The Weight of Gentle Things by Midnight Song

Fuji to Sumire

Part Two: 

March 22

Kagome hesitated outside of Shirohana, the strings of a gift bag handle clutched loosely between her fingers. 

Like Sakihana, Sesshoumaru’s izakaya sat on a corner lot. His architecture leaned into the traditional Japanese aesthetic. In place of windows, shoji screens lined the outer walls. Kawara gleamed like ebony under the late afternoon sun, each tile laid with meticulous care. Hand-carved onigawara capped every row of tiles that hung over the edge—every circle piece a monstrous depiction of an oni. Round chochin lanterns dangled from the eaves, swaying lightly with the passing breeze.

On closer inspection, the shoji screens she’d thought to be lined with simple washi paper now glittered under the afternoon sun with delicate, white line art—a group of massive inuyoukai raced through the clouds, inked so subtly they only appeared when the sunlight danced across it just so. 

A narrow engawa wrapped around the corner of the building, and just in front of it a small water feature gurgled and bubbled. Live fish swam amidst natural stones, aquatic plants, and small decorative figurines. Several tiny signs lay embedded into the wood every few meters. They read: “Refrain from feeding the fish.” 

The sun bore down overhead, unseasonably warm for late March. A bead of sweat slid down between her shoulder blades. She’d grabbed a jacket out of habit, but paired with her fluffy sweater it proved to be too much. But she hadn’t taken off the jacket yet. Instead, she’d practiced girding her loins to face Sesshoumaru. 

Since the scene at the Shrine, when her neighbors had all but imposed their help, he’d made near daily appearances in her and Sōta’s life. True to his word, he’d brought them meals, given them both short lessons on general money management, helped her study for her exams, worked with the repairmen on both the roof and the washing machine, and even gone so far as to bring them groceries a few times. 

She’d told herself a dozen times she could ask him for help—he’d told her a dozen times as well—but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. He somehow just always appeared miraculously when she needed him. 

Until now. 

Taking a deep breath, she stepped up onto the engawa and went inside. Where the kitchen had been all stainless steel and sharp edges, the dining room hummed with elegant, quiet warmth. The same warm cedar of the engawa flowed into the bar area. A low built-in shelf acted as a barricade between the bar and the dining room. A few pairs of shoes lined the shelves, and on top of the shelf sat several boxes of complimentary, individually packaged pairs of socks and slippers. 

Tatami covered the whole floor in the dining room, cut into small, precise squares. Twelve four-top tables squatted low to the floor. In front of each, four satin, magenta cushions lay waiting. On every table, delicately carved hashioki cradled long, gleaming chopsticks, handsomely carved wooden oshibori trays waited for hand towels, a lovely, lacquered dish showcased three small ceramic pots—possibly soy sauce and extra spices—and a discreet wooden box concealed toothpicks. At a table in the back, a server sat polishing more of those long chopsticks and wrapping the ends in paper. Above the tables, large, square lanterns dangled—unlit now, as late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the shoji screens. 

“You’re early.” 

Kagome drew her gaze reluctantly from the dining room to look at Sesshoumaru. “Did you design this place?” 

He dried his hands on a stark white kitchen towel before refolding it and tucking it neatly back over the apron strings tied around his waist. “Yes. The design is perhaps more sophisticated than an izakaya requires.” 

She smiled, turning back to the dining room. “It’s lovely.” 

He nodded once in thanks, then to the bag she held behind her. “You purchased a gift.” 

She swallowed and looked back at him. “For you. It’s a thanks, for everything you’ve done recently. I don’t know how I would have managed without you.” Closing the distance between them, she held out the gift bag to him with both hands. 

He stared at the bag then glanced up at her with an unreadable gaze. “Providing advice and help is merely a duty paid to all pack members. Thanks is greatly unnecessary. 

The woven strings of the bag crinkled beneath her nervous fingers. Her arms, growing tired from holding it out so long, sagged an inch. “You won’t take it?” she asked, the words softer than she’d meant them to be. Her arms drooped another inch. 

The sounds from the kitchen behind him filled the silence between them as she stared at him, and he stared at the gift. A knife chopping, water running, a quiet voice giving orders. When he finally lifted his gaze, his eyes searched hers in the pale afternoon sunlight drifting in through the shoji screens. Then he held out his hands. “I will.” 

She could breathe again. Biting her lip, she passed the bag to him. Kagome couldn’t think of a moment where someone had ever hesitated to accept a gift from her—but she should have known Sesshoumaru would not react like everyone else. “Did I break some rule about youkai etiquette?” she asked, clasping her hands together in front of her after he had taken it. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, nervous energy surging through her like a flood.

 “No, Miko. You did not.” He set the gift down on the bar but didn’t open it. “Your message this morning said you have something you wish to discuss with me.” 

If disappointment and confusion roiled in her stomach, she hid it with a forced chuckle and shrugged her backpack off. “Right. I almost forgot.” Stepping up next to him, she set her bag on a stool and unzipped the main pocket. Reaching in, she withdrew two pieces of paper. One paper lay flat and crisply folded, the other crinkled around the edges. She handed him the crumpled one first and bit her lip again. “Sōta gave this to me yesterday. He has to get new uniforms made. I was hoping maybe you could go with him. He likes you. He’ll listen to your advice.” 

Sesshoumaru took in the crumpled edges of the paper, a fold across one corner, and raised a brow as he shifted his gaze to the crisp, clean one she still held. “You wish me to accompany him.” A statement, not a question. 

“If you have time?” She hoped he wouldn’t say ‘no’, but he probably had a ton---

“I will make the arrangements. Tomorrow morning. Half past nine.” 

Relief drained the remaining tension out of her shoulders, and she beamed up at him. “Thank you. I really think he’ll be more comfortable with you going. It can be like…a man-to-man thing.”

He raised one silver brow. “A man-to-man thing?” 

“Well, you know—” Flustered, she gestured wildly, the remaining paper in her hand flapping back and forth before it slipped out from between her fingers and fluttered towards the floor. “Maybe the tailor will ask him to…undress or something, or ask my opinion on what looks good on him. I’m his sister. I doubt he wants me involved in any of that,” she added as she grabbed for the paper. 

He plucked it out of the air before she could. “You are rambling.” 

Groaning, she patted her cheeks and puffed out a long breath. “You make me nervous. Asking you for help makes me nervous.”

He smirked as he turned the paper over in his hands. “Had I known such a simple thing would fluster you, I might have tried that 500 years ago instead of dousing you with acid.” 

The hint of humor settled low in her belly and flushed the tips of her ears with color. Had she ever seen him smile before? Not a smirk, like this—but a real smile that reached his eyes? Desperate for a distraction, she pointed at the second paper he now held. “My make-up exam scores and school ranking,” she blurted. “I wanted to show you.” 

Sesshoumaru raised one brow but only unfolded the paper and studied her marks. “You placed 3rd?” 

Brushing her hair back behind her ear, she nodded. “I did.” 

“That is impressive, Miko.” He folded the paper and set it down on the bar next to his gift. “What reward would you like?” 

