Note: The prologue and chapter one have been revised and posted. Working on revising chapter two at this very moment.

DIVINE ASPIRATION: CH. 12

The sun dripped beams of warmth down onto Kohaku's face as he sat outside the school building, patiently waiting for his friend to arrive. Souta had been particularly energetic when he spoke to him on the phone the day before; his voice held a hidden depth, one that surprised Kohaku, but one he refused to question all the same.

Shifting his weight, Kohaku lifted bandaged hands and adjusted his uniform absently—gauze pulled at the blisters coated in ointment, and Kohaku grunted. He vaguely wished that the doctors had been kinder and prescribed him bitter tasting pills in order to combat the discomfort. He could still feel the almost-burn of Kagome's skin, hot and pale against the curve of his fingers.

Kohaku's brow furrowed as he gave a discontented sigh; despite the fact that he and Kagome were getting along so fabulously, she hadn't visited him. Kohaku may not have known Kagome long, but he thought he knew the measure of her—she was not the type of person to simply disregard a friend, especially if she had been the reason behind their injury.

Yet Kagome hadn't visited him. That thought put a bitter taste in his mouth almost as effortlessly as his quarrel with Sango had, for the conversation that had passed between the two siblings could have been nothing but. There was no way it was a fight—fighting was fists and feet and teeth and blood, and Kohaku had experienced that once before, ages ago.

(Ages which meant nothing and were not frozen in the solidity of time, like scratches carved upon a stone.)

Kohaku's eyes fluttered at the almost-memory, but it was so intangible that it flittered away, just as a group of girls moved passed him, giggling obnoxiously. It effectively snagged his attention, and Kohaku watched them with a sort of detached calm he would never have experienced otherwise.

He certainly hadn't experienced it with Sango. The anger had burned at him, like flames licking at the edges of blackened wood—you should be used to abandonment—and a weariness settled on Kohaku then, one he shouldn't have felt for years to come.

"Kohaku!"

Startled, Kohaku straightened almost immediately, lifting a bandaged hand to shield his eyes against the harsh light of the sun. Souta was sprinting towards him, bright and happy and—not Souta—causing Kohaku's lips to turn down in a concerned frown.

"Good morning!" Souta chirped cheerily, beaming at his friend.

Kohaku stirred restlessly; dread roiled painfully within his stomach. "Souta—"

"Hey, we still have time, right?" Souta asked, gesturing to the large clock on the face of the white-washed building. Kohaku glanced at it briefly before starting—Souta's fingers curled around his wrist, pressing gently against his pulse. He felt the faint thump thump of it beat against the pads of Souta's fingers, the cool prick of flesh causing the thin hairs on Kohaku's arms to rise.

"What's going on?" Kohaku asked hesitantly even as Souta started to pull him away. Souta shrugged, aiming a vague smile over his shoulder. Vulnerability and uncertainty were not emotions that Kohaku was fond of acquainting himself with, yet they seemed to cling to him fastidiously; Souta was dragging him along the road, pushing past the swarms of students hurrying in the opposite direction.

He didn't like the smile that had adorned Souta's face. Kohaku knew that Souta wasn't infallible, that sadness was something which distorted his true personality constantly, but there was no way that Souta could have gotten over it so quickly. It was true, he had smiled… but Kohaku had seen him smile before, each one filled with as much poisonous loathing as the last.

Longing swept through Souta's eyes and mannerisms; he dreamt and desired and yearned for something he could never have, and Kohaku knew what it was. He knew it like he knew his own mind (but minds chipped and shattered, like fragile glass) and although it was unrecognizable now, at least he had sense enough to know it.

Kohaku's fingers itched with the desire to pick up a pen, but the gauze clung to his hands covering ointment, blisters, and flesh wrinkled with moisture.

"Where are we going?" Kohaku asked, his voice colored with urgency.

"Don't worry," Souta said cheerily. "It will only take a minute." He paused then, as though in contemplation, before his fingers tightened around Kohaku's wrist. "I used to go there all the time, when I was younger."

"Go where?" The annoyance was mounting, but Souta was being purposefully vague. This attitude was not something Kohaku was used to, and it rubbed him wrong. His frown grew deeper as he looked at the back of his friends head in agitated curiosity—thick silken strands blew in the slight breeze, and the sun kissed their black uniforms, warming their skin through the thick fabrics.

The trek was long and tedious, and by the time Souta finally pulled them to a stop, the dull tolling of the school bells echoed dimly in the background.

Souta flashed a grin over his shoulder at his friend, but when Kohaku just returned the smile with a level stare, the smile faded.

"They've probably already closed the gates," Kohaku murmured, taking in his surroundings. They were in a park. A park with a yellow jungle-gym and bright red swings. There were cherry blossom trees clustered oddly in a single spot, and clipped bushes skirted the edges of the cobbled stone path that cut through the luscious green park.

