InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Fragments ❯ The Agony of Ecstasy ( Chapter 15 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: LuxKen27 
“Happiness is just an illusion, filled with sadness and confusion.” – Jimmy Ruffin, “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted”
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.07.2011 | Updated On: 11.08.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.2K | Visits: 651 | Status: Completed
“Happiness is just an illusion, filled with sadness and confusion.” – Jimmy Ruffin, “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted”
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.07.2011 | Updated On: 11.08.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.2K | Visits: 651 | Status: Completed
Title: The Agony of Ecstasy
Author: LuxKen27
Universe: Alternate
Genre: Drama, Romance
Rating: Y
Warning: Language, innuendo
Word Length: 4486
Summary: “Happiness is just an illusion, filled with sadness and confusion.” – Jimmy Ruffin, “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted”
Disclaimer: The Inuyasha concept, story, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media.
She sat alone in her car on the Nozomi shinkansen, her luggage securely stowed under the seat opposite her, her legs propped up on the cushion across the way. She gazed out the window, watching the scenery fly by, the Japanese countryside blossoming out as far as the eye could see.
She wished for sleep, to escape from her tumultuous memories – but the comfort of slumber eluded her.
It had been three months.
Three months since the shocking revelations that had changed her life for good.
Three months since the entirety of her world had tilted on its axis; since the events that had propelled her away from a steady, solid life she’d hesitantly begun to call her own.
Three months since she’d been home – if she even knew what ‘home’ was anymore.
She sighed, her gaze falling away from the window as she shifted under the blanket again, curling her legs beneath her and burrowing into her seat. She thought she’d come to grips with what her life had become – after all, she’d spent five years in pursuit of her missing brother, pouring her heart and soul into the quest to find out what had happened to him. Her own wants and needs had taken a backseat, forever tinged with guilt and sorrow and self-admonishment for ever craving comfort when she knew her lost sibling wasn’t at peace.
She’d tried to come to terms with it. One little mistake had shattered her family for good; five long years had ended in absolute agony, with the discovery of Kohaku’s beaten and bruised body abandoned in an alleyway like an afterthought. She still had nightmares of that day, of going to the morgue to identify him, of seeing what had become of the sweet, innocent little boy who used to beg for her attention when they were kids. That was her punishment – knowing the last time she’d ever lay eyes on him would be so cold, so unrelentingly callous and cruel. Not even surrounding herself with pictures and memories of happier times following the funeral could wipe that final, horrible image from of her mind.
That memory would forever be intertwined with another – the end of her long-term relationship, right on the cusp of marriage. She’d been so close to having it all, to becoming the wife of the police commissioner’s son and ascending to the heights of power and class and wealth afforded such a station, that hardly anyone could comprehend why she’d suddenly ended it all. How many women would’ve killed to be in her shoes, to be within grasp of such financial and personal security? To have such a loving, doting, (nearly suffocating) husband with the world at his fingertips, who could give her anything that her heart desired?
Except, of course, the one thing she truly desired – to be loved.
Not owned, or had, or paraded around like a trophy or prized possession. Not showered with gifts, or shunted off on exotic vacations, or kept in the lap of fashionable luxury, or molded into the perfect little demure housewife.
She wanted love: passionate, unconditional, flaws-and-all love. She wanted to be held and comforted and soothed, but also to be allowed to struggle in her guilt, her misery, her melancholy. She wanted someone to lean on, someone who had strength enough to lend to her until she recovered her own. She wanted someone who knew when to challenge her stubbornness and when to give into it, instead of talking over her or through her like she barely even mattered.
And when push came to shove, Karanousuke Takeda – the eligible bachelor, the wealthy catch vied for by so many, the man who claimed to cherish her above all others – couldn’t give her what she wanted or what she needed.
So she left.
She’d left everything she’d ever known and climbed onto the train that morning, heading for her future – or maybe it was her past. She’d thought she was headed home, but now, as she neared her destination, she wasn’t so sure anymore.
Everything had changed in the wake of Kohaku’s death, and she was still trying to piece the shattered fragments back together.
The train glided into the station, coming to a shuttering, if silent, halt. Sango lingered in her compartment, idly watching as her fellow passengers gathered their belongings and shuffled into the aisle, murmuring amongst themselves as they waited to exit the train. She stayed rooted in place even after they were gone, long enough for one of the conductors to come and knock on the glass door, inquiring if she was awake.
With a solemn nod, she made to move, stretching her arms and legs out of their cramped positions, throwing off the blanket before finally standing up. She made quick work of the luggage ties, pulling her bags out from under the seat, securing one over her shoulder and picking up the other two as she carefully moved out into the aisle. She walked slowly, feeling as if she was moving through mud as she put one foot in front of the other. She hesitated when she came to the doorway, sunlight piercing her tired eyes as she gazed warily over the platform.
There’s still time, she thought wildly, tightening her grip on the straps of her bags. I can turn back.
“Sango!”
But she couldn’t.
“Sango!” the voice cried again, accompanied this time by a frantic wave of arms.
In spite of herself, Sango felt the corners of her mouth curl into a smile as she descended onto the platform, having only enough time to put her bags down before finding herself engulfed in a warm, excited embrace.
“It’s so good to see you again,” Akiko whispered in Sango’s ear, tightening the brace of her arms around her.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Sango returned, her hesitation melting away as she hugged her best friend fiercely. She’d missed her more than she’d realized – this girl had the ability to almost immediately lift her spirits.