She blinked up at him owlishly as her heart thudded hard against her chest. “Reward?” 

He nodded.  

Foolishly pleased, she looked at the now-empty dining room. When had the server slipped away? “Dinner. With you.” 

Sesshoumaru stared at her. “I have eaten many meals with you already. You do not wish for something more unique?” 

Kagome shook her head and shoved her hands into her pockets. “No. Help is different. Pack is different.” The words came out before she could stop them, but she didn’t take them back. Instead, she swallowed hard and forced herself to meet his silent, curious gaze. “I want a lunch with you that isn’t about helping or taking care, or the world we left behind in the past. I want to laugh and eat and talk about you.”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer—only studied her with that gold, assessing gaze of his. The silence danced between them, thick with unspoken weight until he nodded again. “Very well.” 

“Really?” she gasped, surprise and pleasure softening her features as she smiled up at him and clapped her hands together excitedly. Her stomach chose that moment to protest loudly. 

Another smirk, then he said, “You have earned it, and your stomach has made its demands clear. Choose a seat. I will return shortly.” 

She nodded and peeked into the dining room. “Take your time,” she said. He nodded and turned to enter the kitchen, so she slid her sneakers off and set them neatly on the shelf. Stepping onto the lovely, sturdy tatami, she considered the layout of the room and chose a table in the back corner.

Content with the silence and the place, Kagome didn’t bother with her phone or her bag. Both remained on the bar. She sank onto one of the pretty magenta cushions and tucked her legs neatly beneath her. After she removed the paper binding on the tips of her chopsticks, Kagome placed them back on the hashioki but stopped as the design—carved into jade—drew a second look. Setting aside the chopsticks, she picked up the small rest for them and traced her fingers over the fine lines of a fox. Hand-carved, warm, heavy—smaller than her pinky finger. 

Biting her lip, she set it down carefully and replaced her chopsticks. It didn’t mean anything, she told herself. Just another elegant decoration that suited him. But her gaze dipped back down to the hashioki more than a few times as she waited for Sesshoumaru. 

A server stepped through the noren from the kitchen, pushing aside the fabric with a practiced hand as he stepped up to the bar with a tray. She watched as Sesshoumaru—barely visible between the server, the small serving window, and the other staff bustling around him—set plate after plate on the counter from inside the kitchen, and the server took each one for his tray. His pale indigo, short-sleeved yukata-style top gleamed under the lights as they flickered on. The slate-gray slacks and black zori perfectly complemented the indigo. From the back, a thick band of black wrapped around his waist—an obi, but also an apron, visible only after he hefted his tray and started towards her. 

He brought the food and knelt next to the table, balancing the tray perfectly on one arm as he laid the dishes out before her with the other. He worked efficiently and quickly, taking only seconds to set everything down before he stood with a quiet, ‘Enjoy, Miko-sama,’ and left as quietly as he had come. 

Kagome stared down at the food. If anyone had asked her, she couldn’t have named a single dish beyond the proteins—something with wagyu, a bit of fish, a glossy egg custard—but it smelled divine. Her mouth watered. Sesshoumaru had cooked for her several times in the past few weeks—but that had been comfort, family, pack. This was not that. 

The noren shifted again and Sesshoumaru stepped through this time. He still bore his chef’s uniform, but the apron and hand towel had been left behind. She watched as he slipped off his kitchen shoes before he joined her. As he sat, she nodded at the food. “This is…you can cook.”

Sesshoumaru’s lips curved just slightly at the corner. “Did you forget already?” 

She puffed out a breath and stared down at the dishes laid between them. “Of course not, but this is different. You haven’t cooked this kind of thing for me before.” 

He picked up his chopsticks and removed the paper binding on the tip. “You needed comfort then. You do not need that today.” 

Kagome swallowed and watched as he used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of paper-thin wagyu and lay it delicately on her plate. “What do I need today?” 

He paused at her quiet question. Withdrawing his arm, he answered. “To eat, before it grows cold,” he said, deadpan. 

For a moment, silence reigned as they stared at each other—before Kagome huffed out a laugh and picked up her chopsticks. She could push. He would let her. But she let it go and picked up the piece of wagyu he’d placed on her plate instead. “You haven’t changed at all,” she said lightly, and ate the first bite. 

The moan rippled through her without thought as her eyes slid closed and her tongue exploded with flavor. Delightfully cool on this unseasonably warm spring day, the perfectly seared beef melted in her mouth as a dressing added a touch of umami she never would have considered. “What is this?” she demanded as she savored it, still not looking at him. 

Sesshoumaru kept his eyes firmly focused on the food the moment that sound left her throat. “Seared, chilled wagyu drizzled with umeboshi vinaigrette. Garnished with perilla leaf.” 

Her eyes slid open, and she pointed an accusatory finger at him, lips pursed. “You can cook. Like…not just basic stuff like miso, but really. You’re a chef.”

He raised a brow and slid a small, lacquered bowl towards her. “I believe we have had this conversation at least three times now. Try this.” 

Kagome set down her chopsticks and picked up a spoon. “I know, but it never really hit home,” she muttered, and scooped up a small bite of the pale yellow something—thicker than soup, smoother than mash. Like a mix between mashed potatoes and custard. The moment it hit her tongue, her shoulders sagged. Sweet, but not sugary. Citrus. Warm spice. “Gods. What is this one?” she asked as she went for a second bite.

Another one of those small smirks teased at the corners of his lips. “Chilled kabocha squash puree with a touch of yuzu and ginger oil.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and barely refrained from licking her spoon clean. “This is cheating. I don’t even like squash.” 

“You simply have not experienced it prepared well.” 

“I’m getting that.” Pursing her lips again, she looked down at all the food and chose what looked like a mini vegetable pancake.  “Where did you learn to cook like this, anyway? I can’t imagine you cooking your own meals back in the feudal era.” 

The same server who had delivered the food interrupted silently. He set an ivory teapot to the side of all the food and matching small cups in front of them. 

After he left, Sesshoumaru picked up the tea and poured for her and then himself. “That is a cabbage pancake, made with dried sakura shrimp, bonito flakes, and a drizzle of house-made yamaimo sauce.” Only after she’d taken another bite did he answer her question. “Times have changed. Little room exists for warlords, battles, or bloodshed. The youkai councils formed, and youkai made use of glamours and wards to protect themselves and their lands. Without battles to be fought or monsters to slay or enemies to hunt, time stretched ahead—an endless ocean of time. I have learned many skills since then. Cooking is…a recent acquisition.” 

The cabbage pancake—savory, a little salty, the delicate taste of the sea—went down fast. “So you’ve tried other careers?” He nudged another plate towards her—charcoal grilled, white miso glazed asparagus, topped with toasted sesame seeds and slivered ginger. Another burst of divine flavor for her taste buds.

“Hn. Teaching. Espionage. Construction. Propulsion. Aerospace engineering. Finance. Medicine.” He lifted one shoulder in an unbothered shrug. “I am young, by youkai standards. There has been time to study a great many topics. Try the egg custard.” 

Kagome blinked. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Did you just say aerospace engineering?”

