A/N: Let's be random. I am freaking in love with Good
Charlotte's music. I am also in love with Fred Gallagher and
MegaTokyo, which I MUST buy. You must ALL buy it. Go, now!
You will not regret it! (you can get it at
http://www.ironcat.com/ and read it at
The pair drew stares from the other market-goers like Shikon
shards drew youkai- a delicate, petite young lady carrying a
halberd and dressed in a dark kimono and, towering at her side,
a man dressed in an even darker yukata, his face hidden under a
wide-brimmed hat. Few chose to look at him, however, when the
girl was so lovely. This was lucky for Kazuma, as the sight of
a hanyou tended to turn normally friendly crowds into mobs.
"I wish Hayama had been available again," said hanyou murmured,
glancing uneasily around the crowded market.
"I second the motion," Miroku muttered through a fake smile
directed to a merchant who was inspecting Kazuma a little too
closely. "We're screwed if anyone realizes just what you are."
"Such sweet nothings you whisper, Sango-hime," Kazuma retorted
dryly. "Why must you always talk like that?"
"'Cause I'm your type, 'zuma-kun," Miroku retorted teasingly,
batting his eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion. Kazuma blushed
for the umpteenth time that day and quickly looked away. Miroku
rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Kazuma, you act like some
adolescent virgin!" he exclaimed with a slightly exasperated
laugh. "How old are you, anyway?" he added curiously.
"Fifteen last winter," Kazuma said softly, half-peeking back at
the monk/hime as if to make sure it was "safe."
"Really?" Miroku frowned, cocking his head slightly. "You look
"So I'm told," the hanyou muttered, a distant look coming into
his eyes. He said nothing for a long time.
"What are you doing?" Miroku finally asked with a sigh, and
Kazuma turned his large, silver eyes to meet the monk's.
"Thinking how nice it would be . . . to fall asleep and never
have to wake up," he replied emotionlessly. "To spend the rest
of this life dreaming of better things than this."
"Fine, I hate you too," Miroku grumbled.
"I- I didn't mean-" Kazuma stammered, flushing slightly. "I do
like you, Sango-hime. I like you a lot."
"Some warrior," Miroku snorted. "Afraid to upset a girl."
"I was never a warrior," Kazuma said quietly. "Just the point
man. Father used me to take the lead in battles and the
damage." He shuddered slightly. "I hate fighting, Sango-hime.
It's sickening, to feel them die in my hands. To smell it and
taste it and remember it always . . . "
" . . . What exactly became of your mother?" Miroku asked after
"She went away," Kazuma murmured. "A long time ago, she went
away. Father said she didn't want me, so she left me with him.
And I had to do what he said, 'cause as horrible as it was
hurting all those people for him, I knew I'd die if I left. A
youkai or an exterminator would be sure to eliminate me."
"But you came with me," Miroku said with a faint frown. "Why?"
"Dunno." He shrugged. "The timing, maybe? And I knew that
you'd die yourself if you had to go without me. I hate letting
things I could've saved die."
"I'm not helpless," Miroku complained, though he knew that it
was this close to a lie.
Kazuma gave him a sad smile. "Hime, you don't need to pretend
to be so tough all the time, you know. I know that you miss
your 'dear,' and that you can't fight very well, and that you
want your true form back, whatever it is. So you don't have to
pretend like it's okay all the time."
Miroku rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right," he said dismissively,
waving the other off.
"As you like it, Sango," Kazuma replied in amusement.
"Hah!" Miroku pointed an accusing finger in the hanyou's face.
"You finally forgot to call me 'hime'!"
"Guh!" Kazuma blanched and nearly fell over. "I- um-"
"That means that you LIKE me," Miroku said triumphantly, shoving
his face up into the other's. Kazuma squeaked in dismay and
blushed again. "Not like that!" The monk laughed.
"I'd HOPE not!" Kazuma hissed. "There's something wrong with a
woman who'd seduce a half-breed!"
"Hmph," Miroku huffed and tossed his hair. "You pervert; who
said anything about seducing anyone?"
"You know damn well what you act like!" Kazuma fumed.
Miroku chuckled maniacally. "Oh, do I?" he inquired with glee.
Kazuma groaned in exasperation. "Sango . . . " he growled,
"Careful, you'll tear your sleeves!" Miroku chirped brightly,
pointing to where the other's hidden claws had already begun to
Kazuma cursed. "This damned skin," he snarled. "It wears
through the toughest fabrics in a month's time."
"Tried fire-rat fur?" Miroku suggested, running a finger down
the small strip of skin exposed on the hanyou's arm. He blinked
in surprise. It was smoother than anything he'd ever felt.
"The heck . . .?"
"Try the other way," Kazuma told him, looking unaffected.
Miroku did as told and yank his hand back with a hiss of pain.
Kazuma's skin felt like it was covered in thousands of
impossibly tiny daggers.
"You could've warned me," he grumbled, sticking his bleeding
fingers in his mouth.
"What's the fun in that?" Kazuma smirked down at him.
"Should I be grateful or pissed off that he's stopped bowing and
scraping to me?" Miroku mused aloud.
"Go for grateful, and feel free to prove it," Kazuma answered
with a large grin.
"Pervert!" Miroku crowed in delight, clapping his hands. "I'm
"Oh, look who's talking," Kazuma snorted. "Now come on- we've
got to find that . . . that . . . " He paused. "Uh, what are we
looking for again?" he asked sheepishly.
" . . . I thought you knew." Miroku blinked up at him.
"SANGO!" Kazuma yelled.
"Kidding, kidding," Miroku chuckled. "We need food, dummy."
"Oh." Kazuma gave him a skeptical look. "Um, how much?"
"Enough for at least two weeks, I'd imagine," the monk replied.
"Yes, well- for ME, that's a half-pound of rice and a fish
cake," Kazuma informed her.
Miroku's jaw dropped. "What?!" he squawked in shock.
"I take it you need more?" Kazuma remarked dryly.
"Oh, just a pinch," the other replied faintly.
"Thought ya might." Kazuma snickered. "But I don't know too
much about how humans eat, I'm afraid, so you've gotta get it
"Do you have any money?" Miroku asked hopefully. "I'd rather
not have to resort to selling myself."
"A bit, I think," Kazuma replied, ignoring the last part of that
with superhuman ease. "Again, though- not too clear on how it
"Fortunately for us, I am," Miroku retorted. "Give it to me?"
"In my shirt," Kazuma replied. "But I can't take my hands out
in public." Miroku sighed and quickly darted a hand into
Kazuma's yukata with all the skill of an expert pickpocket,
returning with what was thankfully a decent sum.
"Right then," Miroku said in satisfaction, transferring the bag
to his own robes. "Let's see if we can't find a decent stall .
. . "
"The freshest food is that way," Kazuma murmured in his ear,
tilting his head to the right.
"How do you know?" Miroku raised an eyebrow at him.
"Can smell it," Kazuma explained. "And-" He stopped suddenly,
nose wrinkling in confusion. "What the . . . "
And that was when the delicate, black-skinned hand reached out
from the nearest alley and dragged them into it.
The last thing that Miroku saw before the darkness hit was a
pair of shockingly silver eyes that most definitely did NOT
belong to Kazuma.
* tbc . . . *
. : review or i don't give back the bishounen! : .