Sango pulled away, her smile brightening as she realized that Akiko was wearing one of the sweaters she’d given her after her stormy breakup with Karanousuke. “You look better than ever,” she teased.
Akiko preened, twirling in a circle to show off her outfit. “Thank you, thank you,” she giggled. “I try – unlike some people,” she added, looking wholly unimpressed as she took in Sango’s grubby ensemble.
Sango shrugged. She practically lived in jeans and t-shirts these days – and frankly, she wouldn’t have it any other way. “Oh, come on – even you wouldn’t wear silk to travel,” she replied good-naturedly.
“Eh, true,” Akiko acquiesced. She reached for one of Sango’s bags, grunting under the strain of her effort to pick it up. “What the hell did you pack?” she huffed incredulously. “Hate to break it to you, but we have rocks here in Tokyo, too, you know.”
Sango swatted her arm away playfully. “Oh, please, lightweight,” she teased, reaching for the bag and lifting it easily. She rubbed her temple with her free hand. “Did my parents make it up here okay yesterday? I’m sorry I couldn’t come with them, but my shift at work didn’t end until late.”
Akiko nodded solemnly. “Yes, your parents arrived safe and sound yesterday.” She rolled her eyes. “We managed to get them to the hotel, too, before the paparazzi horde descended.” She made a face. “Your ex is a real piece of work, you know that? Ugh.”
Sango lifted a brow. “We?” she echoed dubiously, still processing this first bit of information. No doubt Karanousuke had probably set up a press conference timed to their arrival at his hotel, so he certainly wouldn’t have been of any help in keeping her parents’ arrival for the trial under wraps.
If not him, then…?
“We,” another voice confirmed, as a figure shifted out of Akiko’s shadow.
Sango’s mouth went dry as she looked up, gazing into a face she never thought she’d see again. “Miroku,” she choked out, dropping her bag with a heavy thump, suddenly aware of just how hard her heart was throbbing in her chest. Memories assailed her, floating unbidden to her mind – his violet eyes, his heated touch, the way he smelled and tasted and felt inside her – and she flushed under the intensity of his gaze.
“Sango,” he returned, his voice full of gravel and his eyes hooded as he clasped her shoulder, making her wonder if he was remembering that night, too. Warmth flooded through her under the brush of his fingers, and she took a step closer, suddenly aching to feel his arms around her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him softly, her eyes never leaving his. “After everything that’s happened…” They had parted under murky circumstances; after nearly three months apart, she’d gone to see him, to tell him herself of her plans to return to Osaka for good. She had anticipated little more than cool apathy from him, but found raw, urgent, burning need instead, an attraction so magnetic that she’d almost changed her plans right then and there.
But in the end, she couldn’t do it – she couldn’t submit him to the anguish that churned through her, or the feelings of failure that ate away at her.
So she’d left him, without ever telling him what he meant to her, or how much he’d changed her life. She didn’t deserve what he’d tried to offer her, even if it was the only thing she truly desired.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied, the hand at her shoulder sliding across her neck, prickles of electricity tingling over her scalp as his fingers twined through her hair. “I know this is going to be a tough day for you, and for your folks. I just want to be here for you, as a friend…” He trailed off, leaning forward, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. “…or whatever you want me to be.”
She caught him before he could pull away, savoring the sensation of his mouth against hers, heat and longing and desire crashing through her in copious waves. For a moment, she lost herself, forgetting the reason why she’d returned in the first place, the twists and turns that had brought her to this moment, the fact that she was standing on the crowded platform at the main train station in Tokyo. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself flush against him, and allowed herself to feel, for the first time since she’d left him, something other than conflict and regret.
She loved this – she relished this – and she never wanted this to end.
“Uh, guys?”
From somewhere out in the distance, Akiko’s voice broke through the intensity of the moment. Sango reluctantly broke away, opening her eyes as she turned to face her friend, unwilling to give up the magical moment completely. Her arms remained locked around Miroku’s waist, his hands still warm on her shoulders, and she felt her strength and resolve returning.
“This is great and all,” Akiko smiled, gesturing excitedly at their closeness, “but if we want to make it to court on time, well…we should’ve left five minutes ago.”
Sango sighed. “Okay,” she relented, releasing her hold on him as she spiraled back to reality. She had come back to Tokyo for a reason, after all – and it was finally time to face it, head-on. Five years of nightmares were about to end.
Finally, she was going to see for herself the man responsible for killing her brother and tearing her family apart.
She wanted nothing to do with him or the spectacle he’d made of this entire situation.
Miroku and Akiko shielded her from the paparazzi who lined the front corridor, all clambering for her attention as she fought her way into the crowded courtroom. Her friends were stopped at the door, barred from entering, and that was the only point at which Sango found herself nearly losing it completely.
Until the trial began, at least.
At the first break in the proceedings, Sango burst out of the courtroom, shimmering with anger and rage. She stormed past her friends, not even seeing them, pushing through one of the private exit doors of the building and landing on a little stoop. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with gulps of fresh air, trying to calm herself down.