“I did.” 

Nothing else, just that unassuming confirmation. She stared at him, dumbfounded, a spoon full of the eggy custard halfway to her mouth. “You…you were a rocket scientist?” 

“I studied the field,” he said and took a sip of tea. “I declined several offers to train and partake in space missions.” 

Still gaping, she lowered her spoon as the full extent of his long life washed over her. Three years for her—five centuries for him. “Was it lonely?” she blurted, her grip on the spoon tightening so much some of the egg custard dribbled back into the bowl. 

Sesshoumaru lifted his eyes to hers. For the second time that afternoon, only the sound of the kitchen swayed with the silence dancing between them. Then, “At times,” before he took a bite.

His words rang with quiet honesty—or maybe it was the way his face softened at her question, at his answer. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and spooned up the bite of egg custard so she didn’t say anything else. 

“Do not be. Loneliness is perhaps the cost of power and longevity.” He set down his cup and nodded at her bowl. “Steamed egg custard with soy milk, topped with uni and salmon roe.” 

On a different day, his answer might have brought tears to her eyes. “It’s so yummy,” she murmured instead and spooned up another bite. “It suits you. The cooking, I mean.” 

 Sesshoumaru lifted one brow as he served her a piece of the main course—miso-marinated black cod, grilled until caramelized, served with pickled daikon ribbons and a small onigiri brushed with a sweet soy glaze. “In what way?” 

The caramelized skin of the fish melted on her tongue—rich, savory, warm. Kagome took her time chewing, thinking, letting the flavors settle before she answered. “You spent five whole centuries carrying the weight of responsibility—and you will for another five centuries probably because that’s just you. One wrong move and someone gets hurt or loses something or, or, or. But this?” She set her chopsticks down gently. “If something goes wrong, you just try again. No wars lost. No lives ruined. No one in shambles. Just food, flavor, maybe a bit of a mess to clean up.”

He watched her, still and quiet. 

“It suits you,” she said again, smiling slightly. “All those other careers you had before must have been fun and thrilling—but also a lot of responsibility and weight on your shoulders. So I’m glad you have Shirohana. I’m glad you found a way to have even just a little bit of freedom.” 

A flicker of something crossed his face, too fast for her to identify. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Their server stepped through the noren again, this time bearing a single plate with two dense squares of matcha ganache, lightly dusted with kinako and sea salt. He set it down between them. “The beef order arrived ten minutes ago, Chef,” he said quietly and when Sesshoumaru nodded, returned to the kitchen. 

“I’m keeping you from work.” Worry laced her tone as she eyed the kitchen through the serving window. 

Sesshoumaru used the serving fork and placed one of the matcha squares on her plate. “It is of little consequence. The dinner service will not begin for forty minutes. The sous chef is more than capable of managing without this one. Eat your dessert.”

She huffed a laugh but picked up her spoon and took a bite of the ganache. White chocolate and matcha melted across her tongue like butter—warm, filling, sweet. “I’m definitely going to ask for more meals like this in the future,” she warned him, laughter in her eyes as she scooped up another bite. 

That smirk—small, just the corners of his lips turning up at the corner—settled into place on his lips again. “I do not doubt it.” 

o.O.o

After she left, Sesshoumaru slid the door shut behind her and stood staring at the intricate line art on the washi paper. Seeing, but unseeing. How had she understood when he had never shared with her the burden of leadership? He had told her only enough about his business to understand he acted as a CEO in some capacity and continued his rule of the Western Lands. He had not shared with her any of the finer details. And yet. 

He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly, held it—long enough that even his youkai lungs burned with the holding of it—and released it slowly in a quiet exhale, as if breathing could relieve the pressure in every inch of his posture. 

How had she known? 

Shirohana had started as a daydream. An idle thought stirred by the boring, catered lunch fare organized by his team during an exceptionally long, excruciatingly tedious board meeting. What would it be like to be free of the power and titles? What if his choices didn’t ripple across kingdoms and boardrooms? What would life have to offer if he focused only on the menu for each day? 

He did not wish to discard his responsibilities, or even to lessen the weight of them. He wished only for something smaller to hold in his hands—the weight of something gentle. What did the power and the duty matter if he did not relish them? What did his absurdly long life matter if he did not savor every minute of it? 

Of course, he had never spoken of these desires with anyone. 

And yet, she hadn’t questioned it. Hadn’t poked or prodded for deeper answers. Just sat across from him and understood—in that quietly understanding way she had. The Miko, with her chipped nails, bold tongue, cluttered thoughts—and a heart that still, after centuries and death and despair, could reach into corners and pry out secrets better kept sealed shut. 

The clatter of fallen metal on tile echoed behind him from the kitchen. Water gushed as the washing boy sprayed water across pots and pans. The steady chopping of a knife on a wooden cutting board beat a rhythm like a hummingbird’s heartbeat. His staff chattered quietly as they bustled about the kitchen. Closing his eyes, he took a second long breath and held it—released it. Perhaps he would tell her the truth of things—but not tonight. 

Turning from the door, he started back towards the kitchen but stopped at the sight of her gift still lingering on the bar.  The plain white of the bag glowed transparent in the light of the lanterns. Stepping up to it, he sliced through the ribbon tying the handles together with a claw and then reached inside to withdraw a small box. It barely filled his palm. The soft scent of recycled bamboo tickled his nose. After he removed the lid and unfolded the bamboo tissue, he stared down at a set of four delicate hashioki in pale, indigo jade. 

Even without picking them up, the delicate curve of a youkai snout and deadly fangs stood out. Plucking one out of the protective cushion they lay nestled in, he raised it to his eyes for closer examination. Hand-carved. Finely polished. A crescent moon on the brow of an inuyoukai. Two careful stripes under each eye. 

He replaced it and examined the rest. 

A nine-tailed kitsune, ears pointed back, a foxfire crest on its chest. Then—a two-tailed nekoyoukai, striped tail, diamond power mark on its brow. Finally, a two-headed dragon, thick-maned, with a fine saddle and lightly textured scales.  

“That is a handsome gift, Sesshoumaru-sama.” 

Sesshoumaru did not look up at his sous chef as he traced his thumb over the reins of the saddle. “It is.” 

“That’s from an artist in the youkai district. Hard to get work from them—you should know, considering he almost didn’t take your order for the restaurant.” The sous chef set a clipboard on the bar next to the gift bag. 

“I am aware.” He replaced A-Un on the cushion and closed the box. “The Miko has a habit of making friends wherever she goes. I do not doubt she charmed the artist and had him begging to create a piece for her.” Placing her gift back in the bag, he picked up the clipboard and scanned the menu. “Let’s begin. Guests will arrive soon.” 

o.O.o

April 4

The Friday of Sōta’s high school entrance ceremony, rain poured down in sheets across the city. Petrichor wafted up in the rush of water soaking the earth as thunder rocked across the sky. Inside the little house behind the shrine, Kagome dashed down the stairs from her bedroom. Her backpack dangled from one elbow, slapping against her back as she bounced down the stairs. She clutched an old, weathered camera to her chest with her other arm as she went.

