Miroku sighed heavily. This was all his fault. He didn't quite know how it was his fault; he just knew that by some means, it was. What had they been doing with all that saké anyway? Weren't they all a little young to be drinking?
Inu Yasha didn't count, the bastard. He may have looked a year or two older than Miroku (though he acted younger), but the truth was, he was well over fifty; he should have taken the saké for himself. But that wasn't the case. No, Miroku is the hero of this story; therefore things should happen to him and to him alone.
Sighing again, Miroku stood up and began walking away from the camp. His mind was racing, and before he knew what he was doing, he found himself pacing back and forth in large strides.
Miroku stopped, mid-stride, at the voice that sought out his attention. Through peripheral-vision, Miroku could make out the small, delicate form of Sango. He didn't dare look up, or utter a word. Though it took almost everything he had, Miroku had tried his hardest to avoid Sango; he had been ever since that day. She had obviously noticed his sudden isolation from her, and it worried her. Not only had he stayed away from her, but Miroku had kept his distance from the other women they met on their quest as well. She figured it must be because of what had happened the night they had that saké.
"Houshi-sama," she repeated. "Please...talk to me."
"S-Sango," Miroku said, as thought not at all curious at her sudden urge to talk to him.
"What's wrong?" she asked, taking a step forward. "You haven't said a word to me or the others for over a week."
"Nonsense. I've said plenty of things—"
"You've been talking to yourself...more than usual, even."
Miroku sighed again, his third in a course of ten minutes. Sango had him beat; there was no way he was going to get out of talking to her now. He straightened his back and puffed out his chest about a quarter of an inch. It was now or never. He preferred never, but it was already too late for that.
Sango watched him in amusement. Miroku seemed to be fighting the urge to run as far away from her as possible. She was very lucky he didn't; they needed to get this thing settled once and for all. She watched as Miroku made a humorous sort of serious face. He was obviously very nervous. With his head held higher and his chest muscles bulging, Sango thought the monk look really handsome.
"So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about, Sango?" Miroku asked, smiling serenely.
"I, umm...Houshi-sama, uhh...," Sango stammered; seeing Miroku look at her like that, melted her insides, making her forget why she actually had come to see him.
Miroku raised an eyebrow at her. Sango was being silly. She had called for him only to stumble over her own words? Surely not, thought the monk.
"Oh.... That night," Sango said, regaining her equanimity. "You know, where we, umm...had a little too much to drink?"
Miroku nodded. He knew that night; he knew it so well, that he wished he didn't know it at all. Not at all feeling up to talking about this particular subject, Miroku began walking in the opposite direction, away from Sango.
Again, Miroku stopped; he just couldn't walk away from her.
"What is it now?" he asked, sounding annoyed.
"Look, we're going to have to solve this eventually," Sango said, matching his tone.
Miroku turned to her, his gaze softer. He was defeated...again. Holding up his hands in an indication of his trouncing, Miroku said, "All right. Let's get to talking."
It happened so fast. One moment, Miroku had been waiting to hear Sango's discussion; the next, he was steadying her limp form against his arms and shoulders. Sango had passed out.
A/N: Short and sweet. Not exactly to the point yet, but if you're smart enough to figure it out for yourself, then I congratulate you.
Oh, and I owe an apology to Immortal Sadness. Actually, I really need to beg her not to kill me. Katie! Don't kill me. I promise I'll update Torn Apart by the end of the week—I promise! ::bows and leaves::