She had been waiting for this moment for six months. She’d wanted nothing more than the chance to confront the person responsible for her brother’s murder, but she hadn’t really counted on having this reaction. Just one look at the monstrous man charged with the crimes had ripped open the wound; having to sit there and watch him gaze disinterestedly around the room, a little smirk playing on his lips the entire time, as if this whole proceeding wasn’t even worth his time…
Now she knew the sort of white hot fury it took to contemplate taking another human being’s life.
The defendant, Naraku, was one of the leaders of the small but deadly Kyokuto-kai, a yakuza gang that thrived on bloodshed. He had been the mastermind of a far-reaching child abduction ring, kidnapping and smuggling children from the territory of rival gangs to be used as slaves. He wasn’t the one who had actually taken Kohaku that fateful afternoon, and he wasn’t the one who had finally slit his throat and put him out of his tortured misery nearly five years later – and for that reason alone, Sango worried. The man was pure evil made flesh, but it was clear that he rarely sullied his hands with his own dirty work.
The door banged open behind her, but Sango didn’t bother to turn around, still gripping the handrail that lined the little alcove, a quiet exit the media didn’t have access to.
“Sango,” a voice intoned behind her, making her skin crawl.
She turned, staring stonily at her ex-fiancé. “What?” she snarled, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Don’t be upset,” Karanousuke chided, stroking her arms as he gazed at her piteously.
She wrenched away from his hold. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel anymore,” she ground out.
He sighed. “I’m not trying to tell you how to feel,” he murmured, his tone overly patient as his hands came to a stop at her shoulders. “All I’m saying is, don’t let him get to you. We’ve got him – the evidence against him is solid.”
Sango snorted derisively and looked away. “I don’t believe you.”
“I wish you would,” Karanousuke said softly, reaching up to touch her face. “I’ve done all of this for you, for your family – so that you might have closure, knowing that the man who took Kohaku from you would finally face justice.”
Angry tears spilled over Sango’s cheeks. “You didn’t do this for me,” she countered venomously. “You did this for yourself.” She pushed his hands away, leveling a caustic glare at him. “How could you think that this is what I wanted? What my parents wanted? We didn’t ask for this – the media frenzy and the endless questions and conspiracy theories. And for what? So you could make a sensationalistic arrest, parade a big-time yakuza around before your precious TV cameras and newspaper reporters?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t even do it,” she hissed. “The person who killed my brother is going to get away with it, and you’re telling me ‘don’t be upset’?”
Karanousuke took her shoulders once again. “The man who killed your brother is dead,” he said, his tone firm, almost harsh. He didn’t give her the chance to respond before barreling on. “The reason that man is dead is because the man in that courtroom” – he pointed back towards the building – “ordered his killing. Just like he ordered the people who kidnapped your brother to take him.”
His grip on her shoulders tightened. “Just like he ordered them to beat your brother to a bloody pulp on a regular basis, and to slit his throat when he wore out his usefulness,” he finished. “Onigumo Naraku is responsible for Kohaku’s death, just like he’s responsible for countless other deaths, and I’m going to see to it that he pays for his crimes.”
Sango stared into her ex-fiancé’s hardened eyes, and wondered how she could have ever believed herself to be in love with him.
“Is there a problem here?” interrupted a new voice, shattering the tension of the moment.
Sango wrenched away from Karanousuke’s grip once more, shifting to the side and feeling a warm wave of relief wash through her as Miroku appeared in her line of vision. He strolled closer to the pair of them, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jeans, coming to a halt at Sango’s side and gazing trenchantly at Takeda.
Sango watched with no small amount of interest as Karanousuke sized up his rival, remembering all too well how easily he had dismissed his presence in her bed six months ago. Now, as before, he straightened to his full height, looking regal and refined as he adjusted the cufflinks that glittered on the sleeves of his three-piece suit, his expression one of bland disinterest.
“No,” he finally said, directing his answer to Miroku’s question at Sango. “I was merely attempting to comfort my dear Sango, after the troubling testimony we heard in court this morning.”
“That’s not what it looked like to me,” Miroku observed pointedly, rocking back on his heels.
Karanousuke’s eyes widened slightly, his expression frozen for a fleeting moment as he attempted to process this continued unwanted commentary. Very deliberately, he turned, casting his gaze directly at Miroku for the first time. “You obviously know not of what you speak,” he drawled.
Miroku shrugged. “I don’t know about that,” he replied easily. “I’ve kept up with the news. I’ve watched the six-month media bonanza you launched in order to win back your fiancée’s heart.” He paused, meeting Takeda’s gaze directly. “I see how much it’s failed, and how unwilling you are to accept that fact.”
Karanousuke smirked, turning his attention back to Sango. “We will bring Naraku to justice,” he promised her. “We have the evidence to convict him for your brother’s disappearance and death.” His smile turned lofty. “Just be aware of the fact that our prosecutors don’t bring a case before the panel of judges unless they know they can win.”
“Fine,” Sango nodded, her arm brushing against Miroku’s, even as she kept her gaze firmly on her ex. “My family is forever in your debt, Mr. Takeda,” she added evenly, finding and clasping Miroku’s hand, “but I am not the payment for that debt.”
Karanousuke’s eyes drifted downward, his gaze lingering on their joined hands, and for a moment, Sango wondered if he would cry. Instead, he raised his head once more, a defeated smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as his eyes found hers. She looked up at him, waiting, watching for the moment when it finally dawned on him that she was gone – and that, no matter what he did, she was never coming back.
Such understanding never blossomed across his features.
