Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha.
A/N: Aside from this author's note, inserted comments will be minimal, just stuff I might want to clarify at the beginning before people read, mainly just to keep the flow of the story (since it might be hard to understand at first). Yes, this is an idea that's been done countless times, many probably better than what I'm offering now, but we'll see how it goes.
Final Note: Kat, you know this is for you, because I like to spoil you (and I missed your birthday). Blame her for this story even existing.
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Sango groaned and punched Miroku playfully on the chest as he scooped her up in his arms and kicked open the first door in his line of sight.
"Miroku!" she giggled. "That's a bathroom."
He grinned. "How about it?"
"I don't think so," she said, shaking her head. "That's practically a closet! How about you -"
"Carry you up the stairs like in a cheesy romance novel?" he finished for her. "While a random wind blows my ruffly white shirt open and your hair blows enchantingly around your flushed face as you say, 'Oh Miroku!' like a sighing schoolgirl?"
"Why do you have to twist my words around?" she pouted. "I was going to say go up to our room!"
"Sango!" he whined. "We just finished bringing in most of my things and my arms hurt. I don't think I'll make it up the stairs without collapsing halfway."
"Are you saying I'm heavy?"
His expression grew slightly panicked. "Well - I ... of course not!"
She laughed again, slinging her arms around his neck. "You're silly."
He made a face at her. "Besides, we've been in your room before."
"Our room," she corrected, poking him on the cheek. "Well then," she continued with a sigh. "I guess we could just finish moving everything and start unpacking... If you're so...tired."
It was his turn to shake his head. "I meant 'lifting heavy things tired,' not 'unable to perform' tired. Anyway, we're already kind of sweaty, so why give up halfway?"
She arched one of her elegant brows. "Unable to perform?"
He looked as though he was suddenly struck with an idea. "Hold on for a minute," he instructed, maneuvering her body so that she was able to hang off him in a piggyback.
"Wouldn't it be easier if you just put me down?" she said, laughing.
"It would kill the mood," he said instantly. "If I pick you up in my arms with a suggestive look on my face, with the intent to engage in questionable-by-Kohaku conduct, and you are all for it, I am so not putting you down."
Taking one of the large boxes from which they had removed some of his more fragile items, he turned it over, the hardwood of the floor becoming covered with a layer of styrofoam pieces and bubble wrap. He did the same with a few more boxes before tossing them aside and gathering Sango back in his arms.
"Now, I'm not sure how comfortable this will be. In all honesty, it was a split second idea."
She only smiled and rolled her eyes. The bed of styrofoam snow and plastic bubble wrap had never looked so appealing.
"Well then," she said thoughtfully, cocking her head to the side. "It will be an interesting experiment to say the least."
"Oh yes," he said knowingly, nodding. "All in the name of science, indeed."
"Plus, we're already halfway there, right?" she reminded him.
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Any Given Someday
Chapter One:
The Last Dance
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"Take something lighter, won't you Sango?" a tall man with grey eyes chided her.
Her eye twitched. She secured her grip on the box and coolly walked over to the dolly that was a few feet away, dropping the box onto it.
"It's hardly ten steps," she said nonchalantly as she made her way back to pick up another box.
"Yes, but you shouldn't strain yourself," the man continued from where he was moving the boxes out of a truck onto the curb.
"Listen Takeda-san, when I said I'd help you move, I thought you meant that I would actually help you instead of just standing around and watching you."
She dropped the next box on top of the stack, from a higher height than was necessary. She smirked inwardly as he winced at the faint cracking sound.
"Could you be a little easier on the boxes Sango?"
Kicking the dolly forward onto its wheels, she pushed it through the entrance to the condominium.
"Don't worry, I will," she said with a backwards glance. "You're on the fifth floor, right?" she added casually as the door closed behind her, preventing his answer from being heard.
Another hour of forced conversation and masked sarcastic answers on her part and finally, finally she would be done her good deed for the day and be able to go home. Unfortunately, the guy never stopped hoping. He was too confident for his own good.
"Is that everything?" she asked flatly, looking the halls up and down.
"Yes, it is . . . but aren't you tired? You want to come in for tea or something?"
She shook her head. "No, no, that's alright." She pushed her hair behind her ear. "I've got to be getting home anyway. Kohaku will be back from school soon."
