The Opposite Of Attraction – Part Fourteen: The Visitor

 

Sango woke with the dawn the next morning, opening her eyes slowly. Miroku was still asleep close beside her, and she breathed a soft sigh of relief as her eyes drifting across his sleeping features. It gave her time to think and reason things out, something she’d been needing to do an awful lot of lately. Especially after last night... Her cheeks heated up at the thought, and Sango found herself glaring at her sleeping companion.

He looked so innocent now, his eyes closed and his lashes soft against his cheeks, his lips parted sweetly. One arm clutched the pillow his head rested on, his loosened hair stark against the cream-colored pillowcase, and the other held her gently around the waist, hugging her close as he had all through the night. But, his kisses last night had been anything but innocent—and, oh, how he’d kissed her! He had a way of doing that that made her forget who and where she was until all that mattered was the way his lips felt when they were caressing hers.

Perhaps that was what was troubling her the most. Sango had always prided on being a smart, practical girl, and she liked being down-to-earth. If she was going to be in a relationship, she didn’t want it to be based solely on a physical attraction. That would go nowhere, fast. There had to be something more. Maybe that was something of a romantic notion, but at least it wasn’t worldly.

That was also probably the reason why, last night, when Miroku’s had slipped to where it most assuredly did not belong, she came to her senses and pulled away. He got the clue rather quickly after that, apologizing in such a way that she wasn’t quite sure was sincere.

And she’d thought he was a butt man.

But rather than feeling angry with him, it was more herself that Sango was upset with. The only reason that Sango had ever kissed him in the first place was because of the ‘plan’ he had suggested, and since then, she’d become comfortable with him. Too comfortable. When she agreed to his little idea, she had done so under two conditions: first that any kissing or displays of affection would only occur when there was a camera around, and second that she would not have sex with him.

The first rule had been completely broken yesterday, from the moment they had slipped out of the house, but that didn’t matter so much. What concerned Sango was how close she had been to throwing number two out of the window. If she hadn’t pulled away when she did, what position would she be in now?

Oh, Miroku needed to be damned to hell for his sweet kisses and persuasive touches, Sango thought, a frown touching her face. And doubly damned for the way he made her wonder, even now, what may have happened had she not rediscovered her inhibitions...

“Why is a pretty lady like yourself scowling so early in the morning?”

Sango glanced up when she heard Miroku’s slightly teasing voice, still a little groggy with sleep. His eyes were just barely open, a rather content look on his face, as if he were happy to wake up with her in his arms. She gave him a reassuring smile; he didn’t need to worry about her worrying.

“It’s nothing,” she informed him. “I’m just thinking too much.”

He donned an offended expression. “Thinking? This early in the morning? ‘Too much’ is an understatement of the worst kind. Sango, darling, mornings are for...” he trailed off, his brow furrowing slightly. “...Not...thinking...”

Sango couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that, her worries slipping away to the very back of her mind. “Well, then, I promise to never think another thought again. Happy?”

Miroku shook his head fervently. “No, no! That’s not what I said! You can’t give up thinking just as I made a vow to never date brainless bimbos ever again!”

“Is that so?” She replied dryly. “First of all, I said I wouldn’t think, not be brainless. There’s a difference. Secondly, when did you make this so-called vow?”

He shrugged ruefully. “Just now.”

Sango sighed at him, but continued, a hint of red brightening her cheeks. “And whoever said anything about dating anyway?” Miroku’s hand around her waist drew upwards to caress her arm as she spoke, drawing patterns just below her shoulder while his captivating eyes studied her flushed features with unabashed interest.

“I suppose I just did, didn’t I?”

Sango said nothing for a lengthy minute, shifting forward and pressing the side of her face against Miroku’s chest and gripping his shirt lightly with her hands. A million different thoughts raced through her mind. “Miroku,” she finally murmured, “where do you live?”

“Seattle.”

“That’s a long ways away,” she said. He made a sound of vague agreement, moving his head downward to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Don’t worry about it right now. Whatever happens, something will work out,” he reasoned. “I’m kind of sick of all of the coffee up there anyway. I wouldn’t mind moving, if only to cut down on my caffeine addiction.”

Sango laughed, shifting away from him so that she could sit up and stretch—Miroku took the opportunity to admire her discreetly. She didn’t notice. As she finished, her visage took on a more pensive expression. “You know, we’re down to our last three days.”

