RESOLUTION

AN: Here is it! Lo and behold! The final instalment of Binded, and it's a crazy 4-part special. This one contains NSFW triggers like sacrilegious seks (?) so be warned. Also, the ending will be a controversial one, but I firmly stand by it.

Alsooooo if you are not aware, I made some visuals for the OCs of Binded here: lucymorningstar257 dot tumblr dot com/post/660364456675721216/so-guys-ive-been-playing-around-with-picrew (edit as FF doesn't allow urls).

Speaking of OCs, Jyohaku seems to be quite popular, surprisingly. I mean, I'm his biggest fan (which feels really narcissistic) but I've gotten some wild responses from my readers too. This makes it possible for a side fic to happen…and I'm stoked lmao.

Anyway enough of the hoo-ha. Fasten your seat belts and enjoy the last ride of Binded! Aaaaaa

"To bathe in the same ruins that destroyed us, did you not wish to be one with me forever?"

Kagome swallowed. The dark fringes of the world rushed to close in on her, the burning room tilting on its own axis. She covered her shuddering face as the voices returned, screaming in her ears. Her throat swelled, choking her, her lungs constricting her breath. She was stranded in the middle of the turbulent sea, the strong undertow pulling her to sink.

Was this…the dark abyss that she was so fearful of?

"Sesshoumaru," she gasped, on the brink of tears.

"Help me."

"NO!"

Kagome grappled for the empty air before her, her delirious screams hauling her out from her nightmare. Immediately the morning light from the drawn curtains blinded her, the birds chittering shrilly outside the windows.

Her stark eyes wandered across the bright sparsely-fitted room, before landing on the thick layers of a duvet heaped on her feet, like two anchor weights.

Is that it? Her inner voice sounded distant and unfamiliar.

That heavy, dragging sensation down my legs. Was it just the duvet?

Kagome pulled her legs up, oddly cold, the blood rushing back up. Scrunching up her face, she tittered in her post-sleep fogginess, looking for the way out to the bathroom. The wooden floor was warm underneath her soles, and the areas basking in the strong sun felt hellishly hot. Kagome did a small, lame skip.

All these dreams must mean something. Maybe they're all trying to tell you that it's high time to visit a shrink. Get your head sorted out, address your aggressions. You have all these issues, Kagome, and you keep telling yourself that, but you never actually do anything about them, do you?

Kagome reached the bathroom sink, and instinctively looked up to the mirror. Strangely enough she had expected another face to meet her, maybe one that matched the little annoying voice, but no, the face in the mirror was really just her as it was—plain, ole Kagome Higurashi, looking like a raccoon with her dark circles around her eyes (there's nothing admirable about looking like a raccoon!), and beyond that façade, she saw all the layers that she had shed off along her years—and within those layers were the whimsical dreams that once kindled her restless heart, all discarded when they no longer sang to her, all forgotten in that sad, old neglected well—layers that were a part of her, layers that made her. Who was this person looking back at her, now shorn to its thinnest?

It's really just you, Kagome. Are you still holding on to your childish fantasies like a worn-out lifeline? Do they still play around in your head? A bit too passé for that, isn't it? After all, you're a grown woman now, a grown married woman with a child on her way...

Now if you have even one vestige of principle left in you…

Kagome bent over, giving way to a loud, forceful cry strangling out of her chest. She heard the subtle slide of the door behind her, despite her mind careening over itself.

…you'll vanquish the creature right off the face of this earth.

"Sesshoumaru," she gasped, the sick, terrible knot twisting dead in her stomach.

Dead.

Dead dead dead, just like how she had killed—

"Kagome."

Sesshoumaru stood by the door, her faithful guard. When he called her name, his voice was deep and collected, in control, as he always was. Kagome reached for him like a lifeline, crashing down into his chest.

Sesshoumaru carried her to the living room where it was airy and spacious, and imperatively where the walls were devoid of mirrors. There was nothing wrong with her reflection of course, but an existential crisis seemed to creep up whenever she looked at herself for too long.

Settling her down in an armchair, he lowered himself to examine her. Shock paralysis had seized her; she was too distraught to speak or to even face him. Her state, Sesshoumaru conceded, was entirely his fault. He should have tended to her the very moment she woke up.

"Sesshoumaru?" Kagome called out in a soft, urgent voice, even though he was there before her, even though it was his hands holding hers. "Sesshoumaru? Sesshoumaru, Sesshoumaru, Sesshoumaru…"

"Over here, Kagome. I am right here." He gripped her hands a little tighter. "I am right here, and it's alright. Everything is alright."

"Everything is alright? You took care of everything?"

"I took care of everything."

Her eyes lifted to him slowly. They panned wide and desperate. His expression did not change.

"Kagome, do you trust me?"

"Of course," she whispered as though it was the absolute, reverent truth, as though her life depended on it. "I chose you, didn't I?"

Sesshoumaru nodded. It was indeed the reverent truth. That they couldn't do without each other.

"Kagome, can you look at me?" he then said. "There's something I need you to do. A guest is coming soon and for that brief moment, I need you to hold yourself together no matter what happens. Even if the situation feels bizarre, even if it feels a bit outlandish."