She shifted her weight from right to left and straightened the collar of her coat. "Are you sure?" he tried again.
With a vigorous nod, she bid him goodbye, and had walked away a few steps when his slightly hopeful voice sounded behind her.
"Hey, Sango, I can drive you if you want, you know."
She shook her head again, her ponytail swaying in waves behind her. "You know I live close by. Isn't that the whole reason father suggested you move here?"
The irritation in her voice floated right by him. "I can walk with you then. It's raining outside."
"No," she said firmly. My, was he resilient. "A little rain won't kill me. It's okay. I'll be fine."
"But what if -"
"It's only a few blocks away."
"But you're not over what happened with - "
"I'll be fine!" she snapped. "It's not like the rain will fall from the sky and stab me in various parts of my body!"
That didn't sit too well. After all, she wasn't made of stone was she? His hurt expression got to her, because despite how she was acting, she was still the compassionate Sango underneath. She wasn't invincible.
"Sorry."
It was his turn to shake his head. "No, don't worry about it."
"If you say so..." She was now officially uncomfortable. "I'll be going then."
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The rainy season in Tokyo was just beginning to get underway. Today was not that bad though, just a light introductory drizzle, ensuring a greater humidity the next day. Walking the usual route down the block, she kept her head forward and didn't let her gaze waver. She was focused on moving forward.
Her father had called yesterday, from somewhere in the Polynesian Islands. As per usual, they went through the routine of 'how's work - how's life' and then he gave her the news: that he was the devil's advocate who'd suggested Takeda Kuranosuke move into one of the new condominiums that were built in the urban expansion.
"Now I know you just got out of a rocky relationship," he said, not sounding very sympathetic, "but I've done lots of business with Kuranosuke's father and he's a very respectable boy. Just got back from attending university overseas, ready to take over the family business, unlike - "
"That's enough, father," Sango cut in, gripping the receiver tightly.
"Not to mention he is very interested in you Sango," he continued, undeterred. "He's willing to move to the next town to be closer to you. He's worried."
She wound the cord around her index finger. "Worried about what?"
"Well, from what Kuranosuke-san told me you were quite upset when that other man moved out."
"What? You talked to Takeda? When?" she snapped defensively.
"I had stopped in the United States for a few weeks last month and I contacted him."
"And you didn't think to contact me?" she said in disbelief, leaning against the counter. "Sango, your daughter?"
There was silence on the other line, except for something like shuffling papers.
"Sango, honey, I have to go now, the business meeting will be picking up soon. I'll call you later. I love you."
"Love you," she said hollowly.
Not much later, she got a call from the kiss-up himself, informing her of his surprise move across town. She agreed to help him get his things together, subjecting herself to a morning of him worrying about her pulling a muscle, straining her back and shoulders, and dying of exhaustion.
At least when she had helped Miroku move in, he would try to pull out all the heavier boxes for her to take first . . .
Even though a few months later they only had to move them all back to his apartment anyway.
His apartment, where he had lived alone a few years.
She wondered if it still looked the same.
She shouldn't even had been able to recall that one measly memory, much less be thinking of him at all, but lately, her little refuge she had built around herself was a strange place, where the 'us' that was her and Miroku had never existed, and sometimes, she wanted to flee from it.
Looking up, she realized her feet had carried her to the next street past her house, and she backtracked, kicking loose pebbles on the sidewalk along the way to the modest home that she, her younger brother, and occasionally her father, occupied.
After their mother had died, their father had sold their pricey apartment in the city in favor of a smaller home, situated in the quiet, less-costly suburbs. Since he was away from home for long periods of time, he said it was pointless to buy a large house when it would often just be the two of them, Sango and Kohaku, living there.
So he saved up enough to put the down payment on the house and sent money monthly to help Sango handle the mortgage and utilities. Since she was an adult, she took care of most money matters.
It had taken her a while, but she eventually grew to love the small, cottage-like home. She and Kohaku had painted it a light goldenrod and fitted white window boxes to the window frames. They were tired as hell afterward, but they both admitted later over chilly glasses of lemonade that it was worth it.
She fitted her key into the lock, the sound of the breeze hitting the silver wind chime on the porch blending into the background.