“Are you going to miss me or the free trip?” Miroku asked, folding his arms behind his head. Sango smirked at him, sliding out of beneath the covers and off of the bed.

“That should be obvious. The trip, of course.” She bent over, starting to shuffle through her things for clean clothes. There wasn’t much to choose from; she definitely needed to do some laundry after she showered.

His voice was chiding when he replied, “Hey, now. It’s not nice to tell lies, you know.”

“Oh?” Sango said over her shoulder, slipping into the bathroom. “Whoever said I was lying?” With that, she pushed the door closed with her foot, laughing to herself as she set down her change of clothes on the counter. She wasn’t laughing for long, though, because the door suddenly opened and Miroku was there, tugging her into his arms. “What’re you doing!” she exclaimed, taken off guard by the unexpected assault, though it was hardly a violent one.

“Taking revenge,” he growled near her ear playfully, his head dipping to kiss the side of her neck in a way that gave her pause. “I do believe you hurt my feelings back there, and I don’t intend to let you get away with that.”

“What if I had been undressing, you jerk?” Sango protested, fruitlessly trying to squirm away from him. “Let go of me!”

“As if I would mind seeing you half-naked?” Miroku teased, lifting his head to give her a lascivious sort of grin. She glared at him, flushing, her hands pressed against his chest in a now half-hearted attempt to make him keep his distance. “As for letting you go... Not until you’ve paid your due.” One hand lifted from her waist to tilt her head to where he wanted it, and Sango used that instant to spin out of his grasp. She immediately placed both hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes at him in the way she usually adopted when she was mad at him.

“What makes you think I’m going to give in to you?” she asked, causing Miroku to laugh and cross his arms over his chest as he leaned against the bathroom counter.

“Simple. You want to. You like it. You can’t resist me.”

Oh, what she wouldn’t give to wipe that smug look off of his face, but the worst part was that it was true. All of it. Her actions last night had proven that tenfold. However, that didn’t mean that she was going to let Miroku win. Instead, Sango donned a thoughtful expression, moving to take a towel and hang it next to the shower. Miroku’s eyes followed her every move as she played his game, carefully and purposefully.

“I don’t know about that,” she finally said, deliberately avoiding his eyes until the right moment. “But... I do know that good things come to those who wait. Don’t you agree, Miroku?”

“Do they?” Miroku replied. Sango didn’t answer, but just stood where she was, smiling, her hands back on her hips. He considered her for a long moment, then chuckled and straightened. “Very well, Sango. I’ll wait.”

He sauntered, unhurried, out of the bathroom, and Sango made sure to lock the door behind him.

She sighed, running a hand over her forehead. That man was going to be the end of her.

-

Miroku was waiting for her when she finally finished her shower. No sooner had she opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom, dirty clothes over an elbow, his arms were around her again, his breath fanning over her lips sensually. “I think I’ve waited long enough, Sango.”

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you that patience is a virtue,” she retorted, her nose wrinkling in annoyance.

“No,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with something more than just amusement. She sighed, but obliged him, leaning up and kissing him warmly. Miroku’s hands trailed down her body, adding a flash of heat to the moment, and Sango pulled away with a shiver and a reprimanding look.

“I hardly think that it was bad enough of a lie to make that necessary,” Sango said, drawing away from him.

“That was for the wait,” he said by way of explanation. Sango felt her neck heating up with embarrassment again, and she pushed him towards the bathroom with her free hand.

“Go take a shower,” she demanded.

“Care to join me?” Miroku’s eyes were daring and half-serious when he asked her.

For a breath of a moment, Sango felt torn, suspended between two desires. On one side was the comfort of her shyness, the rules she laid for herself and the distance she kept in situations like these. On the other was the curiosity and desire that Miroku had sparked to life that was utterly addicted to his touch, his taste, his way of making her feel. But then common sense kicked in, and Sango rolled her eyes at her companion.

“I’m already clean,” she said simply, reminding herself fiercely that there really was no justifiable reason for even considering taking him up on his offer...even if he did have a toned, athletic body. Down, hormones, down!

Miroku smiled, clearly not put off by her evasive refusal. “I don’t think clean or dirty has anything to do with it, Sango.”

