked Jakotsu especially because of his—uh—” “Creativity?” he suggested. “Expertise,” she finished. “Well—” Sango said, trying to figure out a way to politely say no. “Nope. Step aside and let the master go to work,” said Jakotsu, pushing her into Miroku’s favorite easy chair. “All we have to do is drape you over the chairs and sofas in sexually appealing positions—” “Jakotsu,” said Sango. “Fine, we’ll pose you in a more innocent kitten kind of way, but still arousing enough to—” Sango snatched his camera out of his hands and dangled it precariously from the tips of her fingers. Jakotsu squeaked and jumped for it. “Are you going to listen to me?” “Listening,” he panted, still jumping.  Give me back my baby please. This is worth more than your life.” “Seriously? You’d save this thing before you’d save me?” Jakotsu hesitated. “Never mind. I see where I stand.” “Just give it back please!” he begged. “No suggestive tone or innuendos,” she said. “How else am I going to get you to express yourself?” “I’m sure you’ll think of something. Promise?” “You’re ruining my art,” he sighed. “Promise?” She shook the camera just enough so the lens cap wiggled off and clattered to the floor. “Promise!” he shrieked. She handed it back to him. Cradling the camera like a first-born, Jakotsu said, “Fine. Have it your way. No suggestive tones or innuendos, but don’t blame me if the best you can come up with for your boyfriend’s first Christmas gift is a mug shot that could be photoshopped in perfectly with a bunch of inmates.” “I think I can manage to make myself look presentable,” she sniffed, although he did have a point. She had no idea what she was going to give Miroku for Christmas otherwise. The first celebration as a couple deserved a special gift—but other than paying for TiVo for him and Inuyasha or buying him a large plasma TV, she really couldn’t think of anything else that would elicit more than a “aw, honey, how sweet.” “Your loss,” Jakotsu mumbled, checking to make sure she hadn’t maimed his camera in anyway. Kagome was giggling. “I think I’ll go make some lunch while you two get started.” Sango glared at her. “No glaring!” Jakotsu barked. “It causes wrinkles around your eyes and the forehead, which will screw up your makeup and throw off the lighting.” “Uh… sorry.” “You’re still frowning!” “I profusely apologize,” said Sango through an extra-wide smile. “Much better. You can yell at me all you want, but as long as you do it with a happy face.” “This must be a kind of hell. No wonder models are so moody all the time, they have to work with jerk-offs like you.” “At least us jerk-offs are making more money in an hour than you musicians do in a day,” said Jakotsu sweetly. “Sometimes a week, perhaps?” “Ouch.” Kagome’s voice floated from the kitchen. “Ouch is right,” said Sango, glaring at him again. “No frowning!” - - “Just one more pose and then we’re done,” said Jakotsu. “That’s what you said five poses ago,” Sango said through clenched teeth, as she tried to arrange her face in a “wistful look” while staring out the window. “Perfect. Looks like you’re longing madly for him.” “He’s going to gag when he sees these photos.” “More like he’ll think more seriously about a large diamond engagement ring,” said Jakotsu suggestively. “Please. Miroku? I thought you knew him better than that. He broke out champagne on our three-week anniversary.” “Well, don’t stop there, honey,” Jakotsu said, still flashing away. “Jakotsu, I haven’t moved. Don’t you think you’ve taken enough pictures of this one pose?” “The sun just went behind the clouds. And you moved your head a fraction of an inch to the right. I think I like that a bit better than the original pose.” “You’re so anal. How does your partner stand you?” “He’s such a slob; he would forget to put his pants on in the morning if it wasn’t for me.” “Oh. Well I guess that works.” “Yep. Sort of like how your temper kind of fades when you’re around Miroku, or how he only follows a nice ass with his eyes now, rather than with his whole head.” “Jesus, you’re such a—wait, how would you know that?” She turned to look accusingly at him. “You two are so wrapped up in each other, you wouldn’t notice if your reincarnation from a past life traveled through time and walked right past you. I’m usually at the bar you guys go to; though I suppose since I’m usually in a large group playing drinking games and you two are…uh… getting freaky over the piano bench.” “He’s teaching me to play piano!” “Okay, honey,” he said soothingly. “And stop it with the affectionate names!” “Mmkay. Now lay on the