“Kagome we’re gonna be late!” Sōta shouted from the front door. 

Wincing, she slid across the floor in her socks and barreled into the genkan where Sōta waited for her. “I know, I know! My alarms went off and everything, but I couldn’t remember why I set them so early, and then when I did wake up, I couldn’t find the camera! Do you have your lunch?” 

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his uniform slacks and looked down his nose at her—in a distinctly Sesshoumaru fashion. “I’ve been ready to go for thirty minutes,” he reminded her. 

“Right,” she said breathlessly as she yanked her sneakers off the shoe rack and stuffed her feet into them. 

“Your feet are going to get soaked in those,” he said on a sigh as he grabbed one arm to steady her when she started to tip in one direction. 

Kagome chuckled and shrugged as she shifted the camera to one elbow and finally yanked her shoes on. “My rain boots have a hole in them. I haven’t gotten around to getting new ones yet.” 

He let go of her and grabbed his umbrella out of the stand near the door. “You do know you’re rich now, right?” 

“I know, I know,” she muttered as she snatched her rain jacket off the hook and followed him out the door. “I’ll buy some after your entrance ceremony, okay?” 

“Don’t make me call Sesshoumaru,” Sōta mumbled as he let her step past and then closed the door behind them. 

Kagome rolled her eyes. “I’m shaking in my holey boots. C’mon, we gotta get a picture at the tori before you go. It’s tradition.” Her throat tightened up at the thought that she would be the one taking the picture this year, but she didn’t say anything else as they tromped across the shrine grounds, water splashing up to their ankles as they stepped through puddles. 

Sōta held the umbrella over their heads, and Kagome stepped past him a few stairs down once they reached the tori. Taking off the lens cap as she walked, she turned and lifted the camera to get the picture—and blinked as a shadow fell above her and rain stopped pelting against her shoulders her. Tilting her head back, she saw Sesshoumaru staring down at her in exasperation as he held an umbrella out above them. “When did you get here? Why are you looking at me like that?” she squeaked.

“It is raining and you are a human. Why are you not more warmly dressed?” he demanded as he eyed her clothing. 

Sōta and the photo momentarily forgotten, Kagome looked down at her knee-length skirt and another one of her mother’s long-sleeved blouses just visible beneath the rain jacket. “I was in a hurry, and it’s supposed to be hot today when the rain stops!” 

“And your shoes?” 

“I already told her,” Sōta muttered and rolled his eyes. “Can you two stop bickering already and take the picture? You’re gonna make me late for the entrance ceremony!” 

Kagome flushed but refocused her efforts on the old camera as Sesshoumaru raised one silver brow at her brother. Adjusting the lens, she took an easy dozen shots just to be safe. “Okay, okay let’s go!” Tucking the camera into her bag, she turned and started down the stairs with the boys on either side of her. 

“I will drive you,” Sesshoumaru said as she started to turn towards the bus stop. 

Ignoring Sōta’s whoop of excitement as he started towards the sleek, silver Infinity QX80 SUV waiting at the curb of the shrine, Kagome bit her lip as Sesshoumaru took her by the arm and guided her towards the passenger seat. “But—” 

“Miko, it is raining. You are scarcely dressed for the weather. The boy will be late for his ceremony. Come.” He didn’t give her a chance to argue, only opened the door and stood waiting with the umbrella to protect her. 

Kagome flushed, but let it go. Climbing into the car, she set her bag tentatively in her lap as Sōta raved about the butter-soft leather, roomy interior, and the massage function in the seats. Worried she might somehow break something, she carefully unspooled the seat belt and buckled in as Sesshoumaru closed the door and strode around the hood. 

Within minutes, they were on their way to Sōta’s high school. The delicate strings of a koto drifted out of the speakers, barely audible over the mile-a-minute gushing pouring out of Sōta about the car and Sesshoumaru’s patient, unbothered replies. As he eased the car through rain-drenched streets, she watched beads of rain splatter against the windshield. The wipers kept rhythm with Sōta’s chatter. 

When they pulled up to the school, a sea of brightly colored umbrellas bobbed under the heavy gray sky. Students in crisp uniforms huddled beneath the shelters of their parents’ arms, faces flushed with excitement and nerves. 

Sōta dashed out first, a quick “I’ll go register” ringing in his wake. 

Kagome watched him race across the sidewalk and up the school driveway to a tent covered row of tables where other students stood in neat lines under starkly black school umbrellas, chatting and laughing. 

“You are sad.” 

She watched as a small family with a son and daughter in school uniform rushed by laughing, umbrella useless as the wind snapped the fabric up, and soaked to the skin. “I’m okay. I just keep thinking my mom should be here, watching him walk through those doors. I wish she was here,” she said quietly. “She would have loved this. She’d have been so proud of him, and we’d have been here an hour early. Knowing her, he’d probably have had a full breakfast this morning instead of just a bowl of miso and left over fish from yesterday’s breakfast. She’d be over there with the other parents, introducing herself and getting to know them.” 

Sesshoumaru followed the line of her gaze and studied the wet, laughing family before they disappeared from view. “She is watching, in her own way,” he said quietly. “And your brother is aware of how proud you are of his accomplishment to enter this school. No one could ask more from you than this.”

Sniffling, she let go of her bag and used the edge of her fingers to dab at her eyes, so she didn’t smear the make-up she’d worked so carefully on. “Does it ever get easier to lose someone?” she asked quietly. 

“No,” he said. “But you learn to live with the memories over time.” 

Puffing out a breath, she shook out her hands as if that might shake away the emotions before she looked at him. “Can you tell I cried?” 

“No,” he said again as he finally turned off the car. “Are you ready to enter?” 

“Yeah.” Even as she answered, she turned and saw Sōta waving at them to hurry up.  “Let’s go.” 

o.O.o

April 10

Kagome leaned against the counter of Sakihana and watched as her new shop girl wound a piece of ribbon flawlessly around a bouquet and tied it into a lovely, extravagant bow. She looked at her own mangled pile of ribbon and sighed. “I’m never going to get the hang of this,” she said and flicked a finger into the mass of ribbon she’d ruined. 

The shop girl chuckled and cut another long length of ribbon. “This is your first time learning to tie the ribbon this way,” she said lightly. “My mom taught me when I was in primary school. You’ll get the hang of it soon.” 

“Right,” Kagome mumbled as she picked up the new trimming. 

Outside the shop, the rain came down in gray waves. Even though the streetlights lining the lane and the lovely little lanterns of Shirohana twinkled in the night, nothing could wash away the gloom the rain brought. Maybe that explained her grim mood. A solid week of rain would do that to a girl, right? Grumbling, she wrapped her ribbon around a cut-off bunch of stems—she might mangle a real bouquet—and repeated the steps she’d been shown. 

Another jumbled bow took shape under her fingers.  Huffing out a breath, she set aside the ribbon and stems and shook out her hands. “That’s enough practice for now. I think we’ll close early tonight. No one is buying flowers in this weather anyway.” 

“I won’t say no to an extra hour for homework,” agreed the shop girl.  