She scowled at him for that, though the dirty look was somewhat diminished by the pink glow of her cheeks. “Go take a shower,” she repeated, “and make sure you pick your mind up out of the gutter and give it a good scrub while you’re at it.”

Miroku laughed and bowed low jokingly. “As you wish, though I don’t see how it will do any good.”

And then the door shut behind him.

Mostly exasperated and a little bit frustrated (mostly with herself), Sango tossed her dirty pajamas to the floor and upending the hamper where she’d been tossing all of her worn clothing, starting to sort them by color.

It really wasn’t right, the way he made her doubt and second-guess herself. So much for drawing lines and making boundaries. They meant nothing to Miroku. If he wanted something, all he had to do was sweep in and give her a look and a smile and all of her protests would somehow be forgotten until the moment he was gone. Or until he groped her; that always served to help her remember that she was a respectable young woman who wasn’t going to let any man, no matter how handsome or suave, run in circles around her.

If only she could keep that mindset when he kissed her.

Sango pressed a hand to her temple wearily. “Three more days, Sango. Three. And then he’ll be much easier to resist because he’ll be a thousand miles away. Unless...”

Unless, what? It wasn’t like they were going to move in together. Even the idea of dating him was unlikely...

Or was it?

Truly growing annoyed with her thoughts now, Sango shoved the topic out of mind, dumping one of the piles of sorted clothes into the hamper just as she heard the shower shut off. It was best that she got out of the room and got her laundry started—before Miroku waltzed out of the bathroom in the buff, or something equally ridiculous. Pervert.

Lifting the laundry basket easily, Sango headed downstairs, but as she descended into the living room, she noticed something seemed a little off. Several cameramen were loitering around, but that wasn’t what was strange. There was someone else there too.

A young woman was seated on the couch, flipping through a popular fashion magazine on her lap. She was petite and pretty, her long brown hair swept over one shoulder so that it didn’t hang in her eyes as she read the magazine and parted so her bangs slanted mostly over the right side of her face. She looked up as the cameramen sprung into a flurry of movement upon seeing Sango. A faint, polite smile crossed her mouth and she set aside the periodical, smoothing the wrinkles out of her patterned yellow sundress.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sango wondered what was being thrown at them now.

“Um, hi,” she finally said, adjusting the basket of clothes against her hip.

“Hello,” the woman replied. “You’re Sango, I’m assuming?”

“Yes. I don’t believe we’ve met?”

“Oh! I’m sorry.” She blushed prettily, quickly standing up and approaching Sango, offering her hand for a shake, which Sango accepted politely. “My name is Shima. I’m Miroku’s fiancée.”

Sango froze.

‘Fiancée?’

Shima continued as if she hadn’t said anything worth worrying about, which from her stance, she probably hadn’t. “Do you know where he is? I haven’t seen him for quite a while!”

Sango mentally shook herself, trying to ignore the sick feeling that had suddenly gripped her stomach. How could he have neglected to tell her about a... a fiancée? He... He... He couldn’t be, could he? Suddenly, all of the suspicions she’d had, the wondering whether or not he was hiding something rushed back to Sango, and she just stood there, unable to move.

Shima was looking at her strangely. “Um, are you alright?” she asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

Sango snapped out of her trance suddenly, flushing darkly. “I—I’m sorry. He’s upstairs. I’ll...go let him know you’re here.” The visitor beamed at her, but Sango didn’t wait to hear her thanks, swiftly turning and heading back up the stairs, suddenly feeling quite indignant and not just a little angry.

‘How dare he?’

She practically shoved the bedroom door open, earning a surprised looking from Miroku as he shrugged on his shirt. He seemed to notice that she was upset, probably due to the look on her face. “What’s the matter?” he asked, watching her as he began to idly button up his shirt.

Sango dropped the clothesbasket onto the bed, a frown growing apparent on her lips. “Nothing’s the matter,” she lied. “You have a visitor.”

His fingers hesitated at the next button, almost imperceptibly, and then continued as if she hadn’t said anything to give him pause. “Oh really? What sort of visitor?”

“She said her name is Shima,” Sango said bitingly. “Your fiancée.”

Miroku blanched. “What?”

Sango glared at him, her lips pressed together thinly, and he struggled to gather his thoughts after being struck with that line.

“Shima... is not my fiancée,” he finally said, finishing off the last button. “She was once, but not for a long time.”