floor—” “Jaktosu!” “—and spread your hair out a bit and look towards the camera.” “Are you serious? This floor is disgusting; I don’t it’s been vacuumed in months.” She grudgingly laid down on the ground, touching the carpet tentatively, as if she would immediately contract some type of “Perfect. Just move your right arm a little more behind your head—” “Like this?” she ground out. “Yes. Good. Perfect. Don’t move…” “Am I done yet?” “Just a few more,” he mumbled, clicking away. Sango sighed. The room looked a lot messier from the floor; it really was gross, she should make Miroku and Inuyasha clean the place more often. Though she’d probably just end up cleaning herself. And what was that under the TV? There were definitely letters shoved under the TV. “What a pig,” she said to herself. “Hmm?” said Jakotsu absently. “Nothing.” She stretched her arm a little bit and pulled the letters from under the TV. “Sango, you’re moving!” “Sorry! One sec, I just want to see…” They were all addressed to Miroku. Typical. Only a male would clean by shoving letters under furniture. She shifted through them, sure that it was all junk that she could throw away— Until the return address of the creamy white envelope caught her eye. She stared at it and sat up straight. “Sango!” Jakotsu protested. “Not now.” Jakotsu drew back. “What’s wrong?” Sango’s jaw tensed as she opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. - - Miroku walked cheerily up the stairs to his apartment; the chamber rehearsal had gone well today, the students were in a good mood because it was Friday, and they’d gotten a lot done. And the usual troublemaker wasn’t there, so he didn’t have to stop every five minutes to tell the kid off for looking down girls shirts or using his bow to scratch the back of his neck. He started to sing softly as he reached his floor, but stopped when he saw two other people approaching. They didn’t look like they were paying any attention to him—the girl in sunglasses and the baseball cap had her head down, and the gay-looking guy with the camera was hissing under his breath to her. Miroku did a double-take as he passed them. The gay guy looked familiar… He shrugged it off as he dug his key out of his pocket and opened the door. “I’m home!” he called, heading for the kitchen. “Hey.” Sango’s voice drifted from another room. “We got anything to eat?” “Dunno.” Miroku stopped in the threshold of the kitchen. “You okay?” “Yep.” He frowned. Definitely not okay. He moved into the kitchen nevertheless to continue his hunt for food. With Sango, trying to find out if something was wrong was like trying to pry open a clam. She would open when she was good and ready; pushing her to talk would only make things worse. This he had learned from experience. A long night in bed—alone—had taught him well. He heated up some leftover pasta from the night before and ate it while reading the headlines in the newspaper, telling himself to just let Sango be for a bit, and that she would come to him when she was ready. After an hour had passed (in which he gathered all the dirty socks and boxers in his room and threw them in a rather neat pile near the door, watched about fifteen minutes of SportsCenter, and made an ice-cream sundae) he tentatively ventured into his bedroom, the only possible place Sango could be—unless she was in Inuyasha’s room, which was highly unlikely. He slowly pushed open the door and peered inside. “Sango?” She looked up from her drawing pad. “Yeah?” Shit. She was doodling. While the stereo was blaring garage band punk music. Bad sign. Very bad sign. “What’s up?” She glared at him from her spot on the floor. He braved the inevitable onslaught and sat next to her. “That bad, huh?” “You could say that.” She didn’t look up from her doodle of a duck diving into a pit of flames. That is more than slightly disturbing.“Sango. What’s the matter?” She threw an opened envelope into his lap. “I found this—” how women managed to pack disgust, fury, and disappointment into that one unsuspecting adjective modifier, he would never understand—“underneath the TV today.” His stomach dropped. Oh damn. I’m done for.. “Why—” he cleared his throat. “Why were you looking under the TV anyway?” “Never mind. It doesn’t really matter anymore.” He closed his eyes. Lord give me strength. “Sango—” “Why didn’t you tell me?” she interrupted. “You knew how much that job opportunity meant to me, how much I wanted it! You couldn’t even tell me that you auditioned for the same job? And that you got it?” “How could I have told you?” he retorted. “You would have been angry