Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha.

Rubbing his eyes blearily as he joined the waking world, Miroku rolled over and fell onto the cold wooden floor of Kohaku's apartment. Cursing, he jumped back onto the sofa he'd fallen asleep on with feline grace and wrapped himself up in the blanket ruefully. Naked back meeting cold wood was not the best way Miroku could think of to start a new day, but the smell of tamagoyaki revived him. Donning his t-shirt, Miroku stumbled blearily into Kohaku's kitchen and slumped into a chair, yawning hugely.

Kohaku placed a plate in front of his lethargic friend and sat opposite him, plonking the soy sauce onto the table.

"Nice apron," Miroku commented cheekily as he dug into the breakfast feast that Kohaku had assembled. Kohaku scowled half-heartedly at his friend's antics, Miroku knew very well why he was wearing the flowery apron instead of his normal one. After all, Miroku had been the one to somehow shrink his poor apron in the wash.

"Whatever," Kohaku murmured, sipping his tea languidly whilst gazing at his friend pensively. He wondered if it was really fair to spring his news on Miroku right now, even though it was one o'clock in the afternoon, his friend had only just woken up and probably wasn't functioning at full capacity.

Yet, Kohaku knew he would have to tell him rather abruptly; she was due to arrive in around an hour. Sighing, he set his tea cup on the table and leaned his head on his elbows. "Sango-neechan is coming to stay here tomorrow."

Predictably, Miroku choked on his tamagoyaki with impressive vehemence. When he'd finally regained the ability to breathe, he looked up at Kohaku with watering violet eyes.

"Oh," Miroku managed.

Kohaku took their plates to the sink, giving Miroku some semblance of privacy as he turned his back on him. "She's thinking of moving in around here, so she's staying with me until she can find a place to live."

"Ah," Miroku murmured, blowing gently at his tea, his eyes somewhat glazed.

"You okay?" Kohaku ventured, slowly drying a bowl with his dishcloth and resisting the urge to glance at Miroku's expression.

The chair scraped back. Miroku stood and smiled cheerily at Kohaku. "Of course, it's all in the past, my friend."

Kohaku's brows furrowed. "So you aren't still infatuated with nee-chan and have no plans of throwing yourself at her?" he checked, knowing he might sound a little obtuse. He couldn't help it though, Sango was his sister and he couldn't deal with Miroku upsetting her. Last time they'd fought, they'd broken most of his furniture.

Miroku blinked, looking bemused by Kohaku's suspicion. "I would never dream of hurting your sister, Kohaku-kun," Miroku promised succinctly, walking through into the living room to reclaim his jeans and shoes.

Which doesn't mean that you aren't still infatuated with her, Kohaku realised as the door shut behind his friend. Not that Kohaku had expected any different, Miroku had been pining after Sango for fifteen years, ever since they'd been children growing up on the same street.

Though a tomboy by nature, Sango had always been a bashful child but the boys in their schools had always been afraid of her superior strength and stamina. Miroku, on the other hand, was not a normal boy and had no problem appreciating the beautiful woman that her tomboy attitude simply made all the more appealing. Through middle school and high school he'd pursued the woman and his overly amorous attempts at gaining his favour had only resulted in embarrassing Sango, thusly leading to her punching him. The more of a distance Sango wanted to create between them, the more touchy-feely Miroku had become.

Kohaku shook his head good-naturedly as he folded up the blanket Miroku had slept under. His sister was obstinate; Miroku was deviously cunning when it came to getting his own way.

And they were both head over heels for each other.

Slipping her shoes off in Kohaku's genkan, Sango wandered into the kitchen as Kohaku took her bags into his bedroom. On the ride over from the airport she'd argued that she could sleep on the sofa, but her little brother wasn't having any of it. Gone were the days of the meek Kohaku who she'd protected. It was a sad thought, but she liked the respectable young chef her brother had become.

"Are you working tonight?" she asked Kohaku as she sat down at the kitchen table and stretched out her legs stiffly. Working as a chef meant that many of his evenings were spent in the restaurant rather than in his apartment.

"Nah, I got the night off so that I could cook for you instead," Kohaku admitted, donning the flowery apron again.

"Nice apron," Sango giggled as Kohaku began to cook.

He levelled her with a flat look. "That's exactly what Miroku said."

As expected, Sango's shoulders stiffened at the mention of Miroku's name. But she relaxed after a moment and began fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve and feigned nonchalance. "Oh, you're still in contact with him?"

Kohaku pursed his lips. "Yeah," he glanced at the clock, "he'll be here in a minute, hungry as ever."

A panicked look flitted through Sango's hazel eyes. "Really? But aren't you normally in work?"

Kohaku shrugged. "He has a key; I normally leave him something to be heated up."

"Tch," Sango shook her head scornfully, "What are you, his wife?"

Kohaku blinked at his sister baldly. "What are you, jealous?"

Sango tugged on the end of his ponytail reproachfully and stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"To change," she informed him smartly, running her hands through loose hair, "and go in the shower too."

Kohaku chuckled knowingly. "Not for my benefit I'm sure," he murmured under his breath.

Tying her hair up in a high samurai-tail, Sango frowned at herself in the little obscure mirror in Kohaku's bathroom. Hearing that Miroku was coming had sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach in a way that hadn't happened since the last time she'd clapped eyes on the violet haired charmer.

This is pathetic, she told herself, glaring at her flushed cheeks, I'm not a teenager anymore; I'm a professional.

Steam heralded her exit from the bathroom and she walked to the kitchen slowly, closing her eyes as she heard the deep reverberations of his baritone voice. Relishing his voice in secret was fine but as she walked into the kitchen she straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin stubbornly.