Her look softened a bit, growing more confused but still doubtful. “You sure about that? She seemed pretty convinced otherwise.”

“Very sure.” Miroku crossed the room to stand by Sango’s side, reaching forward and resting both hands on her shoulders reassuringly. He could tell by the way she looked at him that she remained unconvinced, but he knew better than to push it, instead donning an easy smile for her. “Trust me, Shima tends to...exaggerate a little sometimes, which is why the relationship ended in the first place. And, well, I probably didn’t end it the smart way either.” His grin grew a tad more sardonic. “In fact, a lot of it was pretty stupid.”

“So, what you’re saying is that it’s all in the past?” Sango inquired. It was obvious by the frown on her face that she was still uncomfortable and displeased with the situation.

“Yes,” he replied, unflinchingly. “It’s just the past. Now, come on. Better get downstairs before she thinks we’re avoiding her.”

“Alright,” Sango said, even though it really wasn’t.

-

Miroku greeted Shima more warmly than Sango expected him to, with an embrace and an inquiry as to how she was. Shima seemed utterly delighted to see him and receive his attention, and even went so far as to lean up as if to kiss him. At that moment, Sango felt a stab of something uncannily similar to jealousy jolt through her, but Miroku tilted his head towards her just in time, gently distancing himself from his ex-fiancée in such a way that it could be assumed he hadn’t noticed Shima’s intent at all. His eyes met Sango’s shortly, just long enough for her to realize that he was trying to reassure her, before he donned an easy-going grin and launched into what she somehow recognized as a deft act.

“Ah, Shima, have you met Sango yet? She’s my co-star on this wonderful set, if I dare to be so bold as to call it that?” he queried, beckoning her closer. Sango had been intending to hang back, to merely watch and be politely quiet, but she didn’t resist and came to stand by Miroku’s side. To say that she wasn’t surprised when she felt his hand slide around her back, his fingers splaying several inches above her hips, would be a lie, and she shot him a look. He ignored it as if he’d done nothing at all.

What was he up to?

Shima noticed though. Her eyes flicked downwards, but the happy expression didn’t falter as she nodded. “Yes, I just did right before she went up to get you.”

“Wonderful. Saves me the trouble of introducing you two then,” Miroku joked with a wink, causing Shima to titter as Sango forced a weak grin. She really didn’t like this. “Say, have you had any breakfast yet? I can’t speak for Sango, but I’m starving.”

“Oh, I can’t say I’m very hungry, but...if you had any coffee?” Shima asked, a forefinger pressed to her lips, the picture of shyness.

Sango spotted an escape from the undeniably awkward moment and jumped at the chance for it. “Why don’t you two go sit down and catch up a little,” she suggested, shifting away from Miroku, “and I’ll go pour the coffee and make some breakfast. What would you like, Miroku? A bagel, or something?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her questioningly, like he hadn’t expected her to leap into action, but he didn’t question her. “That’d be great, Sango.”

She nodded and turned to Shima. “How do you like your coffee, then?”

“Just straight black is fine,” the visitor replied, looking pleased that she’d get some alone time with Miroku. She nodded, and slipped past them both towards the kitchen. There was a part of Sango that wanted to stick around and prevent that, both out of a morbid curiosity to know just how much in the past their relationship was and out of a teeny bit of jealousy that just wouldn’t be denied. At the same time, the awkwardness of the situation was getting to her, and busying herself would be a nice distraction.

She wasn’t expecting them to follow her into the kitchen.

“So, Shima, what have you been doing since the last time I saw you?” she heard

“Oh, nothing much. Lots of travelling, of course, and I got my diploma. I’ll be starting at Stanford next month.”

‘Diploma?’ Sango thought in surprise as she pulled a bagel out of the fridge—maybe onion would deter Shima from trying to kiss him again. ‘Miroku’s twenty-four. She’s...young. How long ago were they engaged?’ She frowned, listening absently as they discussed which classes Shima was to take while she popped the onion bagel into the toaster and poured the coffee. When both cups were full and the pastry smeared with cream-cheese, she headed over to the island counter where Miroku and Shima sat.

Sango set the two coffee cups down, pushing each towards its intended drinker, followed by the bagel for Miroku. “There you go. I’ll just—”

Suddenly, she felt an arm wind around her waist, much as one had a short while before, and Miroku pulled her towards him until her hip was against his side, grinning the whole time. “Are you going to get a cup coffee for yourself and join us, Sango? Your company would be wonderful. You can sit right here, on my lap. There’s plenty of room.”