The doorbell rang outside, chiming throughout the whole house like a premonition. Sesshoumaru cupped her frightened face, leaning close to her. "I will not go away. I will be here. But you must stay calm. Can you do that for me, Kagome? Good. Now I want you to take a deep breath, and pace your breathing. Remember that I have everything under control—"

Sesshoumaru answered the door, and a sharply-dressed woman turned into his view. Her face was remarkably beautiful, in his unsolicited opinion, with her coiffed hair and arched eyebrows. In turn she gave his grandiose figure an overt once-over, her throat clearing in surprise.

Kagome was caught startled in her seat. Perhaps she had expected a police officer, or someone from the shrine committee—just not this woman in her immaculate suit and briefcase, her lips conveying a benign smile in red.

Blood-red, the little voice whispered, and Kagome wiped her clammy hands as discreetly as possible.

"Greetings, Mrs Jyohaku," she said, approaching her. "My name is Miss Kagurazaka."

"Please, call me Kagome," she heard herself say, and her voice sounded cool and detached from herself.

"Of course." The woman leaned forward to place a warm hand on hers. Like her lips, her fingernails were polished in a glossy red. Her tone was firm but gentle, bearing a tactful kindness.

"It seems to me that you've already learnt the unfortunate events surrounding your husband. I came here firstly...to extend my sympathies. I want you to know that none of us wanted this to happen, but it has, and I ask that you remain strong. Let me introduce myself again. My name is Miss Kagurazaka, and I am acting on the behalf of your husband, as his attorney."

A bone-white letter skimmed out of her briefcase.

"This was sent to my office last night, and having assessed it, it's evident to say that it was something that Narumi had planned for a while…"

"I'm sorry," Kagome croaked. "When?"

"Last night. I had unfortunately left by then, and I regretted not being there when he came by. I could have spoken some sense into him…" Miss Kagurazaka cleared her throat suddenly, relapsing into an odd silence. Then as if nothing happened, she continued again in her orderly speech.

"In case you're unaware of what this letter contains, it's actually your husband's will which I will be reading to you shortly. I've contacted his sister in Tohoku, but she doesn't seem very keen on attending the hearing. She trusts you to manage his assets…"

Pace your breathing. Pace your breathing, and stay calm—

"Let me preface by saying that this will is only effective in the case of his death, or as it had happened…his voluntary disappearance."

Kagome's head cocked up. She stared at the woman.

"Voluntary…disappearance?" came her disconnected murmur. "Can you tell me briefly what's inside? Just briefly, please?"

Miss Kagurazaka blinked uncertainly. "Normally, we're not allowed to divulge the details yet until the official hearing." She turned the letter in her hand, as though trying to glimpse another hidden side of it under the light. "But… I'm quite sure Narumi has discussed with you prior… Things like where his tangible assets go, which includes but are not limited to this house and the properties linked to the shrine. It is quite a list. And correct me if I'm wrong," she went, her eyebrows arching even higher as she glanced around the house, "but do the both of you own a child?"

"What about the child?" the butler spoke.

"Well, it was written that he wanted her to be in her custody, understandably. But I see another name…with the addition of another person called…" she peered at him, "...Mr Sesshoumaru?"

Her heart almost stopped. Kagome dug into the edge of her seat, icicles biting into her fingernails.

No. I was there when the will was written. I read it with my own eyes. He never wrote that. He didn't know—

She threw her gaze to Sesshoumaru who continued to stand behind her, quiet, but rapt. He merely nodded back, a ghost of a smile on his face.

"Statistics show that ten thousand locals go missing in Japan every year, most of their own accord," said Miss Kagurazaka again. Her voice had lost its lustre, her gaze downcast. A slight tremble shook her neat, manicured hand. "I'd just like to know if he was… Was Narumi troubled in any way? Granted, he was a difficult man to understand, but I refuse to believe that he was capable of leaving his family and everything like that—"

Then she stilled in that odd way again and nodded to herself, as if some form of closure had reached her. Miss Kagurazaka closed her eyes and sighed. "Right, let's not speculate what really happened. Instead, let's hope he comes back. I sincerely hope for your sake that nothing has happened to him, and that he comes back. Let's pray for him, shall we?"

Her hand on Kagome was firm, as though there was something she wanted to impart to her. Kagome observed her glistening eyes. It was a strange feeling that seeped into her skin, but at that moment she suddenly envied this woman, who with her sincere prayers, would later be able to weep freely the moment she found herself alone; to mourn without fear, without remorse.

She heard the cold voice project from her again.

"Narumi was...suffering from a lot of things. But he didn't like to talk about them. He kept them all to himself."

She held the woman's shoulder gently. "Miss Kagurazaka, you were there, weren't you? What he was like during his younger days, living his dreams. When he was happier and passionate, full of life. I unfortunately only knew one side of him."

Sesshoumaru looked away, his eyes pointed towards the kitchen. It was time to take out the meat from its marinade.

Voluntary disappearance?

The strange words formed like thin, iridescent bubbles inside her mind, popping to form into new, more confusing words. She sat at the table as the faint, familiar song from the old phonograph played from one of the rooms. The short curtain on the kitchen window sill billowed softly each time the afternoon breeze drafted in. You could see the tops of the large, conspicuous roofs of the shrine compound when you look out, like the caps of a well-guarded secret. Not like their own house. At their own house, when you looked out the kitchen window, you'd be greeted by a scenic stretch of the Arakawa River. Sesshoumaru liked that. He said it was one of the reasons that had attracted him to buy the house. Sometimes when he wasn't so preoccupied with work, he would stand by the window just to watch, just to watch the river flow. But not at that moment. At that moment, she was in her (dead) husband's house and her butler was busy plating their lunch. Kagome didn't have the heart to tell him that she didn't feel like eating. To be fair, she didn't feel like anything. But she supposed it was alright. As long as he wasn't cooking something terrible, like pears.