Instead, Karanousuke leaned forward, pressing a feathery-light kiss in the middle of her forehead. “I’ll see you inside,” he said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her brow as he turned away.
Sango watched him retreat, frustration washing through her at his willful ignorance. He’s never going to stop trying, she realized. He’s never going to let go.
“Are you okay?” Miroku murmured, folding her into a warm embrace, resting his head on top of hers.
She curled against him, squeezing her eyes shut as tears trickled from the corners of her eyes once more. “Yes,” she whispered in response, even though she felt anything but.
Sango lay still in the darkness of the night, listening idly to the hum of the city at night. She’d lived in Tokyo for three years but had never been aware of the endless sounds that peppered the evening air –traffic rushing by on a nearby street; drunks wandering in the alleyways, fighting over women and booze and drugs; night-shifters forever entering and leaving their buildings of residence and work. Every now and then a plane would circle overhead, its lights flickering beneath the low drone of the engines.
She opened her eyes, glancing around the modest little room as her vision adjusted in the darkness. It was sparsely furnished – a desk, a chair, a TV resting on the top of an ancient-looking bookcase, itself filled to the brim with thick hardback reference books and stacks of secondhand paperbacks. The mattress on which she lay was mere inches from the floor; the blankets that covered her were thin and worn to softness.
It was nothing like the luxurious suite she’d once called home – and yet, it felt more like home than that gilded cage ever had.
She sighed softly, pushing the covers back and sitting up, casting a long look over her shoulder as she did so. Miroku lay in the shadows behind her on the narrow bed, tangled in the sheets and blankets, his body oriented towards her, even as he slept. For a long moment, she simply gazed at him, following the even rise and fall of his chest, allowing her eyes to trace the lines of his features before roving down over territory her hands were already familiar with. She reached out, sweeping her fingers through the hair at his brow, relishing the heat and pleasure that rippled through her at the intimate touch.
She was satisfied, she realized in that moment, but she wasn’t happy.
She turned away, burying her face in her hands as tears welled behind her eyes. So many of the events that had happened that day were supposed to give her a sense of triumph – she’d faced down the man responsible for taking her brother’s life; she’d pulled out of her ex-fiancé’s reach, even flaunting her choice of his rival over him; she’d reunited with her best friend…and Miroku, whom she thought she’d lost forever. These things should’ve rocketed her into the stratosphere, or at least made her feel less broken – but they felt cheap and hollow instead.
What’s wrong with me? Sango asked herself silently, her breath hitching in her chest. Why do I still feel like a failure?
Behind her, Miroku stirred. “Sango,” he murmured, brushing his fingers against her bare hip.
“I can’t sleep,” she choked out, pressing the heels of her hands against her cheekbones, trying valiantly to keep her tears at bay.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly, the sheets rustling as he sat up in bed.
“No,” she returned quietly.
She felt his arms encircle her waist, drawing her close as he leaned forward, the solid wall of his chest warm against her back. He pressed a feathery-light kiss to the nape of her neck before allowing his mouth to trail along the line of her shoulder, each gentle caress of his lips conveying some small measure of comfort. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her skin.
She swallowed hard, lowering her hands from her face. “For what?”
He was silent for a moment, one hand leaving her torso, and she exhaled sharply when she felt his fingers tracing the lines of the star-shaped scar that bloomed across her back. “For everything you’ve been through,” he replied somberly, reverently, “and for everything you’re still going through.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss near the apex of the wound before hugging her close, resting his head on her shoulder. “You didn’t deserve this.”
Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. “What I don’t deserve is you,” she returned in a strangled voice, the raw, aching pain of her guilt overwhelming her, making it very hard for her to breathe, much less speak.
He tightened the brace of his arms around her waist. “Don’t say that,” he chided gently. “Stop punishing yourself for the choices you’ve made – they weren’t all mistakes, were they?”
She laid her arms over his, lacing her fingers through his over her abdomen, concentrating on the sensations of heat and want that swirled just below his intimate touch. “No,” she admitted. “Meeting you was not a mistake…” She trailed off, biting her lips in a vain attempt to stop her chin from quivering. “I just wish it hadn’t happened like this.”
“I’m glad it happened at all,” Miroku informed her. When she glanced back at him, her eyes wide and watery, he smiled. “We can’t change the past – we can only move forward, towards the future.”
She turned to face him fully then, her hands settling at his shoulders as her eyes searched his. “’We’?” she queried carefully, her heart beating painfully in her chest.
His hands drifted up the planes of her back, one cradling gently over her scar while the other continued on, finding her shoulder, her neck, the side of her face. “We,” he repeated solemnly, brushing his thumb along the crest of her cheek. “I love you, Sango.”
Something shifted within her then, two halves of a whole mending together, relieving her heart of its arduous burden. Waves of want and need and desire and love cascaded through her as she stared into his eyes, accepting the plain promise reflected there. “I could never make you happy,” she sighed wistfully, her hands curling around his neck. “I can’t even let myself be happy.”
He drew her closer to him, lifting her hips astride his. “Happiness is just an illusion,” he told her softly, his mouth inching closer to hers. “And I don’t need illusions when reality is so much sweeter.”
Author: LuxKen27
Universe: Alternate
Genre: Drama, Romance
Rating: Y
Warning: Language, innuendo
Word Length: 4486
Summary: “Happiness is just an illusion, filled with sadness and confusion.” – Jimmy Ruffin, “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted”
Disclaimer: The Inuyasha concept, story, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media.