Sango’s eyebrows drew together, and she opened her mouth to reject his suggestion when she felt his hand move down, down, until it had found its way to a certain place on her anatomy where it most definitely did not belong. She blushed, scowled, and hit him hard enough that he had to let go of her and grab the counter to stop himself from falling backwards onto the tile.

“You pervert! Can’t you keep your hands to yourself for once?” she scolding, forgetting that they had an audience. “One of these days, you’re going to lose that hand and live the rest of your life as an amputee, Miroku!”

Shima watched silently, a slender eyebrow raised as she sipped her coffee.

Miroku rubbed his abused cheek morosely. “But, Sango, I can’t help it! It’s a curse. I’m simply unable to resist beautiful women, and you’re simply the fairest of them all.” Sango threw her hands up in the air, exasperated, before turning on her heel and storming out of the kitchen, nearly bowling over a cameraman as she went. He managed to dodge just in time, then scurried after her, camera rolling. Miroku blinked, and called after her, “Hey! Sango, where are you going?”

She hardly paused, yelling back over her shoulder, “I’m going to finish my laundry. Why don’t you entertain your guest, Miroku!” Apparently, this appeased him, because he didn’t yell back, and Sango continued into the living room and up the stairs. When she reached the bedroom, she bypassed her laundry, instead dropping backwards onto the bed.

What was wrong with him? Groping her was bad enough, but to do so in front of an ex-girlfriend of his, an ex-fiancée... That was just humiliating. If he wanted to demonstrate through body language to Shima that he wasn’t interested in a relationship anymore, that was fine, but there were certain boundaries, and he’d crossed one.

Oh well. She’d berate him later, after Shima had left. That is, unless she was planning to spend the day there. That would make for an utterly miserable day.

Sango brushed that thought aside, sitting up. She needed to be more positive about this, and, in all honesty, she should have expected something like this to happen. After all, she was on a reality show, and such programs were experts in causing tension between participants—in this case, her and Miroku.

‘I’m playing into their game,’ she suddenly realized. ‘This is how Kikyou and all of the other people running this thing want me to act, now that Shima’s here. I need just relax and trust Miroku instead of being suspicious and jealous. He’s probably just as thrown by this as I am.’ She repeated that thought to herself, analyzing it. Feeling inexplicably better, and certainly less negative, she stood up and grabbed her laundry.

She was almost smiling as she carried the basket back downstairs, and judging by the odd look the cameraman was giving her, the change in mood was apparent. However, as she drew closer to the kitchen (the laundry room was just past it) Sango paused.

It sounded like Miroku and Shima were arguing. They were doing so quietly, but, guessing by the tones of their voices, it was obvious that something was up.

Curious, Sango lifted a finger to her lips to warn the cameraman to be quiet, and she slipped closer to the kitchen doorway, careful to keep out of sight, stopping when she was close enough to hear clearly. Sure, it was bad to eavesdrop, but...

All reasons to justify spying soon left her mind as the reason for their disagreement became apparent.

Sango’s blood suddenly ran cold.

‘It can’t be true...’

Fingers shaking and her heart in her throat, Sango turned and raced back the way she came.

-

“I’m going to finish my laundry. Why don’t you entertain your guest, Miroku!” Sango yelled, causing Miroku to flinch at the biting undertone in her voice. He’d seemingly hit a nerve. Ah, well, he’d talk with her later, and she’d hopefully understand.

It was quiet.

“It seems that you two are rather close,” Shima said lightly after several long minutes, smiling down at her coffee.

Miroku shot her a sharp look, the shadow of a frown growing on his face for the first time since she had arrived. She looked much the same as he remembered her, save that her hair was longer and her features more mature, plus the fact that she was finally the age she’d claimed to be when he’d met her three years ago.

“Why are you here, Shima?” he asked bluntly, his voice void of any inflection. The look of displeasure he’d donned more than made up for it. Though he had thus far acted otherwise, he wasn’t happy to see her. Another time, another place, he could have dealt with it much differently, but Sango...

“I’m here to see you,” Shima said, glancing up at him. “You said that you’d come back when age wasn’t an issue for us anymore, and when you didn’t, I decided to come looking for you.”