'Guess you feel you'll always be The one and only one for me And if you think you could, Well, chances are your chances are awfully good'

Voluntary disappearance. The bubbles came and blew away again like a game. Was that the term they were going to use from now on? Was that the story she would have to spin, again and again, for the rest of her life?

The priest? Oh, he just decided to leave. Packed his bags and never returned home. Poof, gone. Just like that. Do you know, statistics say that every year, one hundred thousand locals…

They called it a "voluntary disappearance."

"…As much as you hate to, you must try to accept your actions in order to move on," Sesshoumaru's voice droned from the counter, his hand meticulously pouring a creamy scoopful of peppercorn sauce over her steak (he had slipped in a little brandy). He gave her arugula salad a light drizzle of balsamic vinaigrette. He placed a fresh sprig of parsley on the steak. Kagome blinked out of her reverie. How long had he been talking to her? She wasn't quite sure.

He then moved to set the table for lunch, placing the tableware in a methodical manner: salad fork and dinner fork, of equal distance to each other, a red wine glass on the upper right, a freshly laundered napkin in the middle.

"And I shall tell you of your actions, of what you did. You did…nothing wrong. It was already written that this would happen. I could have disposed of him myself, or he could have expired naturally from his sickness. But then the gods said, "Where is the fun in all of that?" This was his karma, Kagome. And you were merely an instrument, a role in the play of the gods. You did nothing wrong. He was always meant to be your mortal enemy. Your arch-nemesis, the main villain in your story."

Sesshoumaru peered at her. Her eyes were towards the window where it overlooked the Yukino Shrine, glazed, faraway, haunted. He hoped his words had not sailed over her head. He hoped her state would quickly come to pass.

Give it a few days or so. Then she will be calling for his name again, in need of him.

"But despite all that, you truly cared for him, didn't you?" Sesshoumaru placed her meal before her, and her eyes finally trained down to her intricately dressed plate. She stared at her food.

"Kagome, do you want to grieve?"

INTERMISSION

TEN YEARS LATER

"Gosh, you know I'm too old for birthdays. I mean, we didn't even celebrate last year."

"Precisely, that's why we're celebrating it now."

"I don't get your logic. Whose idea is it anyway? Yours or the kids?"

Kouhei set down the birthday cake and chuckled at Amari who, despite being the mother of the most energetic pair of twins, and had acquired a few grey hairs in that process, was still prone to flustering bouts.

"I just wanted to eat cake. Can't I?" he lamented as he stuck on the candles and began to light them. Then as if he remembered something, he straightened his back, sucked in his breath and hollered for the twins in their room. They were uncharacteristically quiet, which meant something was up in the air (or on the walls).

"It doesn't explain this feast of fried chicken you ordered. And that plate of Monaka Jumbo ice cream sandwiches," Amari pointed, "I have a feeling whose idea is that. Don't you think it's a little too much for just the three of us?"

"Children—for the last time—"

"I think they're not coming out in a while. Let's cut the cake now while everything is still tidy and proper."

Kouhei glanced at his watch. "No, no. Hold on for a while."

"What are we waiting for? Oh gee, the wax is already melting onto the cake."

Someone announced their arrival at the door. Amari was about to knock on her husband's head for ordering more food (really, it was just the three of them!), when the person invited himself in, in the most casual manner possible. She staggered back, her mouth dropping open.

It was her brother, who she hadn't seen in years. He had a wrapped gift tucked under his arm and the same sheepish grin he'd always wore. Forget her husband. She wanted to slap his head.

"Eh, onii-chan?"

"What took you so long?" Kouhei intercepted Ichiro loudly, the cake knife already in his hand.

"Sorry, I had to stop for gas!"

"Onii-chan?"

"What's with that petrified look?" he then greeted her, pushing the gift into her weak hands. "Did you think I would forget my sister's birthday?"

Red-faced, Amari quickly recovered from her shock and candidly tossed his present on the table. "Of course," she retorted, busying herself with the food on the table, "as if the CEO of the fastest-growing convenience store chain would make time for a small family celebration."

"Do you really have to word it out like that?"

"Oh shut up. We didn't even see you during New Year's! For three years straight!"

"You know I was overseas the whole time."

"Was that any excuse to not call? To not ask how your sister and her kids were doing?"

"And I'm here to make it up to you, aren't I? Stop bickering with me. We don't have anyone else, you know."

They fell into an abrupt, reflective silence. In the span of a decade, Amari and Ichiro's parents had since passed on due to natural causes, one after the other. The siblings were too old to call themselves orphans, but it was exactly what they felt despite being full-fledged adults and having a family of her own—the bereftness of living without their parents' guidance still occasionally lingered. Being unfamiliar with their relatives, Amari knew no truer words had been spoken. She knew it was especially harder for her brother. He truly had no one else except her.

"Err, do you want to cut the cake or not?" Kouhei voiced. "The candle wax is melting onto the cake."

"Oh gosh!"

The girls finally made their appearance only after their uncle had poked his head into their room, dashing out on lively feet. Everyone sang and cheered as Amari cut the cake, much to her embarrassment. Nevertheless, she made a wish.

A while later the grown-ups cosied themselves at the kitchen island, while the children tucked into their chicken, watching television.