Kagome hurried her along after they cleaned up, then she slid the bolt closed on the door, dimmed the lights, and cashed out the register. Alone in the shop, she hummed as she set about cleaning up the day’s mess and organizing the shop for the morning shift—checking the flowers in the cooler, sweeping up any spilled soil and other fallen debris, printing the online orders for next day. In the back, she washed her dirty cup and set it in the drying rack. 

Out front, a crash sounded. 

For a moment, Kagome froze. Heart hammering in her chest, she snatched the broom leaning to the side of the counter and started towards the front of the shop. When she poked her head through the door, only the dim glow of the fairy lights in the display window greeted her. Biting her lip, she stepped fully into the front—broom held out before her like a staff, her grip white-knuckled around the handle. 

But the shop stood empty. 

Secure in the knowledge that no one had broken in, Kagome lowered the broom half an inch and walked fully around the shop to find whatever had made the crashing sound. Rain continued to pound against the roof and windows, but Kagome ignored it as she saw the wind chime laying in pieces on the floor in front of the door. Frowning, she knelt and examined it. 

And shrieked as someone knocked just as another burst of thunder ripped through the night. It took her a breathless, mindless moment of panic to realize the presence on the other side of the door belonged to Sesshoumaru. Clutching the broom to her chest now, she stood and fumbled with the lock to swing open the door. 

Sesshoumaru’s eyes, brown and warm under the guise of his glamor, moved from her face to the broom, to the broken windchime. “You screamed.” 

A relieved giggle escaped before she could stop it. “You scared the crap out of me. Of course I screamed!” Marching over to the counter, she set aside the broom and leaned over the countertop to pick-up the hand-held dustpan and brush from under the counter. 

He stepped in and closed the door behind him as he watched her. “Did you intend to use the broom as a weapon?” 

Hearing the amusement in his question, Kagome rolled her eyes. “I was washing dishes in the back when I heard a crash. I didn’t have anything else handy.” 

“You are a miko,” he pointed out as he stepped out of the way to let her sweep up debris from the chime. “Why are you alone?” 

Ignoring his first comment, Kagome poured the broken pieces out onto the counter and set aside the dustpan. “We didn’t get many customers today. I didn’t think we’d get any tonight with all this rain, so I let her go early and closed up.” 

Sesshoumaru watched her, his eyes scrapping over the tired curve of her shoulder, the gentle slope of her cheek, the escaping strands of hair from her bun. “You should go home. It’s getting late.” 

“I know, but I want to fix this first.” Pursing her lips, she reached below the counter and dug out a tube of super glue. “Maybe it’s a lost cause, but I don’t want to throw it away.” What if her mother had loved this wind chime? What if it had been her favorite? 

When she picked up the first piece of broken glass, he carefully set a hand on her wrist. “This one will repair it. Sit,” he added, and motioned to one of the stools behind the counter. 

She debated arguing as he pulled the pieces over to him and started gluing them back together, but let it go. “I don’t remember you being so bossy,” she murmured as she sank down onto the stool and leaned her elbows on the counter. 

“Perhaps you should have your memory checked.” He picked up another piece and glued it back into place. 

Kagome rolled her eyes even as her chest tightened. Lightning flashed outside and thunder followed shortly thereafter, much farther away than the earlier explosions had been. “Let me know when they invent a memory scanner,” she said lightly, leaning forward to rest her chin in her palm as he picked up the final piece of glass and nestled the piece back where it belonged. 

Sesshoumaru paused, lifting his gaze up to hers as he held the glass bowl of the repaired wind chime with the tiniest amount of pressure to hold the pieces together. “Hn. If you cannot remember the sheer number of orders I once rained down upon you, perhaps you would make good use of such a thing.” 

She smiled guardedly and clasped her hands tightly together below the counter, shoving them between her thighs. “You’re surprisingly good at crafts, Lord of the West,” she said, changing the topic as she watched him set the dome of the wind chime on the counter. 

If he noticed the abrupt switch, he said nothing about it. “Rin had great interest in such things. While materials might have changed in 500 years, the methods have not.” 

Grateful he didn’t question her, Kagome latched onto this new direction. “How is she?” she asked, leaning forward again. 

He stilled and looked at her for one long, quiet moment. Outside, the rain had slowed to a drizzle and the thunder echoed far off in the distance. “She did not survive to this time. She chose a human husband,” he said at last. 

Kagome flushed as he watched her with questions she wasn’t ready to answer yet. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, “I didn’t mean—” 

“It is of no consequence. She was still a child when you saw her last. You could not have known.” 

Unable to meet his gaze, she dropped her own to the pile of wrinkled ribbons still sitting on the counter next to her wrapped bunch of browning stems. Her last attempt at a bow lay crumpled and loose around it. “I don’t suppose she showed you how to tie a ribbon?” 

For a second time, he didn’t press. Instead, he eyed the crumpled, deformed bow in question. “That is an offense to the eyes.” 

A surprised snort of laughter burst free. Her shoulders sagged. “I know, I know,” she said and dragged the bundle closer. “I can’t get the hang of it.” 

He plucked a ribbon from the ruined pile. “Rin earned her particular taste from this one’s mother.” He held a hand out and when she passed him her browning bundle of stems, he tied the ribbon around it with neat, swift fingers.  “She rigorously circumvented any attempts I might have offered to secure her ribbons.” 

When he finished Kagome studied the small, precise knot and then covered her mouth with her hand before a giggle could escape. “That looks more like a bandage tie than a flower ribbon.” 

Raising a brow, Sesshoumaru crossed his arms over his chest. “Warlords do not tie ribbons, Miko.” 

Biting her lip, she leaned on the counter again—shoulders sagged in relief this time. “It’s nice to see there are some things even the great Sesshoumaru-sama struggles with.” 

He looked down at his work, then back up at her with a faint unimpressed curl of his lip. “It is late,” he said and carefully set the bundle of stems to the side. “Come. I will walk you home. You may resume your practice tomorrow.”  

Kagome nodded. She stood, and as she started cleaning up the last of the ribbon mess and the debris from windchime, the silence stretched between them in the flickering glow of the fairy lights in the window. Rain no longer lashed against the windows—but as they stepped outside, locked the door, and started towards the shrine, the scent lingered in the air—and in the quiet murmur of their conversation as they walked away. 

o.O.o

April 21

In the campus café, Kagome leaned over her sketchbook and traced her charcoal pencil over the paper, finishing up the line of a strong jaw.  The café buzzed with energy as the early lunch crowd bustled through to beat the regular lunch rush. From her place by the window at the back, the hum of chattering students and professors passing by barely reached her ears. The scent of coffee and chocolate wafted about—the café’s trademark freshly made pocky sticks were always a hit. 

With her morning classes over and not enough time to scoot home before the afternoon class, Kagome had decided to take a break in the café and get a head start on the thumbnail sketches one of her professors had assigned. Since the start of classes a couple of weeks ago, she already had piles of homework to keep up with. Better to do it now than wait and stress about deadlines later. 

