HEY YOYO! Sorry… I'm being stupid again. (so what else is new) anyways, this fic might need some explanation.
THIS IS A SEQUEL. It's a companion oneshot to my other oneshot The Happiest Day. (Yes, I'm aware I posted that AGES ago) but I wanted to do an Inuyasha POV. (and I suggest you read the first one first!) I've had this in mind for a while so I'm finally doing it! Woo hoo! It's not very long, but it gets the point across. And I think it's just so depressing. No cry depressing but more like 'sigh' depressing.
Hope you like!
He always made it just in time for the bedtime stories.
There was a tree, right outside the bedroom window, with a branch just strong enough to support him. Light radiated from the room, voices drifted comfortably out the window to taunt him, but he always managed to stay just barely apart. The light never quite reached him, and he'd learned to feign indifference to her voice.
The stories never began until nightfall. Not until it was so dark you couldn't even see out the window. When the light from the room gave up trying to illuminate the outside world, he would arrive, unseen. And then she would begin.
Her eyes never strayed to the window. Her voice carried through the glass easily, but it wasn't loud enough to be intentional. He knew he only imagined the shudder that seemed to pass through her at dramatic points in the telling, the way she tensed, as if sensing something. He knew the catch in her voice when she spoke of the half demon boy in her story was his own fabrication.
But he still came for the stories.
It had started about two years ago, the first time he'd seen her in a long time. He'd gone to his usual spot on the tree just outside her window. Her voice had been just as he'd remembered it, always colored with whatever emotion she was feeling. And that first time he knew he hadn't imagined it. He'd heard longing in her voice.
He hadn't even stopped to wonder why she was talking to herself, or why their history together was being woven into a kind of fairy tale. He'd just listened. When the story was done, he'd heard her shift, and then rise, to turn off the lights. He'd hastened closer to the window, to get a glimpse of her after so many years, but he hadn't made it in time.
But he had managed to see her 4 year old daughter.
Soft, dark hair . . . Long, curled eyelashes . . . she was like a mini Kagome. Especially when she laughed. Her entire face would light up, and she'd bounce up and down exactly like her mother had all those years ago, in spite of the respective age difference. When he'd seen her, her wide blue eyes and her sleepy smile, his heart broke. But that didn't stop him from coming back, night after night.
The second night, he'd finally seen her. She was different, but at the same time, exactly as he'd remembered her. He'd left with a mixture of emotions, not sure if he even wanted to come back. But of course he had.
She was addicting. Just seeing her was enough to make him catch his breathe. She was beautiful. Young or old, his best friend or someone else's wife, she was beautiful. And her voice hadn't changed at all. It was still soft when she was sad, as it often was when she told her stories. And she her voice still carried the smile on her face when the occasion called for it. He didn't even have to see her to know her entire face was shining.
She wasn't the only one who had changed over the years. During the day, when he was in his own time, he lived with Sango and Miroku. They were married now, with kids of their own. Shippou played the part of the doting uncle well, and they all loved him. Surprisingly, the brats seemed to like him a lot too. He didn't think he'd ever get used to it, though it didn't bother him as much as it used to.
They all missed Kagome. Shippou had hated him for years for driving her off. But when time passed and his scratched out apology was ignored, even Shippou forgave him and tried to help him heal. But loneliness doesn't have a cure if everyday you wake up and you're alone. Nothing makes the pain go away.
Closure's a joke. A mean, cruel, twisted word invented to give idiots hope. He'd been stupid. He'd thought seeing her again would make the pain stop. He'd thought that maybe then he'd be able to forget about her. Instead she'd drawn him to her even more. She'd invaded his thoughts more thoroughly than he would have thought possible.
And in turn, he haunted her.
"A long time ago, back when demons and magic were real, there was a girl born to fix a mistake." That was how all the stories began. Every night. Without exception. And he felt those words like a physical blow.
"You're a freaking mistake Kagome. Or rather," He corrected cruelly. "You're the attempt to 'fix' a mistake. Fate sure screwed up."
He still couldn't believe he'd said that to her. Especially when she'd been so concerned with being seen as Kikyo's copy. And every time she repeated his angry accusations, her voice was soft.
And he hated himself for it.
The stories were always different. In the two years he'd been listening, he'd never heard the same one twice. He remembered them all, with vivid detail, but occasionally she'd surprise him by throwing out some action of Sango or Miroku's that he hadn't even been aware of. Those times he was startled out of his morbid reverie with a small smile. Life had been crazy back then.
He always watched the same window, and always listened from the same tree. That spot had so many memories for him . . . he didn't want to associate her with any other part of the house. It had changed too much. And he especially didn't want to think of her in her new bedroom.
So he never saw her restless nights, the times when she'd lie awake for hours unable to sleep. He never saw her cry into her pillow. He never realized that she was always alone. Her husband didn't bother to come home at night at all anymore.
But every night she told a story. And every night he came to hear it. Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if she knew, wonder if the smile in her voice was meant for him, or if the softness was an apology. But he didn't let himself believe it. It would hurt too much if he knew he wasn't the only one hurting. He had to pretend her life was perfect, even if her eyes whispered otherwise.
"And they lived happily ever after."
Sometimes he didn't even wait for the end. The last sentence cut him too deeply for him to ever willingly hear it. But usually he made himself stay. If only to memorize the way her own breathe caught when she said the last few words.
Then the light would go off.
And the tree would be empty.
-I could have been your angel
I'd have died for you
Instead I'm just another angel
Who watches over you
DONE! Sorry, threw that last bit in cuz I thought it fit, but it's not really from anything. Just imagine it playing in the background or something. It's a um "Ruthless" song coughcough (only those ppl that read Kinda Weird have any clue what I'm talking about.) Anyways, I hope you liked it even though it's a followup! PLEASE TELL ME!