The house felt empty when she was there alone, especially on this Saturday morning. Kohaku attended school until midday on two Saturdays a month, and this was one of them. These used to be Miroku's favourite days, because they could cuddle late into the morning without worry of 'being heard.'
This was the first one without him, and she had instead spent it with a man who felt it was a crime against nature itself that she wasn't taken with him at first sight.
"Kohaku?" she called into the empty foyer as she slipped her shoes off. Putting them down, she saw his were nowhere to be found. Hanging up her keys and coat, she pulled the elastic out from her hair, her body slightly sticky from the humidity of the rain and from moving Takeda Kuranosuke's abundance of belongings for a good three or four hours.
As she washed the sweat from her body in the shower, her mind wandered vaguely through various subjects ranging from what to have for dinner tonight to when Takeda would come calling again, the latter which she wasn't looking forward to.
She absent-mindedly massaged rosemary scented shampoo into her scalp before the stream of water from the shower head rinsed the lathered-up foam from her hair.
It had barely been a week, perhaps two at most. The exact date he had left wasn't really clear; he had returned to pick up things occasionally over the next few days. Then, it had ended. Communication had ceased.
A few days later, her father had happily given the news of Kuranosuke's "relocation." She had enough to deal with, and adding a pampered, well-off, lap dog to the mix wasn't going to help at all. After the relationship had ended, she had decided to focus on Kohaku and her job as a receptionist in the company for which her father worked.
Eventually, she had ambitions to leave that job, and hopefully move onto something a little more . . . interesting, such as event planning. She remembered confiding to Miroku over many a morning tea about how she would like to be counted on to make moments memorable.
"Like a wedding?" he'd asked.
She wrapped a sea-green towel around her body and stepped into their bedroom - her bedroom - to pull fresh clothing from the dresser.
All clothes were to come from the dresser, be hung in the closet, or over a chair. That was the unspoken rule.Somehow, she had convinced herself it had nothing to do with breathless sighs and impatient hands that pulled buttons apart, opened shirts, and pushed skirts to the ground.
She pushed it from her mind that when clothes had littered the room or hung from the bedposts, it had been in a heat of passion and desire that they had been hurriedly discarded and forgotten.
It had nothing to do with the times when the next morning he would spend a good twenty minutes looking for his pants. And absolutely no relation to the knowing smiles and subtle winks across the dinner table, and her foot traveling up the length of his leg under it, oblivious to Kohaku as he ate his meal.
The stark cleanliness of the room attested to Sango's growing preoccupation with regaining control. From the moment he had left, her bedroom and the house became a model of the clean slate she wished to start out on.
But there was always something, may it be his aftershave still on the bathroom counter or how she had put out two towels on the rack, that were the marks that for any number of reasons, would not erase.
Once clothed in comfortable 'house wear' she sighed and sat down at her desk, resuming what she had been doing since late last night: a little packing of her own.
Throughout the course of their relationship, they enjoyed taking pictures, abusing the one hour wait system available at the developing center, aside from making home videos. However, they had never took the time to put the photos in albums, and instead they collected on top of the vanity, along with a few used film canisters, until Sango had gathered them onto the desk to put them away, as she did now.
There were so many pictures, hundreds even. One - or five - for every seemingly insignificant moment in their time together.
One by one, she picked them up, reading the dates and captions and then tossing them into an empty box, which was already half-full of letters, clothes, cards; anything of significance.
There were some she recognized, like the one of her and Miroku, respectively outfitted in semi-formal attire. She was smiling, her light blush rivaling the red of her dress clearly visible on the glossy five by seven, and he was grinning, as usual. The caption read, "Sango and I after Kohaku convinced her to let me pamper her with expensive dinner."
"At Sumida River for the Grand Fireworks Display," the next one read, flipping the picture over. She was wearing a pink and black summer yukata. She remembered asking Kagome's mother a favor in help her tie the sash properly. In the picture, she was glowing, even beaming, as the fireworks flashed overhead.
Both collections went into a manila envelope and into the box.
Then there was a stack she had never seen before, still in the original post-development packaging. Unsticking the flap on the envelope, she lifted the pile from the envelope and slid the first photo out. Strangely, they were all facing in, the white backing facing out.