When the lunch crowd started to pour in a half hour later, she debated using the headphones Sōta had given her for Christmas but couldn’t bring herself to put them on. Since the feudal era, the idea of having her hearing blocked made her skin itch—like something waited for her just out of sight and it would have the advantage if she couldn’t hear it. The overwhelming noise ruined her drive to keep working though. She’d just started packing up her things when a hand came down on her shoulder. Startled, she glanced up. 

When it took her a moment to recall a name to go with the face she told herself that was normal when caught off guard. “Kobayashi Sensei! Hi!” 

“Higurashi-san.” She looked down at Kagome’s things spread out across the small table and raised a brow. “I’m surprised to see you here. I assumed you were ill since you did not attend our meeting or contact me about rescheduling.” 

“Meeting?” Kagome furrowed her brows but couldn’t recall a meeting. “I don’t think I had a meeting planned today…” 

The professor raised a silvered, aging brow. “Last week you requested a meeting to discuss your second-year winter exhibition, Higurashi-san. I waited a half hour for your arrival.” 

Winter exhibition? It took some doing, but Kagome wracked her brain and vaguely remembered speaking to the professor at the end of the class last week. Embarrassed color flushed across her cheeks, and she bowed in apology. “I’m so sorry, Sensei. I…must have forgotten to write it down in my planner. Can I please buy you a coffee and we can talk now?” 

Sighing, the professor glanced around the bustling café. “I suppose this is as good a place as any. I’ll have a matcha latte.” 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll go get that right now! Thank you for giving me another chance, Sensei!” Kagome bowed again and hurried up to the register as her professor sat down. As she waited in line, her fingers twining together anxiously, Kagome silently promised to be more careful about writing things in her planner. 

o.O.o

April 26

The following Saturday morning, Sota—his sweats rolled up to his knees—squatted barefoot in his bathroom and scrubbed at the seam of caulk between the tub and the tile floor. His mask blocked the worst of the fumes, but the open window took the rest of the sting. Thanks to the humidity of spring fully unfurling in Tokyo and the promise of summer just around the corner, the threat of mold couldn’t be ignored. 

At least he knew how to combat it, now that Sesshoumaru had hired a professional cleaner to teach them after the initial deep clean he’d purchased for the house last month. 

As he cleaned, his thoughts wandered. Next week they would celebrate Kagome’s birthday—smack in the middle of Golden Week. He’d been planning a small celebration with Sesshoumaru for two weeks and couldn’t wait to see her reaction—but he also wanted to do something nice for her during the holiday. 

As if his thoughts summoned them, his phone buzzed. He stretched up and snagged it off the windowsill. Another message about plans next week—this one from his new friends at high school, though he’d gotten a half dozen from old middle school friends as well. A trip to the mountains, another to the coast. Some wanted to island hop through a volunteer service. 

A few wanted to know if his mom would still throw the small barbeque she organized the last few years. He didn’t answer those ones. 

He set aside the brush and sank down onto the ledge of the tub. Kagome hadn’t said a word about Golden Week or her birthday yet. Not that unusual since she’d come back different from her time in the feudal era, but even then, she’d at least ask if they could go see the flowers in their local park or maybe go camping somewhere. 

Maybe she thought he already had plans and didn’t want to interrupt? Or maybe she was just tired. Second year of university probably meant a lot more schoolwork, right? Plus, the shrine, and the shop, and him. Kagome never tried to be his mom, but she always made sure he didn’t want or need anything. That had to be exhausting no matter how easy he tried to make it on her. 

He turned his phone over and over in his hands. She’d been quiet lately. Almost as quiet as they both had been immediately following their mom’s death. She always carried her planner around lately and sent the same messages to remind him of things a few times in a row. Annoying, but easily big sister and guardian behavior. Mom had done the same thing, always reminding him to do one thing or another. 

Downstairs, the washing machine tune sounded off. He stood and strode downstairs. She must have started a fresh load before she left this morning. On his way to the laundry room, he saw her planner laying open on the coffee table next to some of her textbooks and laptop. He hesitated at the foot of the stairs.

“Looking at her planner is an invasion of privacy,” he muttered curtly, and turned towards the kitchen and laundry room—but stopped at the threshold. “She’ll be pissed if she thinks you pawed through her things, you idiot. What are you even thinking?” 

Shaking his head, Sōta put the idea out of his head. Just because she’d left it laying open didn’t mean he had an invitation to page through it. Even if he was worried. He kept walking, ignoring the planner, and stepped into the laundry room. “Just send her a text and ask if she has plans. You don’t need to look through her planner to find out.” 

Following his own advice, he opened the screen on his phone again and pulled up Line. A few quick taps, some suggestions for what they could do—flowers in the park, visit one of Ji-chan’s favorite museums—and done. He hit send. 

“There. Question asked. No big deal.” He huffed out a breath and dropped his phone back into the pocket of his sweats.

Grabbing the basket off the top of the machine, Sōta opened the lid and hauled the wet clothes out of the barrel. He’d asked and now he could figure out how to make sure she had something to smile about if she said yes. 

Building a list of the possibilities in his head, he tucked the basket of wet clothes to his hip and went outside to hang them.

o.O.o 

April 30

Kagome hummed as she climbed the steps to the shrine.  In one hand, three shopping bags full of paint, brushes, clay, and other art materials from a youkai-run supply store on the other side of town. It had cost her an arm and a leg, but the quality outshone the ones she usually used by leaps and bounds.

 In the other hand, two bags with three bowls of noodles, pan-fried beef dumplings, steamed vegetable dumplings, spicy cucumber salad, steamed edamame, and hand-made kimchi.  Sōta had been raving about this shop for weeks, so she’d stopped by after the art store to pick some up to surprise him. They’d even packaged the broths separately for her in insulated bags so it would stay hot and the noodles wouldn’t get soggy. 

He'd been so busy since the start of Golden week, but he’d still made time to hang out with her at the park yesterday and visited one of their grandfather’s favorite museums. Kagome figured a little food as thanks would go a long way towards showing she appreciated the effort.  

Her arms ached with the weight of the bags. She probably should have taken a taxi, but she’d wanted to balance the splurge on the art supplies. With the bags, her backpack, and the heat bearing down, the usual quick walk from the bus stop to home felt exponentially longer. Her steps started to drag by the time she reached the stop of the stairs, and her dress stuck to her back between her shoulder blades. 

Heaving out a sigh, she shrugged her shoulders and rolled the handles of the bags against her palm to adjust her grip and check the time on her watch at the same time. “Perfect. I beat him home, so I can surprise him when he gets here!” 

Grinning, she jogged across the shrine courtyard and shifted all the bags to one hand to unlock the door—only to find it already unlocked. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “That scrub…” Shaking her head, she split the bags between her hands again and nudged the door open with her hip. “At least it’s easier to get inside now I guess.” 

Once inside, she toed off her flats with practiced ease and stepped up out of the genkan and into the living room—where she shrieked as the lights flashed on and her brother and Sesshoumaru appeared. The bags slipped out of her numb fingers, and she stumbled back a step.

“Surprise! Happy Birthday!”