for days.” “Oh, and being lied to is so much better,” she spat. “I can’t do this, Miroku. Have you ever been in a relationship with a professional cellist before? I haven’t. Can you really stand us competing for jobs, getting rejected in favor of your significant other?” “Uh… no I haven’t. Had a relationship like that before.” “Right. It doesn’t bother you because you’re the one who will always win. Not only are you a genius, but you are male. And do not tell me that if it had been me who had won the job, your ego would have been bruised as well.” “I don’t know. I really can’t say.” “Don’t deny it, you’d be angry.” “Well, fine. Since you’re already putting words into my mouth, sure. I’d be angry. Isn’t that natural?” “Yeah? Well let me tell you that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life angry at my boyfriend because he’s always beating me out of jobs because his ex-girlfriend is the one who hired him.” He blinked. “What?” She pointed to the signature at the bottom of the letter. Shima Tsukamoto. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice that.” “Uh… well…” He rubbed his forehead. He’d been hoping to leave that part out. “She’s the director of music for the city. Works directly under the governor. Believe me when I say that she could in no way be biased in her decision.” “Right.” Sango’s voice dripped with sarcasm. Miroku’s temper rose. “Because I obviously couldn’t be good enough to land a job on my own.” “I didn’t say that.” “It’s what you implied.” “I just think it’s a little suspicious, is all.” “Get over yourself—you’re just upset you didn’t get hired.” She slammed the sketchbook to the floor and scrambled to her feet. “You need to learn to handle rejection, Sango,” said Miroku, standing. “You can’t let your whole life be a roller coaster of ups and downs because you didn’t get one job. That’s a musician’s life—you’ve got to be flexible.” “I bared my soul to you with my disappointment in bed the other night,” she said furiously. “And you didn’t say a word. Not one word. Not, ‘Sango, I need to tell you something. I got the job.’ That was all you had so say.” “So you could react just like this? I knew this would happen; I was just putting it off as long as I could. When are you going to grow up?” “When are you going to realize that this isn’t going to work?” she cried. “I can’t spend the rest of my life competing with you, trying to measure up to you while trying to earn my own living.” “We could make it work if you weren’t so inflexible,” he shot back. “Or ego-centric. That’s what this is, isn’t it? A blow on your ego. That you can’t stand.” She opened her mouth furiously, but no words came out. She clamped her jaw shut again then stormed out of the room. “Sango.” She was sprinting for the door. “Sango, come on!” He dashed after her. “I’m going out,” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t follow me.” The door slammed behind her. “Fuck.” Miroku punched the wall, leaving a good-sized dent. “Fucking—” He fell backwards onto the couch and turned the sports channel up to an obscene volume, wishing the commentator’s grating voice would drown out all the emotions churning inside him. - - Kagome rubbed her best friend’s back as Sango cried into her green tea. “It’s okay.” “It’s not. He kept information from me. Lied to me. Got the job I wanted. God, this is so stupid.” Kagome was quiet for a minute. “It’s hard. I was surprised you two got together in the first place. It’s hard enough being friends with potential competition—it’s even worse dating that person. Maybe you two should live in different cities.” “Not funny,” Sango mumbled, burying her head in her hands. “I don’t know why I thought this would work. Remember how mad I was at him before I even met him? About that audition?” Kagome nodded. “This is worse. Musicians are poor enough as it is; how can two starving artists live together while vying for the same money? That’s like two starving wolves hunting together. Wouldn’t one wolf kill the other after one point?” “No, I think just one would be undernourished.” “Either that or they’d split apart.” “Or share the food,” said Kagome. Sango looked at her. “What would you do if Inuyasha played the oboe? Could you stand it if he was better than you?” Kagome didn’t answer. “See? I can’t deal with this. Maybe I should just end this relationship now.” “Sango, I think you’re overreacting.” She was quiet. “I don’t think so. I don’t like it when people keep things from me.” “Would you have told him, had it been you?” “Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t