~*~
Sango cracked her eyes open, taking in the gray haze of the dawning, dreary morning. She sighed, shifting restlessly, adjusting the blanket draped over her shoulders. She’d barely slept the night before, unable to quell the thoughts that raced through her mind, last-minute second-guessing of her decision to stay or go. Ultimately, she’d stuck by her plans, pressing forward through the doubt and uncertainty, doing what she knew she needed to do in order to finally close this chapter of her life.She sat alone in her car on the Nozomi shinkansen, her luggage securely stowed under the seat opposite her, her legs propped up on the cushion across the way. She gazed out the window, watching the scenery fly by, the Japanese countryside blossoming out as far as the eye could see.
She wished for sleep, to escape from her tumultuous memories – but the comfort of slumber eluded her.
It had been three months.
Three months since the shocking revelations that had changed her life for good.
Three months since the entirety of her world had tilted on its axis; since the events that had propelled her away from a steady, solid life she’d hesitantly begun to call her own.
Three months since she’d been home – if she even knew what ‘home’ was anymore.
She sighed, her gaze falling away from the window as she shifted under the blanket again, curling her legs beneath her and burrowing into her seat. She thought she’d come to grips with what her life had become – after all, she’d spent five years in pursuit of her missing brother, pouring her heart and soul into the quest to find out what had happened to him. Her own wants and needs had taken a backseat, forever tinged with guilt and sorrow and self-admonishment for ever craving comfort when she knew her lost sibling wasn’t at peace.
She’d tried to come to terms with it. One little mistake had shattered her family for good; five long years had ended in absolute agony, with the discovery of Kohaku’s beaten and bruised body abandoned in an alleyway like an afterthought. She still had nightmares of that day, of going to the morgue to identify him, of seeing what had become of the sweet, innocent little boy who used to beg for her attention when they were kids. That was her punishment – knowing the last time she’d ever lay eyes on him would be so cold, so unrelentingly callous and cruel. Not even surrounding herself with pictures and memories of happier times following the funeral could wipe that final, horrible image from of her mind.
That memory would forever be intertwined with another – the end of her long-term relationship, right on the cusp of marriage. She’d been so close to having it all, to becoming the wife of the police commissioner’s son and ascending to the heights of power and class and wealth afforded such a station, that hardly anyone could comprehend why she’d suddenly ended it all. How many women would’ve killed to be in her shoes, to be within grasp of such financial and personal security? To have such a loving, doting, (nearly suffocating) husband with the world at his fingertips, who could give her anything that her heart desired?
Except, of course, the one thing she truly desired – to be loved.
Not owned, or had, or paraded around like a trophy or prized possession. Not showered with gifts, or shunted off on exotic vacations, or kept in the lap of fashionable luxury, or molded into the perfect little demure housewife.
She wanted love: passionate, unconditional, flaws-and-all love. She wanted to be held and comforted and soothed, but also to be allowed to struggle in her guilt, her misery, her melancholy. She wanted someone to lean on, someone who had strength enough to lend to her until she recovered her own. She wanted someone who knew when to challenge her stubbornness and when to give into it, instead of talking over her or through her like she barely even mattered.
And when push came to shove, Karanousuke Takeda – the eligible bachelor, the wealthy catch vied for by so many, the man who claimed to cherish her above all others – couldn’t give her what she wanted or what she needed.
So she left.
She’d left everything she’d ever known and climbed onto the train that morning, heading for her future – or maybe it was her past. She’d thought she was headed home, but now, as she neared her destination, she wasn’t so sure anymore.
Everything had changed in the wake of Kohaku’s death, and she was still trying to piece the shattered fragments back together.
The train glided into the station, coming to a shuttering, if silent, halt. Sango lingered in her compartment, idly watching as her fellow passengers gathered their belongings and shuffled into the aisle, murmuring amongst themselves as they waited to exit the train. She stayed rooted in place even after they were gone, long enough for one of the conductors to come and knock on the glass door, inquiring if she was awake.
With a solemn nod, she made to move, stretching her arms and legs out of their cramped positions, throwing off the blanket before finally standing up. She made quick work of the luggage ties, pulling her bags out from under the seat, securing one over her shoulder and picking up the other two as she carefully moved out into the aisle. She walked slowly, feeling as if she was moving through mud as she put one foot in front of the other. She hesitated when she came to the doorway, sunlight piercing her tired eyes as she gazed warily over the platform.
There’s still time, she thought wildly, tightening her grip on the straps of her bags. I can turn back.
“Sango!”
But she couldn’t.
“Sango!” the voice cried again, accompanied this time by a frantic wave of arms.
In spite of herself, Sango felt the corners of her mouth curl into a smile as she descended onto the platform, having only enough time to put her bags down before finding herself engulfed in a warm, excited embrace.
“It’s so good to see you again,” Akiko whispered in Sango’s ear, tightening the brace of her arms around her.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Sango returned, her hesitation melting away as she hugged her best friend fiercely. She’d missed her more than she’d realized – this girl had the ability to almost immediately lift her spirits.
Sango pulled away, her smile brightening as she realized that Akiko was wearing one of the sweaters she’d given her after her stormy breakup with Karanousuke. “You look better than ever,” she teased.