Teeth bit gently on fleshy lips as Kohaku tossed his backpack against a bright blue metal pole; bark flew up, scuffing against Kohaku's shoes, but he ignored it. He could always clean them later.

Sighing slightly, he gave into the fact that Souta must have brought him here for a reason, just as he must've had a reason for his irregular attitude. Kohaku settled himself on the seat of the red swing, his hands curling awkwardly around the sun warmed metal chains, his legs bending and straightening as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

The subtle motion of the swing was reassuring—wind whipped at his face, tousling his hair, and a bright happy laughter erupted from his throat, even as hands jarred the sudden movement of the swing, halting his almost-flight completely—so Kohaku allowed himself to press his cheek to the chains.

Souta eyed him fondly—fingers dug teasingly into his side, and he let out a squeal of laughter, even as burgundy-tinted eyes tilted him back on his crimson perch, glinting affectionately in the shadow-light—then settled himself on the swing directly next to Kohaku's. The next few moments passed in a companionable silence; Kohaku did not understand Souta's need to be at the park, but he did understand that Souta would tell him when he felt like it.

Kohaku contented himself to people watching; so many people trickled down the path, using it as a short cut to get where they needed to be. A wayward child gave out a happy shriek and climbed the bright silver slide, speeding down it only to be caught and admonished by his mother. A couple, genial and happy, strolled along the wet cobble-stoned walkway, dressed in sleek looking business suits. Dew slicked the grass wet, and a little girl scrambled over to it and ran her fingers along it, staring in awe as flecks of moisture vaulted into the air.

Her mother—a woman with salt-and-pepper hair—stepped up to her and gripped her by her elbow, dragging her away slightly, and

not so fast, Kohaku, you'll trip

Souta had reached out, his fingers trailing along the cuff of Kohaku's uniform. His nails scraped against the small copper colored button, and Kohaku gazed at him distractedly, his mind (chippedbrokenshattered) conjuring images Kohaku knew he should recognize, but failed to all the same.

"You fought with your sister," Souta explained matter-of-factly. He gave a soft sigh; his brown eyes turned dark with sorrow, and his face went blank. A feeling of grotesque triumph sidled over Kohaku then—this was the Souta he was used to seeing, this unfathomable boy-Kagome, the one who was so lostachinglonely.

Souta tugged gently on Kohaku's cuff, causing the other boy's grip on the chain to slip. His fingers slipped around the older boy's wrist again; Kohaku's pulse beat erratically against Souta's fingers, but it was comforting, even as blunt nails scraped lightly against the tender flesh.

The swings rocked back and forth in sync, hands tangled together in mid-air, and for a moment, neither boy said a word.

"Sometimes I feel bad," Kohaku admitted reluctantly, his face twisting in displeasure.

you're my brother

"But," he continued quietly, "I refuse to be their replacement."

Souta tilted his head slightly, his face completely stolid. Even with the bitter knowledge that it wasn't real, Kohaku couldn't help but think he preferred his smile.

"She never needed me." Kohaku's voice had gone breathy, and Souta's fingers slipped to trail the underside of Kohaku's hand. He could feel the slight whisper of pressure against his blistered palm, and a slight shiver of…something…tickled his spine uncomfortably. "She never wanted me."

Terror deadened the sadness in his heart, and Kohaku glanced at Souta askance. His lips were curved into a pleasant smile, one that formed on the procession of amusement and hypocritical irony. His fingers trailed Kohaku's fingers, and then he jerked sideways again, his grip firm as it encircled Kohaku's wrist. It thrummed against Souta's fingers, and Kohaku settled into that strange realm of comfort, the one he had felt ever since he and Souta had become friends, ever since—

you're my brother

"Liar," Souta breathed suddenly, shaking his head. Kohaku glanced at him in genuine surprise, but Souta's lips were curved into a mysterious grin, one that sent shivers of discomfort skimming across the surface of Kohaku's skin.

"What are you talking about?" Kohaku cautioned, his brows furrowed. Souta gave a nonchalant shrug, dropping Kohaku's wrist all together. His fingers—undamaged—curled around the chains of the swing, and Souta began rocking back and forth, setting the swing in motion.

"Your sister. You." Souta paused then, his eyes squinting as he gazed up into the sunlit sky. "You say she doesn't need you, but you're such a liar."

The dread rose higher then, pressing uncomfortably against Kohaku's ribs. He rubbed his chest in discomfort, stilling his rocking motion almost immediately.

Souta's legs extended outwards just as he arched his back; the chains went taut, but his lips were turned down into an indiscernible frown once again, awkward and odd and very nearly bland.

"I'm only telling you what I know," Kohaku answered quietly, his hand gripping the thick dark fabric of his uniform. He could feel his heart thrumming faintly through his clothes; Souta just propelled himself higher.

"Then you don't know much of anything," Souta replied, his voice wavering as he flew back and forth next to his friend.

Kohaku scoffed.