"Hey," Kohaku greeted, placing her plate down onto the table, "you're right on time."

Averting her gaze from Miroku, worried that if she caught his gaze those butterflies in her stomach might fly up her throat and choke her, Sango claimed her seat. "Thanks."

"Long time no see," Miroku commented amicably as he dug in to the feast Kohaku had prepared for them.

"Hm," she muttered, avoiding his gaze entirely but watching his calloused hands as he ate.

"Can you pass the soy sauce?" he asked casually.

Pushing it across the table to him, Sango chanced a glance at his face and was immediately captured by his violet gaze. A light blush rose to her cheeks, but dropping his gaze was completely impossible. He smiled wryly and took the soy sauce without even brushing her hand. That stumped her; normally Miroku was all about the teasing caresses. Her gaze dropped.

Was it possible that even though she hadn't been able to forget about him, he'd moved on? Somehow she'd never expected that to happen and was immediately embarrassed at her presumptuousness.

"Sango-chan," Miroku called pleasantly, "are you alright?"

Sango smiled wanly. "Just jetlag, I'm sure."

As thanks for the meal the two freeloaders had been made responsible for washing the dishes. Kohaku had retired to the living room and was flicking through the channels on the television absently.

Dunking the dish in the sudsy water, Sango passed it along to Miroku who calmly dried it and added it to that stack they were developing. Hyper aware of Miroku as always, Sango was quite bewildered at the policy of no contact he was entertaining. Even though she'd always been embarrassed by his overly touchy feeling nature in the past, this lack of touching was making her feel oddly jilted.

It wasn't just that he wasn't copping a feel; it was the fact that he was avoiding even the most innocent of touches.

What am I? Infectious? She thought belligerently as she scrubbed a plate with slightly more venom than was strictly necessary.

Turning away from Sango in order to stack the plates into the cupboard, Miroku smiled knowingly.

A week had been about as much of Miroku as Sango could withstand. He'd always been adept at getting under her skin, but before it had been easy to call him a pervert and hit him. Now, however, he was acting a gentleman.

Or rather, he was treating her like a pariah.

"Sango-neechan," Kohaku muttered, "you've broken another pen."

Sango glanced down guiltily at the third pen of Kohaku's that she had broken in as many minutes. It was hardly her fault considering Miroku was just lying there, sprawled across the sofa provocatively. Her eyes were drawn to his abs that his careless posture exposed wantonly.

Great! Now I'm the pervert, she mourned rubbing her temples exasperatedly.

"Ah!" Miroku murmured, glancing at the clock, "I have to go. Goodbye Kohaku. Sango-chan."

Both relieved at his departure and frustrated by his nonchalance, Sango simmered for a moment, oblivious to the fact that Kohaku had stolen her crossword.

"What does Miroku do nowadays?" she asked nonchalantly. Not that she was fooling Kohaku.

"Ask him," Kohaku grumbled.

"Kohaku!"

"He—" Kohaku cut off abruptly as he noticed the keys lying on the table. "The idiot forgot his keys, Sango-neechan, you should take them to him."

Sango balked. "Why me?"

"You want to know what he does for a living, right? You can ask him."

Miroku held out a hand to help the woman who had tripped over an uneven paving slab to her feet, smiling winningly as she allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"Thank you so much," she gushed, smiling flirtatiously.

"No problem," he hummed, waving her on her way. He turned to continue on his way home only to come nose to nose with Sango.

A vein was throbbing in her temple, lips twisted into a sneer and her cheeks were flushed as she scowled up at him. "So you'll touch other women then?" she screeched.

Miroku blinked.

"For an entire week I've put up with you treating me like a pariah but a pretty smile and you're all over her!" Sango accused, jabbing him in the chest with his own keys.

"Ah."

"So you'll touch a random woman but not me?"

All at once Miroku was in her personal space, backing her up until she hit the column of the torii arch of the temple they stood outside of. Strong arms pinioned her in and he leant his forehead down onto hers.

"Do you want me to touch you, Sango-chan?"

Roses bloomed on her cheeks and she looked away bashfully.

"Shut up."

"Ah, ah, ah!" he scolded, holding her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger so he could meet her gaze once more. "Be true to yourself, Sango-chan. Do you like me?"

"... first." She mumbled into her chest.

Miroku leant even closer. "What was that, Sango-chan?"

"You first," she demanded with more gusto, "how do you feel about me?"

"Ara," he hummed, brushing his lips across hers in the most fleeting of kisses, "that, Sango-chan, is simple. I love you."

He'd said it! he'd actually said it!

"Then why have you been avoiding touching me?" she demanded hotly, eyes reproachful.

Miroku sighed, his breath ghosting along her neck making her shiver. "Because you didn't used to like it. I wanted to prove I wasn't just some pervert. That those days were all in the past."

"You don't have any self-control," she accused, "If you wanted me you would have touched me." There was a definite pout lurking in her voice, it made Miroku smile softly.

"Buddha teaches patience and restraint," jerking a thumb in the direction of the shrine behind them he added, "and I'm a monk now, Sango-chan," Ignoring her jaw-drop expression, he continued, "I can be as good or as bad as I need to be in order to show you that I love you and to prove to you something. You love me."

Speech was apparently not an option right now, so Sango merely nodded vehemently, hair whipping against Miroku's face.

Sango kissed him harshly. A little rough, a little shy, a little tender.

Perfectly Sango.

A/N: This was originally posted on the 30th January 2011 for the Past prompt over on mirsan_fics and placed 1st.

Thanks for reading!