Akiko preened, twirling in a circle to show off her outfit. “Thank you, thank you,” she giggled. “I try – unlike some people,” she added, looking wholly unimpressed as she took in Sango’s grubby ensemble.
Sango shrugged. She practically lived in jeans and t-shirts these days – and frankly, she wouldn’t have it any other way. “Oh, come on – even you wouldn’t wear silk to travel,” she replied good-naturedly.
“Eh, true,” Akiko acquiesced. She reached for one of Sango’s bags, grunting under the strain of her effort to pick it up. “What the hell did you pack?” she huffed incredulously. “Hate to break it to you, but we have rocks here in Tokyo, too, you know.”
Sango swatted her arm away playfully. “Oh, please, lightweight,” she teased, reaching for the bag and lifting it easily. She rubbed her temple with her free hand. “Did my parents make it up here okay yesterday? I’m sorry I couldn’t come with them, but my shift at work didn’t end until late.”
Akiko nodded solemnly. “Yes, your parents arrived safe and sound yesterday.” She rolled her eyes. “We managed to get them to the hotel, too, before the paparazzi horde descended.” She made a face. “Your ex is a real piece of work, you know that? Ugh.”
Sango lifted a brow. “We?” she echoed dubiously, still processing this first bit of information. No doubt Karanousuke had probably set up a press conference timed to their arrival at his hotel, so he certainly wouldn’t have been of any help in keeping her parents’ arrival for the trial under wraps.
If not him, then…?
“We,” another voice confirmed, as a figure shifted out of Akiko’s shadow.
Sango’s mouth went dry as she looked up, gazing into a face she never thought she’d see again. “Miroku,” she choked out, dropping her bag with a heavy thump, suddenly aware of just how hard her heart was throbbing in her chest. Memories assailed her, floating unbidden to her mind – his violet eyes, his heated touch, the way he smelled and tasted and felt inside her – and she flushed under the intensity of his gaze.
“Sango,” he returned, his voice full of gravel and his eyes hooded as he clasped her shoulder, making her wonder if he was remembering that night, too. Warmth flooded through her under the brush of his fingers, and she took a step closer, suddenly aching to feel his arms around her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him softly, her eyes never leaving his. “After everything that’s happened…” They had parted under murky circumstances; after nearly three months apart, she’d gone to see him, to tell him herself of her plans to return to Osaka for good. She had anticipated little more than cool apathy from him, but found raw, urgent, burning need instead, an attraction so magnetic that she’d almost changed her plans right then and there.
But in the end, she couldn’t do it – she couldn’t submit him to the anguish that churned through her, or the feelings of failure that ate away at her.
So she’d left him, without ever telling him what he meant to her, or how much he’d changed her life. She didn’t deserve what he’d tried to offer her, even if it was the only thing she truly desired.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied, the hand at her shoulder sliding across her neck, prickles of electricity tingling over her scalp as his fingers twined through her hair. “I know this is going to be a tough day for you, and for your folks. I just want to be here for you, as a friend…” He trailed off, leaning forward, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. “…or whatever you want me to be.”
She caught him before he could pull away, savoring the sensation of his mouth against hers, heat and longing and desire crashing through her in copious waves. For a moment, she lost herself, forgetting the reason why she’d returned in the first place, the twists and turns that had brought her to this moment, the fact that she was standing on the crowded platform at the main train station in Tokyo. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself flush against him, and allowed herself to feel, for the first time since she’d left him, something other than conflict and regret.
She loved this – she relished this – and she never wanted this to end.
“Uh, guys?”
From somewhere out in the distance, Akiko’s voice broke through the intensity of the moment. Sango reluctantly broke away, opening her eyes as she turned to face her friend, unwilling to give up the magical moment completely. Her arms remained locked around Miroku’s waist, his hands still warm on her shoulders, and she felt her strength and resolve returning.
“This is great and all,” Akiko smiled, gesturing excitedly at their closeness, “but if we want to make it to court on time, well…we should’ve left five minutes ago.”
Sango sighed. “Okay,” she relented, releasing her hold on him as she spiraled back to reality. She had come back to Tokyo for a reason, after all – and it was finally time to face it, head-on. Five years of nightmares were about to end.
Finally, she was going to see for herself the man responsible for killing her brother and tearing her family apart.
~*~
Tokyo District Court, situated in the heart of downtown, was not generally the center of a raucous sea of humanity – but on that early Friday morning, the building was almost completely mobbed. Karanousuke had whipped up a media frenzy, promising the trial of the century now that a suspect had been arrested in Kohaku’s case and charges were being brought forward in federal court. Sango was unsurprised to see him giving an impromptu press conference on the courthouse steps, so calm and cool under the hot lights and flashing cameras. She tacitly ignored him as she passed him by, even though she knew he’d noticed her.She wanted nothing to do with him or the spectacle he’d made of this entire situation.
Miroku and Akiko shielded her from the paparazzi who lined the front corridor, all clambering for her attention as she fought her way into the crowded courtroom. Her friends were stopped at the door, barred from entering, and that was the only point at which Sango found herself nearly losing it completely.
Until the trial began, at least.
At the first break in the proceedings, Sango burst out of the courtroom, shimmering with anger and rage. She stormed past her friends, not even seeing them, pushing through one of the private exit doors of the building and landing on a little stoop. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with gulps of fresh air, trying to calm herself down.