"I'm not lying," he insisted, glaring at the discolored bark. Souta dug his feet into the ground, causing woodchips to fly in random directions. Two dark streaks were left on the ground, and moist bark clung to the soles of Souta's shoes, dangled from the hems of his slacks.

Souta titled his head in mocking curiosity, and Kohaku just glared at him harder.

"I'm not," he insisted. "I mean, she has her friends—she always loved them more than me. Wanted them more than me. What would she need me for?"

The bitterness was not lost on Souta, and he glanced away, his brown eyes turning dark. Kohaku watched him through thick lashes, the sudden resemblance Souta held with his sister disappearing as quickly as it had come.

Kagome's eyes never looked so sad.

"Every sister needs their brother," Souta responded quietly. "And every brother needs his sister."

Souta bit his lip, his fingers dancing nervously against the chains. He pushed himself onto his feet, only to settle back into the swing. Kohaku watched avidly; Souta's face had gone pallid. He looked ill and self-depreciating, but there was something else there, something that Kohaku thought he recognized but couldn't put a name to. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit, so he pushed that thought away, because no way… no way could Souta feel something so… so…

Violent, his mind supplied, and Kohaku scowled bitterly, his palms itching under his gauze.

"Souta—"

"She was murdered," Souta explained suddenly, and Kohaku tried his best to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. Souta wasn't looking at him, but then he didn't need to. His words were powerful enough. Kohaku didn't think he'd be able to stand it if he had to watch Souta's expression twist into something unrecognizable.

"I mean, it wasn't like someone just murdered Sis in cold blood, but… there wasn't much of a difference anyways. We… Gramps was sick before her, you know, and we were already in so much debt. We couldn't keep… it was too much of a burden to keep her hospitalized, so we…" Souta choked then, and Kohaku could see the invisible tears streaking down his face.

"I didn't go to school for a long time, because I was helping out at the shrine." Souta quieted then, but Kohaku didn't dare say a word.

"Sis used to take care of me. I was bullied ever since elementary school, and she was always there to take care of me. She cleaned my cuts, bandaged me, helped me hide it from Mom and Gramps. She was always so kind and… I never stopped thinking about her, you know. I never stopped thinking about everything she did for me, all the fun we had. I know that she loved me, and I've never felt so glad to have a sister like her."

Kohaku nodded slightly, desperately wanting to reach out, but knowing better not to. It was enough that he was sitting there, beside his friend, listening to his every word.

"Mama still cries for her whenever she thinks she's alone." Souta turned to look at Kohaku then, tears gathering against his lashes. He shook his head in bitter resentment, and he gripped the swing chains tightly, his knuckles white from the pressure. "Gramps never tells his stories anymore, either. He used to just ramble on and on about the most obscure legends, and Sis never really cared much for them, but she'd sit there pretending to listen, humoring him. Everyone… changed… after she died. Even me."

Souta laughed, dark and bitter. "I don't think I've ever hated anyone more than I did then. Yeah, Sis may not have been killed in cold blood, but if it wasn't for him, she never would have… would have… died."

The tears fell, and with them, Kohaku felt his heart crack. He lifted a hand, ready to comfort, but Souta shook his head fiercely, surging to his feet.

"Souta…"

"You don't understand," Souta insisted, running his hands through his hair in agitation. "I thought… I saw her. I saw Sis; I saw her."

Kohaku stilled. Souta shook his head, tufts of hair sticking out from between white knuckled fingers. The veins in Souta's hands bulged and something cold hit Kohaku, something vicious and horrible and wicked, and somehow, Kohaku knew that it was impossible.

Souta couldn't have seen her. He just couldn't.

A vague half-thought entered his mind then, because he could distantly remember something in Kagome's face as she thought of her family, could distantly remember her telling him that no matter how much she missed her family, there was no way she could see them again, otherwise… otherwise…

"Sometimes," Kohaku murmured quietly, watching as Souta's hands dropped to his side and he stilled. "Sometimes, when I was younger, I'd always have dreams of when Sango was there for me, and we were happy. Sometimes, I'd miss her so much, that I'd actually imagine she was there when she really wasn't."

Souta's fist clenched at his sides, but he didn't say a word.

"Maybe… it's okay to want her to be there, to see her there when she really isn't," Kohaku explained quietly, the lie burning angrily against his throat. He gave a bitter laugh then, and shook his head, barely noticing when Souta's shoulders slumped suddenly. "I mean, it's just like you said right? Every brother needs his sister, no matter how impossible it is for them to be near one another."

Souta let out a quiet gasp of pain, and his shoulders shook with unsuppressed sadness. Kohaku watched avidly, his own eyes stinging at the pain of his own admission.