"Anyway, I'm surprised that both of you managed to get time off from work together," Ichiro went, opening a bottle of sake he had brought.

Amari and Kouhei glanced at each other. "To be honest we were quite surprised too when Kagome-sama approved of it," she said.

Ichiro eyed them as Kouhei poured him a glass.

"Those stories I've heard. Are they really true?" Ichiro sounded disinterested, although his opening of the subject hinted otherwise.

"Well, she's just like that, I guess," Amari answered carefully. "How many years has it been? That's right, her daughter is already ten years old."

Another silence ensued, this one just awkward. They sipped into their ochoko cups, holding their thoughts.

An unlikely snigger suddenly broke on Ichiro's face. "You know, I still believe things would have turned out better if she didn't play the whole roundabout game and just married me."

Kouhei chuckled out loud. "In your dreams—she had her eye on the shrine the whole time."

"Kouhei," Amari scolded.

Ichiro looked into his cup, holding his smile. He would be lying if he said it did not hurt. It wasn't exactly a sock in the gut; more like a painful affirmation of something he already knew. That crazy psychopath who was with her—what was his name? In the end she didn't even marry him, but someone else completely. Ichiro Kirihata was never a prospect in her eyes.

"It's a funny thing but I owe it to her." He wore a pensive frown. "I wouldn't be where I am right now if things hadn't ended the way they did. The life of a CEO with ten thousand stores nation-wide, and growing under his name ain't that bad."

"So are you going to stay a bachelor your whole life?" Amari teased.

"—And the best uncle ever, don't forget!" he exclaimed, swooping down to the twins. "Oh, you girls have grown so much! I can hardly recognize you!"

"Eww, Uncle Ichiro!" they cried, ducking away from his sudden gesture of affection.

Amari sighed. "Of course they're hardly recognizable. You haven't seen them in three years."

"Come on, let's have a toast!" Kouhei announced, raising his cup.

"To Kagome?" Ichiro suggested excitedly.

"To my wife, silly. Whose birthday we're celebrating, remember?"

"Oh right."

"Sometimes I think you never really got over her," Amari later on giggled, after their toast was done, and the kids had finished their chicken and shared their paintings with their uncle, while Kouhei finally got some cake. The mood in the house was undeniably lifted. In a while, it would be the kids' bedtime and they'd be so tired from the day's activities that they would sleep without putting up a fight. Kouhei would probably stay up late to watch soccer, and she would have some time to catch up on her drama series. It felt like the most satisfying finish of the day. She was really glad her brother did turn up after all.

"Are you kidding me? As if I'm ever going to forget someone like her," Ichiro answered, grabbing his fists with that silly smirk of his. She recognized the glint in his eyes, which was alight whenever he spoke of the things he loved as a child. That's right, he once told her at the tender age of eight that he wanted to marry a shrine maiden.

"I'm going to fight for her in my next life. I'm going to get down and dirty. And this time, not a single person will stop me."

RESOLUTION II: DAUGHTER OF THE SHRINE

At ten years old, Reiko was like any other precocious kid with the abundance of knowledge at her fingertips, although sadly, the opportunities left to explore them were less so. But if there was something that distinctly set her apart, it was her magic ability to move things with her mind. The first time she performed this feat was when she was a mere microscopic clump of cells, floating in her mother's womb. Reiko had done her due research. They called it "telekinesis". And they showed a lot of people with telekinesis on TV, but she had never met anyone like herself before.

In any way, Reiko quickly learned from a young age that her ability was "not normal", and that she must, at all costs, "hide it from other people." If they knew of her power, no one would speak to her. The funny thing was Reiko did everything her mother asked—she never used her ability in front of others, and she guarded her secret with her throughout school. Still, it didn't change the fact that nobody wanted to talk to her.

That day after the dismissal bell had rung, she trudged in her own sweet time to the gate, her head hanging, preoccupied with the clockwork sequence of her walking steps. As usual her dad was early, and he quickly filched out his mobile phone at her approaching figure.

"Here she comes, my darling Reiko, back after a tiring day at school."

Reiko twisted her face at his silly commentary. Her dad liked to capture her over the smallest of things, and sometimes at the worst moments. At that moment she wasn't feeling very good.

"Hello Dad," she muttered, as she climbed into the backseat of their car. He landed behind the steering wheel, and clicked on his seatbelt.

"Hello. So did anything happen at school?"

The standard questions. Did anything happen at school? What did you eat today? What did you learn?

Well, today the teacher talked about the Third World War even though it wasn't in our textbook. He said we were lucky, that Japan managed to avoid all the bad things that happened to the other countries because Japan had a lot of friends. Because of that, we're now the safest and richest country in the world, while the other countries like Germany and Korea are still suffering. It makes you feel grateful but at the same time, it also makes you feel bad. The teacher just blabbed on and on and he got carried away, I guess.

Also, someone put a shovel on my table right before class. I kid you not. The single most dirtiest, soiled shovel in the whole universe. I wanted to scream and send the darned thing flying into their faces. But like most things, I don't want to talk about it.

"Everything's OK."

She saw his bright eyes frowning at her through the rear-view mirror. Reiko fidgeted a little in her seat. Her dad was very good at guessing things.

"Did you do something to your skirt?" he then asked out of the blue. He sounded as though he had spotted it much earlier only to point it out now.

"I...rolled it up. Because the other girls are doing it."

"Better fix it before your mother does, Reiko."

