All previous disclaimers apply.

(11/16/04)

A/N: Here we are! I thought it would never end. I would complain about this story more, but I don't want to upset anyone. After all, it would make it look like I write crappy stories on purpose. Now, I couldn't help but sneak a bit of angst in there, so I did. I hope you don't mind. I am more familiar with angst, after all. I'd really like to thank everyone who read this. I never expected it to get very far. It was just something that I decided to write with the likes of Katrina5 in mind. I'm glad most enjoyed it. As for future works . . . I don't really know. I like to work on a ton of things at one time, so it's anyone's guess! Once again, thank you all and lots of love.


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She walked along where the ocean met the sand, feeling the water slide over her feet just above the jut of her ankle bone.

Large rocks lined the coast, and she sat down upon one, tilting her head and letting her hair wave about her shoulders with the wind. Looking into her palm, she stared at a tiny white capsule in the centre of it, before frowning and flinging it into the water below.

"You left so early this morning. I thought you were running away."

Startled, she looked over her shoulder to see him slightly elevated from her level on another boulder.

"No, not really." She turned back to the ocean, watching the rise and fall of the waves, the spray of water along the shoreline. "I couldn't sleep, so I wanted to watch the sun rise."

"And you didn't want me to come?" He was half-joking, half serious.

"You looked very comfortable, and I didn't want to disturb you," she explained, leaning onto her arms. "And what doesn't sound more like nagging than, 'wake up and take me out for a walk at the crack of dawn!'"

"Well, if you promised I'd get something afterward . . ."

"No, you wouldn't. And if I didn't, would you go somewhere else to get it?"

He straightened at the words. "Sango . . ."

"I wanted to sit here alone, Miroku," she said quietly, not snapping as she had previously.

"Listen." He moved to sit behind her and leaned his chin on her shoulder. "I know you didn't mean that."

Staring out onto the horizon, leaned back onto him. It was how she always responded and it had eventually become habit. "And what if I did?" she whispered.

"I would have to prove you wrong," he told her, kissing below her ear. "That you were the only one."

She tried to move out of his reach but he secured his arms around her body. Again, she resisted but only succeeded in jerking him closer.

"I might be the only one you live with, but not the only one you kiss like you're kissing me right now."

He stopped then, and pulled away from her. "Sango," he said tightly. "Don't think like this."

"Then give me a reason not to." The waves crashed gently onto the rocks. "Even when I'm with you, you can't resist a pretty face. What? Have you seen mine too often now?"

Staring at her, he took her hand and forced it to hold his. "What can I do to make you think otherwise? I'm with you, I have been with you for quite a long time. You stay with me. That has to mean something to you."

"It does," she said hollowly. "This means too much. I don't know. I can just never tell with you."

She pulled her hand away and put distance between them. "I wanted to be alone this morning, Miroku."

"I understand." He stood up and began to climb over rocks back to the road. "When you come home we can talk about this."

When she returned home, she told him everything was fine and that she had simply misunderstood. At night, they lay next to each other as always, and she held him close, though it felt as though there was a great distance between them.

And that talk they were supposed to have?

It was never spoken of again.

Because he was going to prove her wrong. He had to.

Any Given Someday

Chapter Twelve

For Real

When got home, the first thing she did was hug Kohaku.

"Ane-ue," he gasped, choking. "Did things go well?"

She let go of him, sitting down and exhaling deeply. "I'm not sure, but I hope they go well starting now."

A grin threatened to escape him. "So why are you back home?"

"Because we all have to go home after a while, Kohaku," she said smartly, rolling her eyes.

"So why isn't he here?"

"He's not coming back just yet. Be patient. We have some issues . . . Okay, we have a lot of issues to work out first. At least, the worst has been dealt with."

Her brother leaned over and hugged her back. "I'm glad for that."

She patted his back affectionately. "Me too."

There was a lapse of silence before Kohaku sat up straight. "I just remembered, this came underneath the door not too long after you left."

He rummaged through the papers on top of the coffee table and pulled out an unmarked envelope. "Here," he held it towards her.

She eyed it skeptically. "I could think of a number of things that come in unmarked envelopes."