He should have hated Sango, wanted to, but sitting there, watching his friend… Souta's sadness was so much more profound than his own. It burned more bitterly than his did, and there was so much more hatred and loathing clouding Souta's heart… Kohaku wanted to reach out to him so badly, wanted to hold him and hug him, the way the Sango of his dreams used to do—shh, it's alright, it's just a nightmare—but that was impossible. Impossible because Souta was impossible to reach, impossible to touch. Souta was everything that Kohaku was not, and the lie was still bright and violent in his mind, digging trenches that Kohaku had no desire to have.

He bit back the confession and the guilt, allowing the silence to strike them both cold.

It was stifling.

"… What a sad story…"

Kohaku and Souta both jumped then, whirling around in shock.

Souta's eyes were wide and wet with tears as he gazed passed Kohaku, at the girl who was crouched behind them, gazing at them both with sympathetic brown eyes. Her hair was thick and brown, part of it cascading down her back while the other half was pulled into a side pony-tail. Her head was tilted slightly, and the green and white-striped collar of her uniform fluttered lightly in the wind.

Her fingers were curled around a partially limp flower—its petals were white, bruised with abuse, but it looked adorable and clumsy in her hands. She straightened then, her green pleated skirt ruffling around her thin legs. Loose white socks encased her calves, stopping right below the knee, and she smiled slightly, her free hand curling around the bright red tie that adorned her uniform. She scuffed her brown loafers in the dirt absently, a yellow and white checkered backpack resting negligently against her legs.

"It's rude to listen in on other people's conversations," Kohaku ventured as soon as he got over his initial shock. Next to him, Souta rubbed his face dry, that same blank expression smoothing over his features.

The girl giggled in slight embarrassment, shrugging her shoulders absently. "Jaken says so too, but his reactions are funny to watch, especially when he's caught talking about something embarrassing."

"What are you—" Kohaku said, right before Souta asked, "You go to our school, don't you?"

The girl nodded, grinning brightly. "Yup! We're in the same class!"

Souta looked oddly baffled.

The girl just giggled. "I sit three seats behind you," she explained exuberantly, gesturing wildly. "I tried introducing myself to you once, but you're always so quiet! But that's okay, because now I finally got the chance."

She nodded, her face set in determination. "I'm Rin, from class three. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She bowed at the waist, her hair falling over her shoulder in thick waves. Both boys watched in avid curiosity as she straightened, her lips curving into a huge grin. She clutched the wilting flower in her hand tightly, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited for their introductions.

Kohaku cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away, bowing stiffly. "I'm Kohaku, from class two."

Rin smiled enthusiastically. Souta spared his friend a glance, and when Kohaku offered a helpless shrug, the bland expression melted slightly, and he bowed as well.

"Higurashi Souta."

Rin laughed. "You don't have to be so formal," she explained giddily, tossing the abused flower away. "Are you planning on going to school today?"

Kohaku shook his head.

"Good. As my new friends, it's your job to escort me anywhere I want."

"No one said anything about friends," Kohaku muttered petulantly, and Souta eyed him carefully, even as Rin's brow furrowed in thought.

"You should be nicer," Souta said gently. "I think it's nice, having friends."

Rin laughed again and picked up her backpack, slinging it onto her back. Souta's words left a bitter taste in Kohaku's mouth, because friends don't lie, but Kohaku already had. The guilt that he had pushed away earlier festered slightly, but he forced it away, turning to watch Rin guardedly.

She just smiled at him.

Sighing slightly, Kohaku moved towards the bright blue pole to pick up his backpack, and Souta did the same, the two of them pulling the straps across their shoulders.

"So are we going?" Rin asked, bouncing once more.

"Yes," Kohaku breathed, and Rin clapped. Souta smiled awkwardly.

"But we have to be careful where we do go," Rin explained as she grabbed both of them by their wrists and started to drag them towards the cobble-stoned walkway. "Papa knows I was late, but he told me in no uncertain terms that I had to get to school, even if it did result in a tardy. But I was just so captivated by your story!"

Both Kohaku and Souta tensed at that, but neither said a word.

"Anyways, if he catches me, I'll be in so much trouble, especially since I've never ditched school, but it's so exciting, too!" Rin paused in her tirade, nodding in determination. "Have you ever been to an arcade?"

"Yes," Kohaku replied, just as Souta answered, "No."

"Me neither," Rin explained. "Papa doesn't like me going to them; he thinks I should focus on studying more, but the Mama Izayoi takes me out sometimes. Just never to arcades. Can we go?"

"Yes," Kohaku answered once more, and Rin beamed at him.

"Then afterwards, we should go to a movie and—oh—a café! I just love strawberry shortcake."

"That's… nice," Kohaku replied, and Souta smiled at him fondly. The older boy shook his head slightly, even as the three paused at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn green. Rin stood between them, and Souta shifted slightly, brushing against her. Rin blinked at him curiously, but Souta ignored it, brushing his knuckles against Kohaku's arm.

Kohaku watched him carefully, the quiet message—thank you—hovering awkwardly in the air between them. He didn't know what to say or how to respond, but then Souta was turning away from him and leading them across the paint-lined street, so Kohaku knew no words were needed.