She had been waiting for this moment for six months. She’d wanted nothing more than the chance to confront the person responsible for her brother’s murder, but she hadn’t really counted on having this reaction. Just one look at the monstrous man charged with the crimes had ripped open the wound; having to sit there and watch him gaze disinterestedly around the room, a little smirk playing on his lips the entire time, as if this whole proceeding wasn’t even worth his time…
Now she knew the sort of white hot fury it took to contemplate taking another human being’s life.
The defendant, Naraku, was one of the leaders of the small but deadly Kyokuto-kai, a yakuza gang that thrived on bloodshed. He had been the mastermind of a far-reaching child abduction ring, kidnapping and smuggling children from the territory of rival gangs to be used as slaves. He wasn’t the one who had actually taken Kohaku that fateful afternoon, and he wasn’t the one who had finally slit his throat and put him out of his tortured misery nearly five years later – and for that reason alone, Sango worried. The man was pure evil made flesh, but it was clear that he rarely sullied his hands with his own dirty work.
The door banged open behind her, but Sango didn’t bother to turn around, still gripping the handrail that lined the little alcove, a quiet exit the media didn’t have access to.
“Sango,” a voice intoned behind her, making her skin crawl.
She turned, staring stonily at her ex-fiancé. “What?” she snarled, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Don’t be upset,” Karanousuke chided, stroking her arms as he gazed at her piteously.
She wrenched away from his hold. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel anymore,” she ground out.
He sighed. “I’m not trying to tell you how to feel,” he murmured, his tone overly patient as his hands came to a stop at her shoulders. “All I’m saying is, don’t let him get to you. We’ve got him – the evidence against him is solid.”
Sango snorted derisively and looked away. “I don’t believe you.”
“I wish you would,” Karanousuke said softly, reaching up to touch her face. “I’ve done all of this for you, for your family – so that you might have closure, knowing that the man who took Kohaku from you would finally face justice.”
Angry tears spilled over Sango’s cheeks. “You didn’t do this for me,” she countered venomously. “You did this for yourself.” She pushed his hands away, leveling a caustic glare at him. “How could you think that this is what I wanted? What my parents wanted? We didn’t ask for this – the media frenzy and the endless questions and conspiracy theories. And for what? So you could make a sensationalistic arrest, parade a big-time yakuza around before your precious TV cameras and newspaper reporters?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t even do it,” she hissed. “The person who killed my brother is going to get away with it, and you’re telling me ‘don’t be upset’?”
Karanousuke took her shoulders once again. “The man who killed your brother is dead,” he said, his tone firm, almost harsh. He didn’t give her the chance to respond before barreling on. “The reason that man is dead is because the man in that courtroom” – he pointed back towards the building – “ordered his killing. Just like he ordered the people who kidnapped your brother to take him.”
His grip on her shoulders tightened. “Just like he ordered them to beat your brother to a bloody pulp on a regular basis, and to slit his throat when he wore out his usefulness,” he finished. “Onigumo Naraku is responsible for Kohaku’s death, just like he’s responsible for countless other deaths, and I’m going to see to it that he pays for his crimes.”
Sango stared into her ex-fiancé’s hardened eyes, and wondered how she could have ever believed herself to be in love with him.
“Is there a problem here?” interrupted a new voice, shattering the tension of the moment.
Sango wrenched away from Karanousuke’s grip once more, shifting to the side and feeling a warm wave of relief wash through her as Miroku appeared in her line of vision. He strolled closer to the pair of them, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jeans, coming to a halt at Sango’s side and gazing trenchantly at Takeda.
Sango watched with no small amount of interest as Karanousuke sized up his rival, remembering all too well how easily he had dismissed his presence in her bed six months ago. Now, as before, he straightened to his full height, looking regal and refined as he adjusted the cufflinks that glittered on the sleeves of his three-piece suit, his expression one of bland disinterest.
“No,” he finally said, directing his answer to Miroku’s question at Sango. “I was merely attempting to comfort my dear Sango, after the troubling testimony we heard in court this morning.”
“That’s not what it looked like to me,” Miroku observed pointedly, rocking back on his heels.
Karanousuke’s eyes widened slightly, his expression frozen for a fleeting moment as he attempted to process this continued unwanted commentary. Very deliberately, he turned, casting his gaze directly at Miroku for the first time. “You obviously know not of what you speak,” he drawled.
Miroku shrugged. “I don’t know about that,” he replied easily. “I’ve kept up with the news. I’ve watched the six-month media bonanza you launched in order to win back your fiancée’s heart.” He paused, meeting Takeda’s gaze directly. “I see how much it’s failed, and how unwilling you are to accept that fact.”
Karanousuke smirked, turning his attention back to Sango. “We will bring Naraku to justice,” he promised her. “We have the evidence to convict him for your brother’s disappearance and death.” His smile turned lofty. “Just be aware of the fact that our prosecutors don’t bring a case before the panel of judges unless they know they can win.”
“Fine,” Sango nodded, her arm brushing against Miroku’s, even as she kept her gaze firmly on her ex. “My family is forever in your debt, Mr. Takeda,” she added evenly, finding and clasping Miroku’s hand, “but I am not the payment for that debt.”
Karanousuke’s eyes drifted downward, his gaze lingering on their joined hands, and for a moment, Sango wondered if he would cry. Instead, he raised his head once more, a defeated smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as his eyes found hers. She looked up at him, waiting, watching for the moment when it finally dawned on him that she was gone – and that, no matter what he did, she was never coming back.