Reiki hummed along the tips of her fingers. Her heart thudded against her ribs as her gaze drifted across the wall above the television. ‘Happy 20th Birthday!’ stared back at her in bright gold and pink messy kanji on fluttery silver triangles. Under that, her name spelled out in balloons. On the living room table, a small white cake decorated with strawberries and three candles sat. A small pile of gifts waited behind it. A camera, her mother’s, waited on one of the sofa cushions. 

‘Birthday,’ she thought blankly as Sōta chatted at her and stepped forward to pick up the heap of bags she’d dropped. Sesshoumaru’s eyes lingered on her, assessing—so she forced a laugh and ran her hand through her hair. “I totally wasn’t expecting this,” she said weakly as she quieted her reiki and stepped fully into the room. 

“I told you she’d forget!” laughed Sōta as he set her bags of art supplies on the sofa and peeked into the others. “Woah! You went to Momiji Nabe!” 

Her heart skipped a beat as dread stirred an ache at the back of her neck. She rolled her shoulders and avoided Sesshoumaru’s gaze. “I didn’t forget,” she rebutted, and forced an airiness she didn’t feel into the words. “Why do you think I bought dinner for us from Momiji? You guys just scared me, that’s all!” 

Sesshoumaru raised a brow, but didn’t question her. He stepped forward to take the carry-out bags from Sōta. “I am surprised you did not sense this one waiting for you inside. You should make better use of your reiki, Miko.” 

“Right,” she murmured as he stepped out of the room, followed by her brother chattering a mile a minute. Alone, her eyes wandered to the hand-painted pink and gold banners on the wall.  Butterflies twisted and spun in the pit of her stomach. ‘I forgot my own birthday.’ Swallowing hard, she took off her backpack and pulled out her planner. She flipped it open to the current week and stared down at the square with today’s date.

 A single, glittering, pink star sticker stared up at her—but no notes or plans or reminders. ‘Have I always marked my birthday like this?’ Her plans with Sōta the day before stared up at her in small, neat kanji. A lunch with friends for tomorrow followed. Biting her lip, she carefully closed the planner and slid it into her backpack again.  

The sound of the boys returning from the kitchen dragged her back to the present. She glanced at the cake and the gifts and the banners and the balloons and swallowed down the anxiety. Tonight, she could put it away. She would celebrate with them, laugh with them, be with them. Ooh and ahh for them over the gifts. 

And tomorrow…tomorrow she would go to the hospital for a check-up. 

So when Sesshoumaru led the way back into the living room, the dinner she’d picked up from Momiji Nabe neatly plated on trays, Kagome grinned brightly and stepped forward to help him. 

o.O.o

May 1

Kagome hovered on the edge of her seat in the hospital’s neurology waiting room. Too-bright fluorescent lights buzzed down overhead. A television suspended from the ceiling in one corner displayed a cooking show on mute, subtitles streaming by almost too fast to read. Near the entrance, a nurse talked quietly with an old man at the reception counter. No windows offered a glimpse of the outside world. 

She shifted in her seat. The heel of one of her new rain boots, Sōta’s gift, tapped silently against the floor as she jiggled her leg. In her lap, her fingers nervously spun the bracelet Sesshoumaru had given her round and round. The slim band of darkened shakudō gleamed dully in the oppressive light. She traced her thumb over the magatama inlay and flowers carved into the metal with each turn, using the motion to ground herself. 

When her alarm had gone off this morning, she’d all but snuck out of the house and caught the bus to the far outskirts of Tokyo. It had taken an hour last night to find a clinic unconnected to the vast array of businesses Sesshoumaru seemed to lead—but the idea of him finding out about her appointment terrified her almost as much as the reason for it. 

So here she was, perched on her seat and waiting for the doctor to review the scans she’d finished an hour ago so he could give her a consultation. Somehow, the waiting hit worse than the not knowing. ‘Maybe I’m dying,’ she thought morbidly as a young couple entered the waiting room. ‘Maybe all those times I got thrown around in the feudal era are finally catching up with me.’ 

“Higurashi-san?”

‘I should have worn a helmet back then. That would have been a sight to see, but at least I probably wouldn’t have hit my head so much. Or maybe—’

“Higurashi-san?”

Kagome burst to her feet, blinking rapidly, as the nurse said her name again. “Yes! Here. I’m here.” 

The nurse smiled professionally and gestured to the hallway behind her. “This way, please. The doctor will see you now.” 

Tucking her fingers into the straps of her backpack, Kagome nodded jerkily and followed the nurse down a narrow hallway painted the same nondescript beige as the waiting room. When they stopped at an open doorway, the nurse bowed her in and closed the door gently behind Kagome. 

This office, much smaller than the waiting room, boasted a single paned window filled with frosted glass. Framed degrees, certificates, and photos of the doctor with presumably important people filled the wall behind his desk. Another wall held a single info-graphic poster of the human brain. Next to the doorway, a set of cabinets in standard office grey dominated the wall. Medical supplies she couldn’t identify stood lined up like neat little soldiers along the backsplash. A curtained-off exam area huddled in a corner. 

Kagome sank into one of the chairs in front of the doctor’s desk. She’d just pulled her bag into her lap when the door opened behind her and the doctor strolled in. 

The acrid tinge of stale cigarette smoke wafted across the room as he strode past and took his seat on the other side of the desk. 

“Higurashi-san, is it?” he muttered as he turned in his chair to activate the sleeping computer. 

“Yes, sir.” She tried not to wrinkle her nose at the scent and sat up straighter. Her file sat on his desk, unopened.

“And you’re here because?” 

Her brows furrowed. He didn’t even look up from his computer. “I’m having trouble with my memory,” she said tightly. In her lap, she dug her fingers into the soft canvas of her bag as irritation simmered below the anxiety. 

“Hn.” He clicked his mouse several more times, eyes darting across the screen. “Well, your scans look perfectly healthy to me. No lesions, no sign of stroke or degenerative disease. You’re the picture of health for someone your age.”  

Kagome could swear ten minutes passed in silence as he clicked his mouse and didn’t look at her. But when she peeked at her watch, only a minute or two had slipped by. His words did nothing to ease the anxiety simmering and dancing along the tips of her fingers. “But—” 

He let go of his mouse and finally turned to look at her fully as he leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “The symptoms you’re describing are not uncommon in young women with fluctuating hormones,” he said officiously. “It’s important to acknowledge the immense burden of stress you’re under as a young woman.” He finally opened her file and scanned it. “Especially one so impacted by grief and the added responsibilities of caregiving for a younger sibling.” 

“But—”

“Hormonal imbalances often manifest in cognitive symptoms, Higurashi-san,” he interrupted again as he leaned back a second time and steepled his fingertips together. “Sometimes, due to the…overwrought nature of female hormones, these issues can present as neurological damage when it’s simply your body reacting to stress, grief, and hormonal shifts.” 

Kagome couldn’t find the words. Irritation dipped fast and hard into anger. Her grip on her bag turned from an anchor into a form of self-restraint so she didn’t reach across the desk and shake him. “Hormones,” she repeated dumbly. 