The guilt burned at him anyways.

He was such a liar.

Kagome waited until Miroku had left for the afternoon—to give Inuyasha and Sango their ritual lunches, no doubt—before implementing her plan. It wasn't very complex, nor very well thought out, but it was the best that Kagome had to work with. She hadn't a clue of how to get into contact with Sesshoumaru, and going through all of the grueling, mind-numbing work that she had been forced to deal with when she was first searching for Inuyasha was something that she did not want to deal with again.

But Inuyasha had always been particularly careless, and although Kagome knew it wasn't the best way to go about things, asking was completely out of the question. She knew how Inuyasha reacted to questions, had seen the horrible anger in his eyes and she didn't want to experience that again. Not when sneaking and snooping was so much easier.

And he wouldn't have to know.

Didn't have to.

Still, the dread coiled painfully in her stomach, and it was all Kagome could do to push it away.

Slowly, she crept down the hallway and stopped in front of Inuyasha's door. It was the same as hers, white and dull and so very boring, but behind it she knew there were secrets, secrets that no one was supposed to know about, secrets that she wasn't supposed to know about, and they trusted her—Sango, Miroku, Inuyasha—they trusted her not to delve until they were ready, until they wanted her to, and yet… and yet…

Kagome gripped the doorknob and turned.

The room was empty.

Empty and boring and—was this really how Inuyasha spent his isolation? In an empty room? Yes, there was a bed, and yes, there was a wardrobe and a side table, but that was all. There were no pictures adorning the walls, no plants, no nothing. Frowning slightly, Kagome stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Her fingers fumbled along the wall until she found the light switch and then she was standing underneath the fluorescent lighting, a frown etched onto her face.

It was just… odd. And not like Inuyasha.

Despite his aversion to anyone know something about him, Kagome thought he would've at least held some emotional attachments. She knew how he felt about his friends, had seen the look on his face as soon as Kikyou had been mentioned… and what about his brother? What about his niece? Kagome had seen that, too, and although Inuyasha burned with bitter resentment towards his brother, she had seen nothing but complete affection when it came to Rin.

Rin who seemed to exemplify brightness and beauty and utter happiness…

Sighing lightly, Kagome pushed the thought out of her head, choosing to focus on the task on hand. There had to be something here which would lead her closer to Sesshoumaru, to the one person who seemed to be the most important in the scheme of things. Yes, Kikyou was important too, but she had little to do with Inuyasha and more to do with Miroku—siblings, Miroku had said. They were siblings. Kikyou was his elder sister, and although Kagome had almost missed it… what did Kikyou feel? Kagome wondered. What did she feel when she suddenly had everything swept out from underneath her?

Had she accepted it? Had she accepted the fact that her brother, one who was meant to be dead, was truly alive? The thought caused Kagome's heart to ache, because she had just seen Souta, had seen him bleeding and crying and being so grateful, but then he had disappeared almost as quickly as he had appeared, and instead of loving happiness, there was terror and delirium and hysteria.

Kagome wanted to push the dream out of her mind, wanted to think of something else, but she couldn't. Because whenever she thought of Souta, she thought of the dream, the dream that tainted her memories of him and—

Were you murdered?

The question plagued Kagome, just as Miroku's curious nonchalance did. Just as Inuyasha's strange resentment did. It was odd, thinking about it in such terms, and yet…

Sighing, Kagome pushed away from the door and settled herself on Inuyasha's bed.

She gazed wearily around the empty room, wishing she could think of anything else, wishing that dream-thoughts would just leave her alone, but there was just so much there, so much to think about, and although she had the nightmare once before, Inuyasha and Miroku had never thought to comment on it. Had never thought to save her from it.

A strange warmth blossomed in her chest, and Kagome smiled fondly, her eyes settling on a small silver frame laying face down in Inuyasha's bedside table. Her fingers trailed over it absently as she thought of the comfort they had been willing to offer—even though it was only through their presence, and even though Miroku had stirred up more discomforting questions, the fact remained that they had still woken her up, that they had still been there to save her from the nightmare. The fact remained that they still… cared.

Cared enough to wake her. Cared enough to save her. The warmth grew stronger so Kagome gripped the picture and flipped it over.

"Oh," Kagome breathed as she stared down at the picture with wide eyes. "Oh."

The warmth that flooded her heart only moments before dwindled away to nothing, and before she realized what she was doing, Kagome flipped the frame over and shifted the little metal clasps holding the back down. A thin layer of protective paper rested against the back of the photo, and without a single thought, Kagome picked it up and tossed it aside, her pulse beating erratically as she stared down at the almost illegible writing, hardly daring to believe her eyes. Not wanting to. Because it couldn't be true, it just couldn't be, and yet—

I heard he's getting married.