Miroku looked away, a stab of guilt worming its way into his conscience. He had told her that, and she’d been gullible enough to believe him. Sighing, he took a draft of his coffee, draining the cup all at once. “That doesn’t explain how you got here, Shima.”

“That’s simple,” she replied, tilting her head so that her hair fell away from her eyes. “I found out that you’d been accepted onto this...show...I then contacted Ms. Kuyamu and she agreed to let me come here if circumstances allowed it.”

He looked up at her sharply when she mentioned Kikyou. “Circumstances? What circumstances?” At this, she seemed to falter, and it was her turn to turn away. “Shima...” Miroku said, staring at her warily. “How much do you know about this show?”

Shima shifted in her seat, gazing down at her hands. “Enough. More than you’d probably want me to.”

Miroku’s eyes flashed darkly. “Shima, what exactly do you know? Tell me.”

Shima sighed, finally meeting his eyes again. “Fine. I know why you’re here,” she said, her soft voice taking on a hard note. “You’re here because you were hired to test your acting skills and your ability to charm.” The word was spoken bitingly, as if the very idea disgusted her and stung her at the same time. “I know you’re here because you’re in debt, due to hefty student loans and a nasty gambling habit you picked up for about a year in college. They offered you half a million dollars if you managed to seduce her—Sango—without her finding out first.”

She was flushed as she said this, not out of embarrassment, but anger. Miroku sat silently, mouth drawn into a thin line and as still as death. “As for Ms. Kuyamu’s requirement,” Shima continued, “her requirement was that you had to ‘win her over’ first, before I got to see you. And you did. Congratulations, Miroku. You won five hundred thousand bucks.”

She glared at him as if daring him to deny it, however, Miroku was too perplexed to say anything quite yet. They thought that he had actually...? No, Sango had stopped it much too soon for anything they’d done to be easily misconstrued as having had sex. Unless Shima was lying, of course, or someone higher up the chain had screwed up the hidden cameras somehow. If that were the case, it was entirely plausible that Kikyou could have sent Shima to (unwittingly) unveil the truth. And if she didn’t truly know...

He wouldn’t have to betray Sango.

Miroku stood up, taking his cup with him. He went to the pot, refilling it, then spoke. “So, then, what do you intend to do? Do you want to tell Sango the truth about me so that you can steal me away?”

“Of course not!” Shima cried, truly upset now. “If I’d wanted to do that, I could have done it already, before you even came downstairs. I don’t want to be the one to have to tell that poor girl that you’ve been trying to seduce her for money, Miroku. Money!” She sounded close to tears now.

“What, then?” Miroku asked wearily. He knew what he’d tried to do it for, but that didn’t lessen the guilt that had been growing inside of him any, and Shima reminding him of it didn’t help at all. It was so tangible that he felt like he could almost hold it in his hand, and he almost wished that a void would open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. What had he been thinking?

“My feelings for you...they’re unrequited, aren’t they?” Shima asked waveringly. When Miroku didn’t respond, she took a shaky breath. “Did you ever return them?

Miroku shrugged, setting aside his coffee. He wasn’t thirsty anymore. He braced himself against the counter, staring out of the window. “I liked you. You’re a sweet girl, Shima, but I never wanted to get married to you. I was drunk when I asked you. When I found out that you’d lied about your age, I had already begun to try and figure out how to end it with you, and it just worked as a good excuse. I didn’t expect you to actually wait for me.”

“So you lied,” she surmised sadly. He nodded absently, although he wasn’t looking at her. “I figured as much, when I didn’t hear from you. You didn’t even sneak a visit in three whole years. I was just clinging to a false hope.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes briefly. She smiled, though it didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Me too.” Shima hesitated before asking, “Are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know,” Miroku admitted. “I should, but I’ve never been good at confessing to my own mistakes.”

“She’ll resent you,” she told him, a note of bitterness underlying her tone.

“Probably. But, it’s inevitable that she’s going to find out sooner or later, isn’t it? I suppose I owe her the truth, instead of making her wait for Kikyou to tell her. If she hates me for it...I’d deserve it for being such an asshole, wouldn’t I?”

Shima rose from her seat, crossing the kitchen to the sink and depositing her mug there. “I think it’s time for me to go,” she murmured. “It was...it was good to see you again, Miroku.”