Such understanding never blossomed across his features.
Instead, Karanousuke leaned forward, pressing a feathery-light kiss in the middle of her forehead. “I’ll see you inside,” he said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her brow as he turned away.
Sango watched him retreat, frustration washing through her at his willful ignorance. He’s never going to stop trying, she realized. He’s never going to let go.
“Are you okay?” Miroku murmured, folding her into a warm embrace, resting his head on top of hers.
She curled against him, squeezing her eyes shut as tears trickled from the corners of her eyes once more. “Yes,” she whispered in response, even though she felt anything but.
~*~
She couldn’t sleep.Sango lay still in the darkness of the night, listening idly to the hum of the city at night. She’d lived in Tokyo for three years but had never been aware of the endless sounds that peppered the evening air –traffic rushing by on a nearby street; drunks wandering in the alleyways, fighting over women and booze and drugs; night-shifters forever entering and leaving their buildings of residence and work. Every now and then a plane would circle overhead, its lights flickering beneath the low drone of the engines.
She opened her eyes, glancing around the modest little room as her vision adjusted in the darkness. It was sparsely furnished – a desk, a chair, a TV resting on the top of an ancient-looking bookcase, itself filled to the brim with thick hardback reference books and stacks of secondhand paperbacks. The mattress on which she lay was mere inches from the floor; the blankets that covered her were thin and worn to softness.
It was nothing like the luxurious suite she’d once called home – and yet, it felt more like home than that gilded cage ever had.
She sighed softly, pushing the covers back and sitting up, casting a long look over her shoulder as she did so. Miroku lay in the shadows behind her on the narrow bed, tangled in the sheets and blankets, his body oriented towards her, even as he slept. For a long moment, she simply gazed at him, following the even rise and fall of his chest, allowing her eyes to trace the lines of his features before roving down over territory her hands were already familiar with. She reached out, sweeping her fingers through the hair at his brow, relishing the heat and pleasure that rippled through her at the intimate touch.
She was satisfied, she realized in that moment, but she wasn’t happy.
She turned away, burying her face in her hands as tears welled behind her eyes. So many of the events that had happened that day were supposed to give her a sense of triumph – she’d faced down the man responsible for taking her brother’s life; she’d pulled out of her ex-fiancé’s reach, even flaunting her choice of his rival over him; she’d reunited with her best friend…and Miroku, whom she thought she’d lost forever. These things should’ve rocketed her into the stratosphere, or at least made her feel less broken – but they felt cheap and hollow instead.
What’s wrong with me? Sango asked herself silently, her breath hitching in her chest. Why do I still feel like a failure?
Behind her, Miroku stirred. “Sango,” he murmured, brushing his fingers against her bare hip.
“I can’t sleep,” she choked out, pressing the heels of her hands against her cheekbones, trying valiantly to keep her tears at bay.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly, the sheets rustling as he sat up in bed.
“No,” she returned quietly.
She felt his arms encircle her waist, drawing her close as he leaned forward, the solid wall of his chest warm against her back. He pressed a feathery-light kiss to the nape of her neck before allowing his mouth to trail along the line of her shoulder, each gentle caress of his lips conveying some small measure of comfort. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her skin.
She swallowed hard, lowering her hands from her face. “For what?”
He was silent for a moment, one hand leaving her torso, and she exhaled sharply when she felt his fingers tracing the lines of the star-shaped scar that bloomed across her back. “For everything you’ve been through,” he replied somberly, reverently, “and for everything you’re still going through.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss near the apex of the wound before hugging her close, resting his head on her shoulder. “You didn’t deserve this.”
Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. “What I don’t deserve is you,” she returned in a strangled voice, the raw, aching pain of her guilt overwhelming her, making it very hard for her to breathe, much less speak.
He tightened the brace of his arms around her waist. “Don’t say that,” he chided gently. “Stop punishing yourself for the choices you’ve made – they weren’t all mistakes, were they?”
She laid her arms over his, lacing her fingers through his over her abdomen, concentrating on the sensations of heat and want that swirled just below his intimate touch. “No,” she admitted. “Meeting you was not a mistake…” She trailed off, biting her lips in a vain attempt to stop her chin from quivering. “I just wish it hadn’t happened like this.”
“I’m glad it happened at all,” Miroku informed her. When she glanced back at him, her eyes wide and watery, he smiled. “We can’t change the past – we can only move forward, towards the future.”
She turned to face him fully then, her hands settling at his shoulders as her eyes searched his. “’We’?” she queried carefully, her heart beating painfully in her chest.
His hands drifted up the planes of her back, one cradling gently over her scar while the other continued on, finding her shoulder, her neck, the side of her face. “We,” he repeated solemnly, brushing his thumb along the crest of her cheek. “I love you, Sango.”
Something shifted within her then, two halves of a whole mending together, relieving her heart of its arduous burden. Waves of want and need and desire and love cascaded through her as she stared into his eyes, accepting the plain promise reflected there. “I could never make you happy,” she sighed wistfully, her hands curling around his neck. “I can’t even let myself be happy.”
He drew her closer to him, lifting her hips astride his. “Happiness is just an illusion,” he told her softly, his mouth inching closer to hers. “And I don’t need illusions when reality is so much sweeter.”
-fin-
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