Married, Kagome thought numbly as she stared down at the writing on the back of the page. Inuyasha's getting married.

But that couldn't be true, not then, because if he was, then Kagome would have met her, would have seen her face, and—

But she had. Kagome knew she had. She just didn't know it at the time. Didn't know it until now. Didn't know that—

Inuyasha loves her, and you hate him for it.

Kagome laughed then, harsh and bitter and horrible, because she had known, had known it from the moment she had seen Inuyasha and Kikyou interact with one another in that phantom memory. She had seen the affection in both of their eyes, had guessed at the extent of their relationship, but for some reason… for some reason she couldn't comprehend, she didn't think it had been so complex. So intimate. So deep.

Warily, Kagome ran her fingers over the hastily scrawled ink adorning the back of the photo—Inuyasha's & Kikyou's engagement dinner—and she could feel her chest tightening slightly, because she should have known, should have seen it…

And she had seen it, just not as clearly as she was meant to. And although it hurt to know that he had kept something so dear to him secret from her, Kagome thought she could understand. She could understand because of the expression on his face, so gentle and warm, despite the abrasive front he kept up, even when he had eyes only for her. His eyes were jaded, even then, but he tried so hard, just for her. Just for Kikyou. It was obvious to see that he loved her, still did, if the fact that he kept a picture of them together next to his bed.

But it had been turned face down.

That thought caused Kagome to frown, and almost methodically, she closed the back of the picture frame, fastened the metal clasp back over the velvet-like material.

With a hint of ill-at-ease triumph, she placed the frame face down against the dresser and stood, moving around the room. It was difficult attempting to digest that information, attempting to wrap her mind around what she had seen.

Kagome couldn't help but wonder what Inuyasha was like when he wasn't being so abrasive and rude, couldn't help but wonder what he was like when he was gentle. She had seen his expression shift rapidly, but the gentleness was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. It was as if he didn't want anyone to notice that he could feel that way, that vulnerability was something he was so closely acquainted with…

Kagome dropped to her knees as she looked under the bed, but only a thin layer of dust and fuzz decorated the white carpet. Sighing, Kagome pushed herself upward and moved towards the wardrobe. The discomfort and guilt she felt towards snooping through Inuyasha's belongings was still there, and almost distantly, she could remember Miroku telling her something important, something that gave her horrible nightmares, and—sin is a manifestation of the darker parts of an Angel's soul. Was that was causing her so much guilt? The fact that she was doing something so completely dishonest that it caused her heart to ache and her hands to tremble? Sure, it was dishonest, yet…

Angel's don't lie.

Irritation spiked through Kagome then, and she pushed the uncomfortable thoughts away, instead choosing to focus on the task at hand. She had already dedicated herself to this half-baked plan, and although she knew it wasn't going to end well, although she knew that there was no way she could get anything substantial out of the ordeal, it was all she had. There had to be something; a clue, a hint, anything… that would lead her in the right direction. Taking scheduled trips into Inuyasha's subconscious was not something that she could do, especially since after the first incident, Inuyasha had been extremely careful not to let her come anywhere near him.

If anything, the incident made him more guarded around the Angel, though he did have his moments of vulnerability. Each time Kagome had attempted to capitalize on that moment though, he had snapped out of it, quickly and efficiently, and it was becoming nearly impossible to get near him.

Miroku was somewhat of a hindrance, too, although he did tend to focus more on Sango than he did on Kagome. That was how Kagome felt at any rate. Still, there were times when Kagome felt as though she had Miroku's complete attention, as discerning as that was, and it left her feeling anxious. Anxious because she wasn't the one Miroku was supposed to be focusing on; it was Sango and Sango alone that Miroku was supposed to love, and although Kagome's relationship with Miroku bordered on friendship… she couldn't help but wonder what it was that had caused Miroku and Sango's relationship to go so wrong.

Miroku had implied that they had been something more once, something sweet and kind and wonderful, but his duties had gotten in the way. Even so, Kagome didn't think that was all there was to the situation. There was something else, something more, something that should have been there, something that should have been obvious and yet…

Frowning slightly, Kagome threw open Inuyasha's wardrobe and started rifling through it.

There was nothing but clothes, clothes, and more clothes. Ties and undershirts. Collared shirts and T-shirts. Blazers and slacks. Jeans and shorts. Sighing once more, Kagome closed the dresser and sat back on Inuyasha's bed, her lips pursed in thought.

There had to be something which would help her figure something out about Inuyasha. Some hint… a photo album, an address book… something. Inuyasha was careless, but he wasn't careless enough to leave his cellphone or his palm pilot lying about, and even if he did, Miroku would be quick to sweep them up.

He was always so careful when it came to her, after all. It was as though he wanted Kagome to work for the information, to do something more than sneaking and snooping and—huffing in irritation, Kagome fell back against Inuyasha's bed, her hair fanning out around her head. The mattress creaked and paper crinkled, but the comforter was soft against Kagome's skin, even as she turned on her side and inhaled.