“It was good to see you too, Shima.” He paused. “I’m sorry it couldn’t have been different.”

“If you’re smart, you’ll make sure that it is for her,” she warned, more kindly than he deserved. “And I know you’re a smart man, Miroku, if only you’d stop being stupid.” He grinned sheepishly, and Shima returned it, patting him on the shoulder gently. “Goodbye, Miroku. Don’t screw it up.” He nodded, and she turned, picked up her purse, and left the room without a backward glance. A moment later, Miroku heard the front door open and shut.

Sango.

He had meant it when he’d said he owed her the truth. And he would. He needed to figure out a way to get them away from the cameras again and then... Then, he’d tell her, even if she’d hate him for it. His stomach turned at the thought, but Sango deserved his honesty. She was too special to him to be taken for a ride any longer.

She wasn’t Shima.

Miroku ran a hand through his hair, before straightening resolutely.

He knew what he had to do.

He took a deep breath and headed out of the kitchen. He checked the laundry room first, but there was strangely no sign of Sango there. The next likely place was the bedroom, so that was where he went, taking the steps two at a time. The door to the room was ajar when he arrived, and he could see Sango through the gap, her back to him. He pushed it open farther, putting on his best smile.

“Hey, Sango, Shima just left. I was thinking...” he trailed off as he approached her, catching a glance at what she was doing. She was folding clothes, clothes he knew she hadn’t washed yet, and shoving them into her open “Sango? What’s going on?”

Miroku reached out to touch her shoulder, but no sooner had his fingers brushed her skin, Sango had spun around, striking him across the cheek so hard that he saw stars.

“Don’t touch me, you bastard,” she hissed, her eyes blazing with anger.

Miroku swallowed, his blood running cold and the pain on his face all but forgotten. “Sango, what’s wrong?”

She lifted her hand as if to slap him again, causing him to flinch back a little, but then seemed to think better of it and turned back to the bed, stuffing more clothes into her suitcase. “What do you think is wrong?” she snapped, visibly shaking with fury.

“Sango...”

“I heard you,” she interrupted, her head whipping around so that she could glare at him. There were tears in her eyes. “You and Shima, every word of it. You—you used me, Miroku!”

‘Fuck.’ Miroku felt panic suddenly grip him. She wasn’t supposed to know yet! “Please, let me explain—”

“No!” Sango growled. “Don’t you dare try to talk your way out of this, Miroku. I don’t want to hear it. There’s no way that this can work, now, not ever, not when this is what you were after all along. I was a fool to think that I could trust you. To think that I...I—” her voice broke, and she grabbed the last few items on the bed and shoved them into a side pocket of her luggage, zipping it closed with a vengeance.

“Please, Sango, let me at least...” She was already shaking her head, and he faltered, his hands raised in supplication.

“No, Miroku, no. I can’t. I have to go. I’m leaving. Please don’t try to stop me. A taxi is already on its way. You can have your money, but I don’t want anything more to do with this, or with you.” The tears were flowing freely from her wounded eyes now, and Miroku felt a lump grow in his throat. There was nothing that he could say, and even if there were, they wouldn’t mean a thing.

He’d screwed everything up.

The distant sound of a car horn reached their ears; the taxi had arrived. Sango grabbed her things quickly, avoiding his eyes. Miroku stood frozen, watching her brokenly. He tried again. “Sango...”

She paused as she passed him, her eyes shining with a mixture of sadness and anger. “I’m sorry you couldn’t be a better man, Miroku. Goodbye.”

And then she left, out of the bedroom and down the stairs and through the door.

Gone.

He swallowed thickly, numbly.

“Me too,” he whispered to the empty room.

-

Author's Note: I am disgustingly proud of this chapter. I've been waiting to write this for two years now. Two. And it's all thanks to PoF, who was kind enough to help me figure out what Miroku's secret was way back when this was just an idea. (So flame her, not me? No, just kidding.) And, as a side note, this chapter hasn't been beta'ed yet. I just couldn't wait to show it off. :D

Also, for those of you with LJ, anyone who is interested in my writing (or that of several other MirSan authors involved) should join the the-chasms community. All story bits and teasers, etc, are friends-locked, so you must be a member to see them. Story status updates will also be posted. The link is on my profile.

Anyway. I'm dying to know what everyone thinks. Tell me?