Huffing, Reiko looked out of the window and crossed her arms.

"Mother's a prude," she muttered. Very quickly, she regretted it.

Her father almost jumped. "Oh? Where did you learn that word?"

She didn't answer. His eyes narrowed again and his mind pondered—and after a while, he arrived at the conclusion that at some point, someone must have said the word to her. And why would anyone say that to a precious ten-year-old?

Sesshoumaru sighed a deep breath and turned left into the four-way intersection, driving into their neighbourhood.

"She wasn't always like that, you know," he spoke again, his voice gone low in contemplation. "Your mother. Back then when she was a lot younger, she was your every modern, forward-thinking girl. In fact, I did not like her the first time. Her skirt was too short."

At the back Reiko gave a dramatic, wide-eyed gasp.

"Also, she was seeing my younger brother, and anyone who associates himself with that half-breed is an idiot."

"A half-breed? You sometimes say the darndest things, Dad." But she was rolling over with laughter nevertheless, her long, dark hair waving all over her face. Sesshoumaru nodded, his face remaining serious.

"You may not know this, Reiko but your mother…likes to adopt idiosyncrasies from the important people in her life. When we met for the second time, she reminded me subtly of him. Impatient, headstrong. She was this irrepressible ball of wildfire. I'm not saying she didn't have her own qualities—she was already a feisty creature from the start—but your father tried to contain her nevertheless. After he disappeared, her behaviour took another complete overhaul and now, we get what you call this "prudish" version of her, I suppose. And for that I'm truly sorry, Reiko."

Reiko pouted, not liking the direction his story took. If there was any truth in her life, it was that her Dad, who probably loved her more than her own mother did, was not really her Dad. She hated it. Hated the truth along with the other things that made her life miserable—like her gruelling, after-school trainings in the shrine, the constant guarding of her telekinetic power, the horrible lies the other children liked to feed her. She took a deep breath to quell the heavy pressure in her chest and crossed her arms again.

"Why can't she be like you, then? You're important to her."

Sesshoumaru gave a light chuckle. "Oh, don't misunderstand. She is like me, in one way or another."

"Did he really go missing though?" she suddenly wondered aloud. "This man who you keep saying is my biological father. Did he really pack his bags and disappear? Poof, gone, just like that?"

Sesshoumaru studied her through the mirror, his gaze bemused. Her attention was out to the window again, glazed, faraway.

"And why do you say that?"

"Because the kids at school are saying otherwise. They said their parents told them, that everyone in town knows the truth, but they can't say it because she's the head priestess. They said—"

"They said?"

"They said his bones are in our backyard and if I dig properly with a shovel, I can find them."

They had reached the premises of Yukino-jingu. And despite the skies a blinding blue, the sharp summer sun glinting off Reiko's brown eyes, they never really obscured the dreary, opposing feel of the shrine estate.

Sesshoumaru parked the car and turned in his seat to see his daughter.

"Oh dear, I guess I should dispose of the bones quickly then."

"What!"

He smiled. "Just kidding."

Sesshoumaru intercepted his way into the shrine's prayer hall. Even though he did not identify himself as an esteemed devotee of Inari, he always found the prayer hall colossal, its magnificent space spanning about the size of two basketball courts. At the far end, Inari's altar towered majestic and grand, its statues bathed in gold, invoking a sense of reverence to anyone who steps in.

Sesshoumaru's eyes lowered. He was revered to only one person—and that person was standing at the far end, supplicating to her own gods. He never questioned her faith, of course. He supposed it was the only thing that kept her sane. And her devotion came at a cost—her time was taken away from her home and family, and at times, she would spend her nights at the shrine.

Sometimes he wondered what more there was to talk about with Inari. Not being a fan of foxes, he never actually tried.

The flames on the candles flickered slightly upon his entrance; an infiltration through the spiritual wards. Kagome lifted her head, a familiar trickle of youki buzzing across her skin. She looked over her shoulder.

"Reiko's waiting outside," Sesshoumaru announced. His tone was quiet but resounding in the empty space. Kagome returned to her prayer.

"And you should too," came her curt reply.

Sesshoumaru remained in his spot. Her head bowed down again to the altar, her ponytail swinging upwards. It exposed the back of her neck, a fair stretch of skin. His eyes lingered at the delicate curve of her nape, skimmed over the suppleness of her flesh.

His gaze then shifted over to the statue of Inari. Its eyes remained blank, inanimate.

A faint trace of a smile formed on Sesshoumaru's lips.

Kagome felt his hand on her hip. Pulled out of her meditation, she immediately jerked back in a rebuttal.

"Sesshoumaru, what—"

"I suppose we have some time while Reiko gets ready," Sesshoumaru whispered in her ear. His tone was hoarse, suggestive. Kagome jacked her elbow but he had trapped her body in his embrace, and she found herself restrained.

"Stop your tomfoolery at once," she snapped. "This conduct is not permissible in the shrine."

"It's alright. I spoke to the gods. They gave me their approval."

"Don't mock me, Sesshoumaru."

"I should say that to you, Kagome," he replied in a berating rasp. "Do you like to keep us in wait? After all you have not stepped home for weeks. Your child needs you. I need you."

"There's nothing I can do at home," Kagome answered, and she felt ashamed of her own admission.

"You are right," Sesshoumaru said. "We can do it here too."

She shut her eyes tightly, her hands gripping the edge of the altar, as Sesshoumaru moved against her. His groin was hot, like a baked log, lodging in between her derriere. She bit her lip as his deep voice spoke in her ear again.