Inuyasha's scent pervaded her senses, and Kagome felt her cheeks warm slightly, even as she gazed at the crinkled piece of paper she had discarded in her haste to get some answers.

Her fingers pressed down on the paper lightly, and she frowned as it crinkled against the pressure she exerted once more.

She still couldn't believe it.

The picture had been obvious, and the writing on the back so straightforward, and yet… even still it had been hard to believe. Difficult to swallow. Inuyasha didn't seem to be the type of person to spend the rest of his life with someone, yet he had. Kagome didn't know whether or not he had been the one to propose, but if he had…

She didn't even want to contemplate the hidden depths to Inuyasha, because although they were intriguing, they were so frightening as well. There were so many layers to him, to his thoughts, and although it should have been obvious from the beginning… sighing loudly in frustration, Kagome grabbed the paper and sat up, snatching the silver picture frame off of the bedside table.

She worked open the clasps easily, shifted the velvet backing open, and the writing assaulted her vision once again—Inuyasha's & Kikyou's engagement dinner—and before she even realized what she had done, she slammed the backing closed again, only to frown at the wall.

"Get it together, Kagome," she whispered to herself. "It's only natural that Inuyasha would have experienced something like that at least once in his life. Out of everyone, he deserves that sort of happiness the most. You should know that."

But the odd feeling in her chest still hadn't left, and Kagome couldn't bring herself to open the picture again.

Letting loose another sigh, she shifted the metal clasps closed and set the picture back against the dresser, face down. It was odd, even as the paper crinkled in her fingers, and almost absently, Kagome stood and exited Inuyasha's room, closing the door behind her silently. She didn't know what to think, what to feel, so instead she turned the paper over in her hands, gazing ahead silently as she descended the stairs.

The house was silent, despite the almost deafening blare of the television coming from the living room. It was always so quiet whenever she was alone, whenever Miroku had left. The silence seemed oppressive then, horribly so, and although Kagome did her best to fill in her moments of loneliness, the isolation hit her tenfold each time.

She didn't know why it was so apparent—it hadn't been that way in the Heavens, but now that she was on earth—Angels aren't infallible. Isn't that what she had told Inuyasha? No matter how much she had asked, the only time she had been allowed to visit Inuyasha's job was when she had first appeared. It seemed so long ago, but now… yes, Miroku, Sango, and Inuyasha were constants in her life, but they seemed so very far away, despite everything…

Kagome wondered if Miroku ever felt this way, when he was an Angel.

As soon as it entered her mind, however, she pushed the thought away and glanced at the abused paper in her hand, crinkled and smudged and—

Kagome froze.

Her grip went slack, and the paper almost fluttered from her hand, but she grabbed it once again and stared at the thick black writing… so completely different from the hastily scrawled writing on the back of photograph, but somehow, Kagome didn't doubt who'd written it. She had seen Inuyasha's writing once before, after all, it was just as sloppy and messy as his personality, but this… this…

It hasn't been used in a while.

Kagome's eyes widened at the distant memory, the memory that happened almost as soon as she had started to settle into the house, and of course it made sense, because there had been bras and panties and pajamas settled into a dresser, waiting for their owner to return, waiting for the person who they belonged to, and Kikyou and Inuyasha were to be married.

Kagome's fingers trailed over the words absently, stilling as soon as they reached the numbers.

It would be so easy to call, to pick up the phone and dial the numbers and just ask, but… hesitantly, Kagome folded the paper closed and shoved it into the pocket of her jeans.

Yes, it would be so easy, but could she honestly betray Inuyasha's trust like that?

It had been so difficult working to where she was now, and although Inuyasha was wary of her, he had made concessions for her. He had cared enough to comfort her when Miroku had violated her, had cared enough to wake her from her nightmares. He gave her comfort and joked around with her and argued with her and on her behalf, and although they were Angel and Task, they were something resembling friends as well, and his faked abrasiveness whenever those situations arose left Kagome feeling warm inside.

Embarrassment caused her cheeks to tinge red, because it wasn't something she was supposed to be embarrassed about, but she was anyways. He argued with her when she was feeling odd, just to make her more comfortable, had even stayed with her when she had delved into his memories. Hell, he had even admitted to some of the things she had asked him… let her see a part of him that he would have kept hidden otherwise.

And he hadn't denied her epiphany. He hadn't denied a single thing when she had claimed that he loved Kikyou, just comforted her, because Miroku had tried to break her, had tried to hurt her in the worst way possible just because he was hurting, and still… still, Inuyasha argued with her, brought her back to a place she was more familiar with.

He had been there for her and she hadn't even noticed.

Guilt festered, and Kagome stuffed her hands into her jean pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper. She ignored the words and just gazed at the numbers—numbers that held so much information, that could give her so many answers…

Biting her lip absently, Kagome bounced in her spot, unsure of whether or not she should actually call it.