care.” The tears were falling harder now. Kagome pulled her into a hug. “Hey. Don’t think about this right now. You just need a break—it’s been a tough week. Why don’t we watch some sappy love movie and have hot chocolate?” “No hot chocolate.” “Right. Yeah. Sorry. Popcorn, how about that?” “Sure. Whatever.” Kagome got up and went to rummage through the pantry for popcorn. Sango rubbed her temples, her tears falling unchecked into her green tea, as she tried to push Miroku’s face out of her mind. - - “Jesus, Miroku, what is your problem?” Inuyasha said, grabbing the scissors away from his roommate. “This table was a lot of money, especially for a yard sale. Don’t carve curse words into it; you’re not in high school anymore.” “Like you care, you’re going to chuck this thing as soon as you and Kagome get married.” “There are two things wrong with that sentence, and the first is that I am never getting rid of this table; it is a part of me.” Miroku didn’t answer, just continued to stare moodily out the window. “Get a hold of yourself, man!” Inuyasha said sharply. “She’s just a little upset now, give her some time to get over it.” “Look, when the woman you love refuses to talk to you for five days, then you can start giving me advice.” “Love’s a strong word.” “I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Which is why this probably hurts so much.” Inuyasha leaned back in his chair and gnawed his lip. “You ever tell her you loved her?” “Um. I think so…” “Good job.” “Shut up. I really don’t need this right now.” “What you don’t need is to be wasting your life away. Go play your cello or something. Or go to the court and play some basketball with the neighborhood kids. They’d love to have you.” “Right.” He’d already gone back to staring out the window. Inuyasha shook his head and went to get another bowl of cereal. - - “Sango, this is ridiculous. You can’t stay mad this long.” “Can too.” She flipped the page of her magazine. “You like this outfit? It looks a bit eighties, but the skirt is cool.” “It’s been two weeks and you haven’t said a word to him. You’re miserable, which puts me in a bad mood; he’s miserable, which makes Inuyasha moody—thus, Inuyasha and I together around are friends are bitchy, and the misery is spreading. Just go apologize to him!” “I think he should be the one apologizing to me.” “So at least go tell him that! Girl, I have not seen you this upset since… since I don’t know when. If ever.” Sango slumped in her chair, losing her false front of apathy for the first time in two weeks. “I miss him.” Kagome softened. “Then go talk to him. I’m sure he’s waiting for you to.” Sango shook her head. “No. I think this is for the best.” “How can you—” “I told you dating competition would be a bad idea.” “But—” “Never mind. I’m going for a walk.” Sango stood and walked out of the room. Kagome massaged her head in frustration. There’s no getting through to her. - - “The interpretation of this passage can be taken differently, depending on who’s playing it,” Miroku instructed the violin section a few days later. “As an old Polish folk song, it’s usually played with a more accented rhythm, emphasizing the first and third beats—” His eye was caught by Sango, who as usual was sitting at the head of the cello section, directly to his right. He’d been trying to ignore the fact that she was there, but his eyes kept straying in her direction. She, on the other hand, was staring obstinately at the ground. Gritting his teeth, he tried to finish his explanation. “—which makes the song seem more authentic, although it does deviate from the more traditional method of playing it…” It had been three weeks since their falling out, and he had stopped trying to contact her a week ago when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to forgive him anytime soon. He wasn’t used to feeling so depressed over a girl. It was usually he that instigated the breaking up, thus, the heartache was much less. As soon as he stopped listening to the songs on the radio that reminded him of a certain girl, he was fine. But this—this was something different altogether. I think about her all the fucking time!And when he wasn’t thinking about her, a commercial that they’d laughed about would suddenly come on TV, or he’d see a girl with magenta contacts, or he’d hear a certain song whose lyrics fit with his situation— Who knew there were so many songs about angst and loneliness? Honestly. It was as if there was no happy couple that currently existed in the world. Sango coughed, and his mind was jerked away from his teaching again. Don’t