"Feel me, Kagome. Feel what you do to me. Is caring for me not part of your responsibilities?"

"Sesshoumaru," she gasped, her knees bending in retaliation, as his hand quickly untied the sash of her hakama, snaking in to feel the naked juncture of her thighs.

"You are aroused," Sesshoumaru discovered. He glanced up to the watching statue and gave a long, dark chuckle. "There is truly no one else like you."

"No," Kagome cried in horror.

Don't let the gods see me like this, don't let the —

Sesshoumaru slid his way into her. Her entrance invited him in, and she felt as though her soul had evacuated from her body, and the self that inhibited her was a stranger—breathless, writhing, not moving against but with him, her shame and resistance dispersing along with her soul.

Kagome slammed her head down.

"Harder, please. Make it hurt."

Brushing his long hair over his shoulder, Sesshoumaru gave a laboured sigh.

"The demands you make, Kagome."

He pulled back her hair as he satisfied her depraved request—as his vigorous length rammed her without relenting, every blow more painful than the last, stretching their senses to their limit. His demonic youki tingled from his flesh into hers, mingling with her own reiki; electrifying.

Her relief came abruptly in an agonising cry, blistering on his skin. He held his breath as she clenched and pulsed around him. And then with a bellowing gasp of his own, he exploded inside her, his flood of secretions dripping onto the hardwood floor.

For a moment they shared the thin silence that followed with their fragile breaths, their hearts in a single beat. Then Kagome pulled away, and she turned to reward him with a merciless slap.

They arrived at the garden shortly after, to see Reiko hanging about under a cedar tree, preoccupied with its bark. When she heard their footsteps, she whirled around in excitement.

"Dad!" she called out.

"Reiko!" came her mother's authoritative voice instead. "Why are you still in your uniform? And what on earth did you do to your skirt?"

The girl was startled in her tracks. Her smile disappeared and she hid her hands from her mother's scrutinising stare.

"Reiko says it's a school trend," Sesshoumaru explained, smiling.

"No, I disapprove of it." Kagome glared at him. "She is from a shrine family. It's mandatory that she presents herself in a proper way, at all times. You continue to coddle her, and she won't be able to discern between what's right and wrong."

She turned back to her child who now frowning at her shoes."Your training starts in ten minutes. I want to see you prepared by then."

Kagome strode out of the garden without another word. Reiko ran to her dad.

He stooped down to comfort her with a hug. Her brown eyes crinkled back, shining even brighter under the summer sun.

"She's in a bad mood today, so be careful."

"Pooh, she's always in a bad mood."

"Well, she is a little extra today. Anyway," Sesshoumaru said, grasping her hands to see, "What are you hiding in there?"

She giggled back, as if her secret had just been found out. She revealed her palms enthusiastically. "Look, Dad! All this from just one tree!"

"Reiko," he said, his tone turning colourless. "Do you know what those are?"

"Of course I do. They're cicada husks. The cicadas die, but they leave behind these empty shells. We learn it in science class." She twisted her mouth, thinking. "Dad, do they all die like this?"

Sesshoumaru was quiet for a moment.

"It's how they all expire naturally."

"Gee," his daughter said, studying the dry shells under her eye. "I hope I don't expire like a cicada one day. When I die, I don't want to leave anything behind."

Reiko, his precious little girl. A child like her shouldn't be contemplating death, at least not this soon in her early life. She had a long future ahead of her, bright, exuberant. He had ensured that. He had worked towards that.

Sesshoumaru tried to smile. But the disorienting sense of deja vu was making him feel ill.

"Won't you come to bed?"

Kagome ignored him, still engrossed in her nightly routine of skincare, as she applied her serums and lotions religiously. The habit had stemmed from a morbid fear. Throughout the years, she began to notice, with dread, that she was not matching up to her partner's ever-youthful looks.

"You'll wait, won't you?" she replied at last. "I don't want to turn into your aunt. Unlike you, I'm not blessed with eternal youth."

"That is untrue," Sesshoumaru mused from the bed. "I just age slowly."

Kagome finally joined him, crawling into bed in a sheer camisole. She thought he had been reading, but he was simply lying down in quiet repose, his arm thrown over his head. She stroked the sides of his still face.

Beautiful. Was there a creature more beautiful than him, more knowing, more faithful? She kissed his lips, letting his warmth spread into hers.

"I'm sorry for the slap."

Sesshoumaru peered at her.

"I anticipated it, for what it is worth."

Kagome broke into a smile. Her arms wrapped around him, and she laid her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Steady. Always steady. She could trust him with anything, lay her life in his hands, and everything would turn out alright.

The room was hushed, as though holding its breath.

"You know, it's strange that I've never asked you," she spoke into the quiet night. "But what do you really want, Sesshoumaru?"

"I want for nothing."

"Really?" She saw his forehead crease ever so slightly, and she cupped his face. "Tell me."

His eyes remained placid on the ceiling, but she knew he was thinking, and she waited. What was it? What wondrous, magical thing captured his desire?

"Reiko," he said at last. "I want her to be with me."

Kagome rose to sit up. She stared at him for a moment.

Suddenly, she hated his determined look. The lack of doubt in his eyes caused a quiet fury in her to rise. Why? Why did he answer with her daughter's name? Reiko, Reiko, Reiko. Everyday it was "Reiko this" or "Reiko that". That child who didn't even need to command for his affections. He gave himself to her like a river into the sea.