He gave her a expectant look and shook the envelope impatiently. "Take it. It feels like a piece of paper, Ane-ue. Paper won't kill you, just cut you up a lot. If you cut yourself up a lot, it's your own fault."

Sticking out her tongue at him, she took the envelope and ripped it across the opening. Opening it, she frowned as she pulled out a photo.

"What is it?" Kohaku pried.

It was taken at an awkward angle, with half of her body and Miroku's shoulders visible. He had his arms around her waist and she was laughing, trying to pull his hands away. Turning it over, she was surprised at what was written, her eyes widening.

--

It was sort of an off and on thing. Sometimes he'd spend the night and sometimes he wouldn't. He heard them spend hours upon hours talking; their voices were muffled through the walls.

Sometimes they'd spend the night doing . . . other things, and yes, the sounds were muffled through the walls. Which reminded him, he still had to get that soundproofing done.

They clashed on a few things, fought; a few shouting matches scattered here and there, but it served as their release. It wasn't a fairy tale world and they no longer pretended that it was, using some choice vulgar wording along the way. Not to mention that after the anger, there was always the reconciliation. They seemed to enjoy that part quite a bit.

One thing he thought he sorely needed to inform them was that while they weren't a fairy tale, they weren't an sappy romance novel either. He'd never thought he had to be afraid of opening closed doors in his own house.

Afterward, Miroku had let him know that next time he'd put a sock on the doorknob.

It was going to be a permanent arrangement, and Kohaku knew that. But he didn't mind. Not at all.

--

"I didn't think we'd be doing this so quickly, Miroku," Sango giggled as she tensed her legs.

"Me neither," he agreed, holding on to either one of her thighs.

"Me especially," Kohaku chimed in, pulling the recycling bin out to the curb for pickup.

The young cat played on the branches of a tree happily, batting at leaves and sharpening her claws.

"Kirara," Sango said invitingly. "It's cold out here isn't it? Come on down and into the house now."

The object of her bribery meowed and dug her claws into the bark, baring tiny fangs as she yawned lazily.

"How did she get up there anyway?" Kohaku asked calmly, observing their struggle with his hands in his pockets. "She usually doesn't go outside unless someone lets her out accidentally."

For some reasons more than others, Kohaku suspected Miroku was pretty relieved his face wasn't visible to Kohaku, due to Sango sitting on his shoulders. Not like he wasn't always in that -- position. He shuddered at the thought.

Sighing in defeat, Kohaku sighed and picked up a rake, disinterestedly pushing the autumn leaves into a pile as he muttered. "Can't even shut the door first . . . "

There was a slight scuffling behind him as Kohaku concentrated at his task. He ignored it, until he heard the last syllable of 'Kirara' extend into a long cry, and he was knocked backwards, the makeshift pile of leaves crumbling beneath his weight.

That was how Kohaku found himself in a pile beneath his sister and her boyfriend. Although he should be scared to death that they would do the wicked on Wednesday right there on the front lawn, that he would be unable to escape, or that Kirara would fall from her precarious perch on the tree branch . . . he wasn't.

He craned his neck up to look at his sister, and he remembered the contents of the envelope she had promptly taped onto the fridge. A picture, taken not so long ago, previously unmarked.

It was her and Miroku, at an awkward angle, his arms holding her around the waist, and she was laughing; laughing so hard there were tears in her eyes.

Smile like this again.

- Takeda Kuranosuke

On the back of the photo it was written in neat, printed lettering. She'd read it, her smile softening.

"Get off me, please," Kohaku groaned, clawing the ground in attempt to wedge himself out from in between them and the ground.

All he heard was a low moaning and a giggle. Beginnings of a migraine began to form in his head.

"Please, please don't," he clasped his hands together in prayer. He wriggled, ignoring the pain in his legs as they were nearly flattened, succeeding only in moving forward an inch. "Damn it! Just get a room already!"

She laughed at him and said that they would later tonight, and as he studied her face, he noticed that she was smiling that way again.

Today wasn't just any oldday.

--

-

And color the coast with your smile;
It's the most genuine thing I've ever seen.
I was so lost,
But now I believe.

-- Dashboard Confessional, Carry This Picture