Inuyasha had been there for her, after all. It wasn't his job to do these things for her, but he had, regardless. He had done something that she was supposed to do for him, and yet… she was still floundering, still taking baby steps. And although it was dishonest, it was the best way she could help him, because she had no answers, but Kikyou did, and—

She was his Angel. She had to help him.

And he wanted her to. Had almost wished for it. But something held him back, something kept him from doing it, and Kagome needed to know what it was.

So she could help him. So she could—

Not wanting to think anymore, Kagome jumped up and moved into kitchen. She picked up the phone and dialed the number quickly, shoving the paper back into her pocket.

The phone rang and rang and rang and rang and Kagome thought her heart would explode from anticipation alone, didn't know what she would say when someone answered, but she had to say something, anything, because Inuyasha needed it, needed help and Kagome wanted to give it to him. Wanted to help him because it was what she was meant to do, and although he irritated her, they were friends (or something like it) because friends comforted one another and listened and protected and—

You can't save him, either.

She would try, regardless. She didn't care what whispery voices said or thought, because in the end, they didn't matter. No. The only person who mattered was—

"Inuyasha?"

Kagome went still.

"Hello?" The feminine voice asked again, and it was all Kagome could do not to slam the receiver back onto its cradle.

Kagome's hand tightened against the receiver and she let out a shaky breath, wishing that her heart would stop beating so fast. That she would quit feeling so guilty.

"Uh, uhm, no. I… um… is this Kikyou?"

There was a slight pause, and then, "This is Kikyou. May I ask whose calling?"

"Oh," Kagome breathed anxiously, rubbing her sweaty palm against the scratchy fabric of her jeans. "My name is Kagome. Kagome Higurashi. I'm a… friend… of Inuyasha's."

There was even more silence, and it was just as long as uncomfortable as the first stretch, but Kagome bore it anyways. She bore it because she knew Kikyou was thinking, thinking long and hard about what she wanted to say, but in the end it wouldn't matter, because it was just Inuyasha that mattered, not the two of them, just Inuyasha and Inuyasha alone.

"I see," Kikyou replied quietly, her voice hard. "So you're Kagome. Inuyasha's told much about you."

Kagome blinked at the random admission, unsure of how to react. "Really? Like what?"

Kikyou hummed disinterestedly. "Nothing important." She paused. "Kagome."

"Yes?"

"Why are you calling from Inuyasha's house phone?"

Kagome started at the unexpected question, and something close to discomfort clawed its way through her chest, leaving her feeling unnaturally vulnerable.

"Oh, well," Kagome started uncertainly. "I… I live with him."

Silence met her answer.

Silence, silence, and more silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Silen-

"I see," Kikyou reiterated, but her voice was unreadable. Cold. Kagome didn't like the way it left her feeling, as though she were inadequate, a nuisance, but she felt it anyways, and she hated it. She hated the way it left her feeling so small and horrible, because she could remember the warmth that Kikyou felt towards Inuyasha, could remember it in the way she had looked at him and held him and—

"It's been a while since I last saw Inuyasha," Kikyou continued, snapping Kagome out of her insecure thoughts. "Perhaps it's time I came by for a visit."

Kagome's eyes widened. "I… what?"

"I have some time off soon, anyways. It would be a good way to spend my vacation." Kikyou paused once more, but instead of cold disdain, it was filled with dark amusement. Like Miroku, Kagome thought absently, her eyes wide as she stared at the wall. "Thank you, Higurashi Kagome, for reminding me how long it's been. It's much appreciated."

"But… I… wait, you can't—"

"Oh, yes," Kikyou spoke, completely ignoring Kagome's feeble protest. "Don't forget to let Inuyasha know I'm visiting. I'm afraid I won't have time to tell him myself. Have a nice day."

The line went dead.

Dazed, Kagome set the phone back into its cradle, even as keys rattled in the door. She heard it swing open, heard Miroku announce that he was back… she even heard the sound of his shoes hitting the ground before he moved through the house, seeking her out.

He found her, not a moment later, her hand still resting absently against the warm receiver, eyes wide as she tried to formulate a response. But despite everything, despite whatever good intentions she had felt earlier, despite whatever resolve she had that strengthened her, she had allowed Kikyou to rule the conversation, to plow over her, to leave her insecure and uncertain and—

"Inuyasha's going to kill me," Kagome murmured, her fingers slipping from the receiver.

Miroku regarded her curiously, his lips curving up into a darkly amused smile that Kagome found anything but funny.

"Why the hell would I want to kill you?"

But it made a whole lot of sense, all things considered.

Almost warily, Kagome turned to stare at the two men, and—oh, gods, Sango was there, too, and—

Her terror must have registered on her face, because they all frowned and regarded her curiously, but still, Kagome could only stare at them with wide eyes, one horrible, Inuyasha-like thought running rampant through her mind.

"Shit."