Kagome clutched her forehead. Am I envious of my own daughter? The answer whirled back, ugly, unyielding: Yes, yes I am.

"What are you talking about?" she questioned. "Isn't it enough that she's already under your care?"

The charitable mood was gone, especially when Sesshoumaru had risen to meet her face, and his eyes were flat, his mouth expressionless. A familiar chill passed down her spine. Before she knew it, she was unwittingly brought back to that rainy morning: a long time ago when her child just arrived into the world. Kagome had woken up from her stressful labour, the residue of her anaesthesia still leaking from the blurred edges of her mind. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was Sesshoumaru's white, ghost-like figure, rocking her baby. She had stared silently at him, both enthralled and quietly terrified at the same time. My baby, she went. Give me my baby. Something wild had dug itself into her, an unchained thought—but she held those words inside, sewed them shut underneath her skin.

Now ten years later, she was desperately trying to claw them back out.

Kagome covered her ears as Sesshoumaru spoke. She didn't dare to look at his face.

"The pact that binds us. It will be part of her inheritance."

She shook her head slowly.

"You will bequeath this Sesshoumaru to her."

And the words finally tumbled out of her lips.

"Sesshoumaru, you know she is not Rin right? Reiko is not Rin. In the same way that I am not Kikyou, and—"

"Then can you tell with the same flair, the same conviction that I am not who I am?"

She raised her eyes in fear. She saw the glowing ember in his eyes, the wildfire and all the other terrible things that raged within them; a powerhouse of destruction.

"Because I was reborn for you, Kagome."

All along, Kagome always wondered what was the ultimate price. At first she thought it was her sanity, and then her faith. But none of those things were worth a grain of salt to him. Something of value. Something that Sesshoumaru only ever truly loved throughout his past life, without terms, without conditions.

It's her, isn't it? The haunting of the bridge. The reason for your death. They were all related to her.

And now she's here.

Kagome backed away from her bed. Her steps only stopped until they reached the block of wall; a deadend. "No," she whispered defiantly.

"I'll never give my daughter to you."

"See? See, there's completely nothing here. Not a speck. We overturned the whole backyard. You can tell your friends now."

Reiko laughed, holding her shovel triumphantly. She was laughing at her Dad who looked so funny with his straw hat. Then she remembered she was wearing one too. They both had straw hats. And they both had finished toiling under the sweltering sun in their dirty clothes, digging the backyard to prove that "hey, there are really no bones in here." And it was true, just like what her Dad said. Not a speck.

She smiled as he rubbed a smidge of dirt on her chin. Then she glanced back to their house.

Her mother was staring at them through the kitchen window.

~E N D~

EPILOGUE

Jouhatsu (Japanese: 蒸発, lit. "evaporation") or johatsu refers to the people in Japan who purposely vanish from their established lives without a trace. This phenomenon can be seen all over the world, such as in the United States, the United Kingdom, and Germany. However, it is likely more prevalent in Japan given certain cultural factors. (Wikipedia contributors. "Jouhatsu." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 28 May. 2021. Web. 8 Sep. 2021.)

When the door handle squeaked outside again—another attempt of entry, another guest—he almost lost it, and was a step close to pulling the door off its hinges. Maybe surprise the person with a good fist right at the temple, and then to the guard outside who was obviously doing a poor job. Maybe. It was another one of those thoughts, those violent, testosterone-driven "flights of fancy" that entertained him for that split moment, but would later keep him awake in the middle of the night. Jyohaku thought the strenuous exercise from the wrestling match that just concluded would have depleted the bank of negative energy manifesting in some part of his brain, but here he was.

The door swung open. Jyohaku steeled his feet to the ground, as he removed his hand wraps as calmly as possible.

"You ever thought of firing the security outside? That's some deadbeat guard you have. Didn't want to let me in, despite me telling him I was a friend, not a fan." Ookami stepped in with a sigh, brushing off his coat. He casually inspected the dressing room, until he noticed Jyohaku staring at him from the corner, still in his wrestling gear.

"I thought I locked the door."

"Oh well, it wasn't."

"Well? Go and lock it now. I'm as bare-faced as a ghost."

Ookami did so, before landing himself on the couch with a scowl. "Man, is that any way to greet your good friend? I was thinking of bringing you out to eat sukiyaki to celebrate. All that fame must be getting back in your head, eh?"

Jyohaku crossed to the other side of the room to the dresser. He was tight-lipped at first, as he was the minute he got himself alone, but then a barrage of words suddenly left him.

"I'm about to go mad right now, Ookami. I haven't had a second of rest since the match ended two hours ago. It's been endless conferences, endless interviews. The last thing on my mind is sukiyaki."

And never mind my battered body, but my right cheekbone hurts like the seven hells, Jyohaku thought, as he prodded it experimentally in the mirror, and grimaced. I think I might have cracked it. No, definitely no mood for sukiyaki.

"C'mon, where's the old Onizuka, pal? You just won your tenth belt. It's all over the news. Nothing like you've never experienced before, right? It should be all routine to you now."

"It's funny but the older I get, the less bullshit I can handle."

I should start looking into being a coach. He touched his swelling cheek again, and the pain shot towards his ear. Yup, definitely cracked.

