Keeping the Moon, an Inuyasha fanfic

Keeping the Moon

sandalwoods

Chapter One: Coffee Maker

( I don’t own Inuyasha. )

Sandy: Let’s skip the pleasantries and cut to the chase: one, Fidelity is finished so please stop telling me it’s not; two, I know I’ve been gone for a long time, but I figured that crushing my academic opponents to the ground and getting decent sleep were more important than contributing to the growing monster that is sesskag fan fiction; and three, F F dot net has banned me three times and deleted three of my stories, so if I disappear again, you’ll know why.

That is all. Enjoy yourselves, my lovelies—I really did miss you all. Te amo y te amo.

For Sesshoumaru, there could never be too much. He had his money, his looks, but as his personal assistant, Miroku, liked to ask—“Does that make you happy?”

Usually he humored Miroku by pretending to contemplate the answer, but he felt a hundred percent sure that yes, he truly was happy with what he had, because he was more than adequately supplied.

“But can money hold you, love you, speak to you, act human to you?” Miroku would counter argue when he was feeling philosophical and ever-so slightly less lecherous.

“What my money does to me in the privacy of my own home is none of your business,” Sesshoumaru replied on this particular day, shooing Miroku off in order to get his work done, the irony of the situation not entirely lost on him.

Letting out a sigh as the door of his office shut, Sesshoumaru turned on his state of the art computer and got on AIM.

Kagome secured her green apron and rolled up her white blouse sleeves, tucking a straying lock of hair behind her left ear and placing a strained smile on her face, a smile that looked just as haggard as its owner.

She swayed on her feet, wishing passionately for a warm bed and soft jazz music to lullaby her to sleep, but that was nothing several shots of espresso couldn’t cure.

Walking past the cappuccino machines behind the counter, she groaned as she caught a distorted reflection of herself, the bags underneath her eyes somehow intensified in the dull sheen of the copper colored machines.

On days like this, she hated being an adult.

“I don’t even know why I pay him,” Sesshoumaru muttered darkly to himself as he entered the coffee shop, reveling in the soothing smell of Lady Brazilian, her sultry scent promising him immense pleasure should he spring for the $4.45 plastic cup and straw that she insisted he bring along for their sordid rendezvous.

“It’s not like he does work,” he continued to gripe, imagining himself firing Miroku and the said man having to prostitute himself on the street in order to make ends meet.

Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl…

“Hi, may I take your order?” A frantic looking girl asked him from behind the counter, her hands shaking uncontrollably, her eyes darkly rimmed from lack of sleep, her complexion wan and pale, her lips chapped.

She was the sorriest looking girl Sesshoumaru had ever seen.

“Venti iced caramel macchiato,” he ordered, ignoring the obviously cocaine pumped teenager, reasoning to himself that what kids these days decided to inject into themselves was none of his concern.

“Excellent, excellent,” the girl nearly yelled, her lips spreading into a smile that made Sesshoumaru rethink about her looking sorry. “You know what you want; I like that in a man!”

She proceeded to make his coffee at top speed, stopping only once to take a shot of Espresso Con Panna, gulping down the stuff like it was nothing and she was the thirstiest person in the world.

“Here’s your order, Sir,” she said, nearly tripping over herself as she headed back towards him, one hand holding the order while the other fumbled with the protective cap. “That’ll be—”

As soon as she had had her fourth espresso, Kagome knew she should have stopped, but it was just so good and it made her feel so alive.

So she drank about ten. Or twelve. Or more.

“Kagome,” Houjou, her coworker, said her name cautiously, worriedly. “Kagome, it wouldn’t look good if the customers saw you having some sort of epileptic seizure due to caffeine overdose. I think you should stop. As your caring friend, I want you to stop.”

Kagome had laughed, telling Houjou he was being silly, but she really regretted not listening to him, especially now that she had a very angry man standing in front of her, ineffectively wiping at his pants, his face turning a soft shade of red.

“I’m so, so, so sorry,” she repeated, quickly sobering from her caffeine high. She started to dab at the wet fabric of his pants, not noticing that she was invading the man’s personal space, which was just adding insult to injury. He gruffly pushed her aside and proceeded to pour the rest of the Venti macchiato onto the countertop, letting it hit the polished surface with a drizzling sound.

He calmly laid the plastic cup down and gave her a withering frown, promptly followed by the words, “Let me speak to your manager.”

Kagome gave a slight gulp and ran to do as she was told.

Sesshoumaru yelled, threatened, and said some very unsavory things. In the end he got what he wanted—the girl was fired, he was apologized to profusely, and in his pocket was a gift card worth about thirty venti caramel macchiatos.

He smiled, knowing that what Sesshoumaru wanted, he got.

Sandy: So how you like them apples?

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