think about her. “Woodwinds, play out a little more at the trio, keep the notes more legato—floating and flowing like—” Sango’s hair. “—a river.” Lame. Even your analogies are becoming pathetic. Just like you. He needed to get over her. Fast. His internship ended at the end of the semester. Would that he lasted that long. Had he looked over in Sango’s direction again, he would’ve noticed that her watery eyes were a little much for such a small fit of coughing. - - “You’re going to do what?” Inuyasha spluttered. “You heard me. It’s my new seasonal job,” said Miroku. “What, modeling and NYU wasn’t paying enough?” “Did you see our electric bill this month? You either need to learn to wear a parka inside, or get used to the idea that a heater costs money.” “Whatever, man, I pay my share. It isn’t my fault you chose to be a musician. I told you a business major would be more practical.” “Ancient judo fighting lessons just barely fall under the business major category.” “Hey, I run the dojo. Or will. As soon as the old man croaks and leaves it to me.” “Nice, Inuyasha.” He shrugged. “Hey, it’s the truth.” Miroku finished dressing and looked at himself in the mirror. “Does this look authentic?” Inuyasha bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Uh.” “Close enough,” Miroku said, turning from side to side. “You sure you don’t want to come help?” “I’m playing at the bar again tonight.” “Right. Find yourself some food, I won’t be home until the mall closes.” “Later. Don’t get peed on by too many little kids.” “Shut up.” - - Sango was walking in no particular direction at breakneck speed after class that day, wishing the strength of the winter wind was hard enough to blow her thoughts out of her mind. Everything I think about ends up coming back to him, she thought in frustration. It’s cold outside shifted to I want coffee which reminded her of hot chocolate, which made her think of Miroku… She ducked inside the shopping mall on the corner, brushing the small flakes of snow off her shoulders. Kagome appeared, brandishing a cup of hot green tea. “There you are. I thought you’d forgotten.” “I hung around in the orchestra room a little longer after class today.” Until Miroku cleared out of the hallway with that bimbo he was talking to. “Let’s go; Inuyasha is not an easy person to shop for.” “Tell me about it.” They started walking down the corridor, pausing in front of shop windows from time to time. “Do you think cologne is too cliché?” asked Kagome. “It says, ‘you smell—and not in a good way.’” “Leather jacket?” “Do you have that kind of money?” “Book?” “Inuyasha reads?” “Movie.” & #8220;Boring.” “Sexy lingerie?” Sango stared at Kagome. “Why would you give that to him?” “So he could dress me in it?” “TMI,” said Sango, shuddering. “Please remind me never to accompany you while shopping for your boyfriend.” “Did I tell you what he did the other day? Kikyou slithered up to him while he was playing his bass at that bar and was doing her whole ‘oh-poor-me-I-was-broken-hearted-by-my-new-boyfriend’ move again, and he completely ignored her. Completely.” “Really, 221; Sango said suspiciously. “Yes.” “He didn’t say a word to her?” “Aside from ‘fuck off, bitch,’ no.” “Oh. Well that’s even better. Hey, congratulations, that’s almost as big as a proposal of marriage.” Miroku’s face popped into her mind again, but she stubbornly pushed it away. “I know,” said Kagome, beaming. She really loves him. And he loves her back. Sango took another sip of her green tea. Lucky. “Aw, look at all those kids lined up to see Santa Claus,” Kagome cooed, marriage and children clearly still on her mind. “Sango, let’s tell Santa what we want for Christmas!” “Kagome, you still don’t know what you’re going to get Inuyasha.” “Well, maybe Santa could give me some tips. He looks pretty young, after all.” “He looks like one of the guys that would grope you while you’re telling him what you want. There’s a reason only little children sit on Santa’s lap.” “You’re such a cynic. Come on, will you at least take a picture of me sitting on his lap? I could give it to Inuyasha for kicks.” “Kagome,” groaned Sango. She really wasn’t in the mood for her friend’s antics tonight. She was tired, cold, still in love with Miroku (who had stopped trying to reconcile with her), and she had a paper cut on her pinky finger. Hey, it hurt like hell. And it was just one more thing that added to her misery. “Please, Sango?” begged Kagome. “Whatever,” said Sango, annoyed. “Let’s get this over with.” “Thanks!” Kagome bounced over to the end of the line, dragging Sango with her.