Ookami gave a chortle from the couch. "Never too old for the groupies though." He then spied Onizuka's signature, red mask resting on the drawer. Immediately he took a swipe at it, twirling it in his fingers like a paper plane. It was amazing how a simple prop like that could obscure someone's identity so well. He glanced to his friend, in particular to the vibrant spread of ink covering the whole expanse of his back.

The furious tattoo of an oni. Imagine his surprise upon catching it again following the wrestler's return to the ring. For some reason, he thought he had it removed prior to his brief stint into priesthood. It meant that the whole time he served the shrine, the bugger wore that mark of a demon on his back. Ookami scratched his head in disbelief. Crazy, was how he would put it. As crazy as the set of decisions Jyohaku took ten years ago, ran to hell with it, and never looked back. Sometimes Ookami wondered why his friend had sought him out. Maybe he was lonely, or maybe he needed someone to carry half the tremendous weight of his secret. They packed their suitcases one night, moved away from the town together and got the bar relocated. Still, Jyohaku never revealed the reasoning behind his actions, something Ookami found offence in at first—but as the years spread apart and their new lives settled down, he thought that it wasn't that important anymore. We all have problems at the end of the day, he reasoned to himself. That was just how his friend decided to tackle them. And he wasn't the stupid kind either. He was just, well, batshit crazy.

"I'm heading to shower," Jyohaku voiced, grabbing his towel. "Stay here, and think about what you like to eat later."

Ookami sprang up from the couch. "That's the way, Narumi. We're gonna go blind with wagyu and oysters."

"Tab's on you, right?"

"Tab's on me."

Jyohaku gave a silent chuckle. His mobile phone on the drawer beeped with a notification. He deftly read the incoming message: no words, just a photograph.

"I'm thinking, how about something more challenging?" Ookami went on in his imaginative spree. "You've been through hell and back, let's try something more sporting. How about fugu? Have you tried fugu in your life? There's a really good place—it's a little far though, to be honest, it's in Ginza but we got all the hours to spare—"

Jyohaku wasn't listening. Ookami's voice had turned into a static drone buzzing past his ears. He stayed nailed to his spot, eyes glued to his phone.

The photograph was a candid shot of a young girl in her uniform, walking out of school. Her head was slightly turned down, but it was more than enough to see her features—her wavy tresses of hair, the sullen expression on her face.

'You're still alive,' the voice spoke to Jyohaku, cold, hollow, from that dark recess of his mind. His memories resurfaced in the grisliest of manners.

The burning room. The searing pain in his back. And even though the flames were blindingly bright, he still felt trapped in that dark and desolate place. Like a tunnel, or a cave.

The bone-pale face hovered above him.

'You're still alive. No, not alive. The light in your eyes is gone. But then, not dead either. Somewhere in between: a torturous limbo between the living plane and the afterlife.'

The demon knelt down to his side and its finger had flicked on his cheek, light as gossamer, and it came away glistening against the fire.

"Tell me, what hurts more? Is it the wound on your back—or that you have been cruelly deceived—"

Jyohaku murmured something in his dying state. He could not hear his own words, but he remembered the place it came from, somewhere forsaken, where anguish and despair and hopelessness coalesced together in a black, bottomless pit, sucked out from within his bones and marrow. He remembered the demon's face as it listened, the upward slant of its features, a jarring mimicry of a human expression.

"I see. You changed your mind after all." Its hand touched Jyohaku at the spot on his abdomen, over the putrid amalgamation of flesh.

Then it leaned down to whisper beside his ear, its claws sinking into his skin.

"Like everything else, this pain...will not last."

Jyohaku clutched himself, his arm straddling over his scar, as though his innards were about to spill out.

"Narumi!"

Ookami came running over. Jyohaku shoved him aside.

"I'm fine," he grunted, a cold flush rushing down his body. "A gastric attack, that's all."

"What the hell, stop trying to spook me. You're already scary as it is."

Ookami collected Jyohaku's phone that had clattered on the floor. He frowned at the girl's photograph on the screen.

"Who's this? I've never seen such a depressed-looking kid. She looks like—" Then he glanced to Jyohaku, his eyes wide.

"Say Narumi, is she your…"

"I don't," Jyohaku shivered through gritted teeth. He opened his eyes and stared at his bare face in the mirror, before seizing his mask off his friend. He snapped it back on his face, and looked again. He needed to believe it. That it was just him. Just him, Onizuka the Terrible, living his best life.

"I don't have a child."

END OF EPILOGUE

A/N: There it is, the end. It came with a moral lesson, which was the only sensible thing in my opinion. I had more horrifying versions of the ending but whatever it was, Sesshoumaru always wins. He always does. And the plot twist that came with Jyohaku was equally important. The only way to break out from a cycle of rebirth was through enlightenment (as of Hindu/Buddhist beliefs), and as a priest Jyohaku's soul was almost there, after five hundred years. But by throwing everything, he fell back to ground zero. I think everyone should just reincarnate into cicadas at this point.

A gargantuan huge thank you to everyone who stayed through this wild fest for the last three years. Would I do it again? No. Am I proud of myself? Hell frigging yes.

With Binded, I wanted to reiterate that love comes in many forms. Whether it was the unconsummated romance between Kagome and Inuyasha, or the enduring hope Rin pinned to her lord. Whether it was love at first sight for Ichiro, or perhaps in the heart of Jyohaku's callous ways. And of course, whether it was the dangerous implications of Sesshoumaru's loyalty for Kagome, and in turn her blind adherence to him as a remnant of her past. Love does come in many forms, and in many endings.

Thank you!