In the corner on the back a small note had been written in Miroku's handwriting, that simply read, 'when I wake up.' Frowning, she turned it over, and her breathing stopped momentarily.
She had never seen this before, and hadn't been aware that existed. In fact, she wasn't even aware he had taken it, and for good reason.
The image stared back at her. She was lying on their bed, slightly on her side, in her simple summer night gown, her hair in a loose braid to prevent overnight tangling. The bedspread was white with printed pink flowers, new ones she had bought while shopping on a day off. Her eyes were closed.
Hurriedly, she picked up the stack from which it had came from, pulling out and turning over every picture, staring emptily at each of them. There were more of her asleep in their bed, as well as on the couch still in her work clothes, and in a room that looked like the one in his apartment.
Finally, there were a few of her lying amongst bubble wrap and styrofoam, captioned 'My first day,' and, as it was in every one, she was asleep.
She piled them neatly in a stack and wrapped a rubber band around them, placing them in the box.
Ignoring her heavy heart, she folded the flaps in, and picked up the tape dispenser to seal them. Her hands stopped functioning. She couldn't. She wasn't ready just to seal everything away like this. Instead, she pushed the desk chair over to her closet, stood on it, and tucked the box onto the top shelf.
Collapsing on the bed, she wrapped her arms around herself, in an attempt to quell that queasy feeling growing in her stomach. The linens, the pillows, even the damned bathroom towels; they all still smelled of him. The pictures on the bedside table were facing down, his belongings were mostly gone, but apparently her heart didn't care. She didn't want to forget.
Unable to take it, she grabbed the fabric in her hands and pressed it to her face, rolling onto her side to rest her head on his pillow. They were blue, because it was his turn to make the beds this month. This month...a few weeks ago, just another May where he would make their bed. When time hadn't yet become a digital clock after a power surge; blinking and still.
She lay there, silently, not knowing what she was listening for. The phone to ring? The sound of the key turning in the lock, and his deep voice declaring his arrival to whoever was in the house?
Maybe, like when she was lying in bed alone, breathing in the scent of him, she longed for his securing arm around her waist, and the warmth of his body pressed behind her, fitting to the form of her back. She found herself rolling onto her other side and reaching to put her arm over him, to pull his face towards hers and trail her lips down his collarbone, only to have her arm pass through the empty space where he should have been.
The sound of silence was deafening, as it had been every moment she had spent alone on that bed cocooned in sheets. It was ringing from an empty sound that hadn't failed in keeping her awake at night. She needed something, not the creaking of the ceiling fan, nor the whir of the furnace in the basement; but his gentle breathing, ensuring her that he was there.
She lay like this now, until the wind chimes jingled from the porch, and she sat up on the bed, preparing to run down the stairs to greet him with a touch of her lips before he routinely announced his arrival.
But the sound of the simple opening and closing of the door and the footsteps heading straight to the kitchen was the signal of Kohaku entering. They had both become somewhat reserved these past days. In short, even her own brother was fluctuating in avoiding her.
In the end, all they were left with was painful realizations everything was wrong. They had both done wrong, and had danced around their problems long enough. How was it that she could accept all the errors she had made, yet not accept the loss? Was it the paramount high of an insatiable first love that kept her wanting him? Were long nights under the moon of discovering one another over and over again until a golden glaze painted the sky enough to make the hurt melt away with time?
Had he been so much to her that she felt herself regressing without him? Easily, she could say she was a different person now, but could she honestly say that she was a better person?
She used to fear love, and that first time, when he had encircled her with his arms upon his bed, he had told her, "Sango, we are not invincible."
Her hands were hesitant over his tan skin, feeling his heat permeating her entire body. "But weren't we all once? Before we felt lost for the first time?"
"Then make this the last time," he whispered, kissing her softly, burying his face in her hair. He had lied though, because that wouldn't be the last time. He would repeat those words as a parallel once more before he walked out of her life.
Born from their ignorance had been their brilliant dance; a dance where nobody leads at all.
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So you buried all your lovers clothes,
And burned the letters lovers wrote,
But it doesn't make it any better
Does it make it any better?
And the plaster dented from your fist,
In the hall where you had your first kiss,
Reminds you that the memories will fade.