He smiled faintly, clinical and detached. “Have you considered birth control?” 

o.O.o

Much later that night, Kagome huddled over her desk under the light of her lamp and filled out her new planner (a surprise, final gift from Mama) with disastrously calm hands. 

Outraged by the disastrous appointment with the first doctor, she’d sought out last-minute appointments from two other doctors at different clinics across the city. Neither had been as outrageous as the first, but all had offered the same advice: rest, meditation, de-stressing her life as much as possible. Tea ceremony. Vacation. Herbs. Acupuncture. Therapy. 

Her grip on her pen tightened so much the plastic bit into the side of her nail. The nib tore a tiny hole in the paper. Huffing out a breath, she set it down carefully when the urge to throw it against the wall nearly overwhelmed her. “Forgetting a few things here and there is no big deal,” she whispered as she stared down at the jam-packed calendar for the next few weeks.

She closed her eyes and thought of the first year after the well had spit her back out. She’d forgotten a lot of things then—but had chalked it up to PTSD and worked out the loss of the memories through therapy and art. 

But forgetting everyday things…

Scrubbing her hands over her face, she peeked down at the calendar again. She’d even included reminders to use Finch, a cute little self-care app a friend had told her about, to include things like reminders for bedtime or assignments. “Eight hours of sleep, every day. And we’ll start therapy again, just to be safe.” 

Kagome leaned back in her chair and closed the planner quietly. But as she stared down at the lovely wine purple leather with her name engraved in the bottom corner of the cover, the twisting anxiety in the pit of her stomach didn’t fade. 

o.O.o

May 23

Sesshoumaru did not check his watch again as one of his servers unlocked the doors of Shirohana at 16:30. It should have been a host. It should have been Kagome. But she had yet to arrive. From his place in the doorway to the kitchen, he watched as his server waited impassively by the door for the first customers of the night to arrive. 

One minute. Five. Ten. Thirty. An hour. At 17:30, Sesshoumaru finally relented and stepped back into the kitchen to call her. The call went straight to voicemail. He tried again. Voicemail again. The muscle in his jaw clenched as he stared down at the phone. She had never sent him to voicemail before. Not once in the four months since she had stumbled unwittingly into his kitchen. 

He called her brother. Like the Miko usually did, he answered on the first ring. A clatter of male voices exploded in the background. Sesshoumaru did not give him time to speak. “Where is your sister?” 

“Hey—what? Can you asy that again?” Sōta asked as the sound of wood snapping against wood filled the dojo. “I’m still at club practice.” 

Sesshoumaru gritted his teeth. “Your sister. She did not arrive for the host shift she agreed to work. She is not answering her phone.” 

“Look I don’t know but that’s weird right? She’s usually pretty good about her schedule. I know she’s been a little…forgetful lately, but I just figured that was sleep and she’s bee—” 

“What do you mean, she’s been forgetful?” he demanded, dropping his free hand to the stainless steel prep counter as his staff worked around him. 

Sōta paused, then sighed. “Nothing major. Just sending texts to remind me of stuff she’s already told me about, or like her birthday? You know she laughed it off, but I think she really didn’t remember. Things like that. But the past few weeks she’s been really on top of things, so I just figured it was stress or lack of sleep or something. But she’s been sleeping more and carrying her planner around like a lifeline, so…” 

He couldn’t fault the boy for his assumptions. He’d suspected the Miko had forgotten her own birthday, but he hadn’t wanted to press—and had presumed the same thing he had. She just needed more rest. But the idea didn’t sit right with him now. “Call if you hear from her,” he said at last, and hung up before the boy could agree. 

For the rest of the dinner shift, Sesshoumaru checked his phone every time it vibrated against his leg. Only messages from Sōta appeared. By close of shift, when he still hadn’t heard from her, Sesshoumaru called her again. Voicemail. This time, he left a short, clipped message as he paced up and down the now-empty kitchen. “Call me.” 

o.O.o

Kagome pursed her lips at the lines of her drawing. Her eyes burned with exhaustion and the niggling suspicion that she was forgetting something important lingered at the back of her mind, but she’d already missed the deadline for this work and wanted to finish it before she went home. Even if the time….she glanced at the clock—drifted past two in the morning. 

“Shit,” she mumbled and looked around for her phone. Why hadn’t the bedtime reminder gone off? 

Setting down the charcoal she’d used for this piece, she wiped her hands off on her jeans and then shifted through the sketches and loose papers covering the worktable she’d claimed next to her easel. Her phone clattered to the floor when she accidentally side-swiped it. Muttering under her breath, she scooped it up and winced at a new crack on the side of the screen. 

And four missed calls from Sesshoumaru. Five from Sōta. Over a dozen text messages asking where she was. “Why didn’t I hear any of these?” she muttered as she unlocked the screen and opened up the phone—and saw the ‘sleep’ icon at the top of the screen indicating her phone was on ‘do not disturb’ mode. 

Her heart sank into her stomach as she remembered turning it to silent and do not disturb because of a group project Line chat. She’d gotten over a hundred messages from the group chat in less than an hour and every little ding or vibration had destroyed her concentration on the drawing sitting finished on her easel now. 

She bit her lip and opened the voice mail. 

“You have seven new messages. Would you like to hear them?” 

Sōta’s voice blew up in her ear as the first message played. His words, weighted with annoyance, dropped like stones onto her shoulders. 

“Hey, where are you? You volunteered to cover a shift for one of Sesshoumaru’s servers tonight remember? Call me back!”

The next five changed from irritated to angry to concerned to outright fear. Guilt gnawed at her as she jambed the phone between her ear and her shoulder to paw through her planner as Sōta’s sixth message played. When she landed on today’s schedule, the reminder stared up at her in stark red ink—the color she used for important things like deadlines. 

‘Host dinner service at Shirohana! 16:30 to 12:30!’

Sesshoumaru’s voice broke through the buzzing in her ears as the last of her voicemails played. “Call me.” 

His words, clipped and impatient, dragged her down onto the stool she’d spent the better part of the day working from. She set her phone down gently on the table and stared at it.

Three weeks. Kagome had done what all the doctors had suggested that day and slept more, tried herbs and teas and acupuncture. She’d even tried going to bed at the same time every night, but that proved impossible—so she’d done the best she could to schedule a solid eight hours even if it meant sleeping until noon one day or going to bed at seven another night. And her planner…her eyes drifted towards it warily. How much time had she spent filling out every blank space with plans, deadlines, schedules, meetings? 

Wiping the palms of her hands on her leggings, she picked up her phone again. “Just apologize,” she mumbled. “Explain about the group chat and the do not disturb.” Wetting her lips, she pressed two to speed dial Sesshoumaru. 

He answered on the first ring—before it even finished. “Where are you?” 

“The studio,” she murmured and pinched the bridge of her nose as a headache started to bloom behind her left ear. 

“Which studio? Your brother checked the one at your university. You were nowhere to be found.” 

Kagome looked up and around the studio, then winced. Right. The shared space. “I didn’t sign up for the school studios in time,” she said after a moment as she stared blankly at her sketches sprawled out over the table haphazardly. “I’m at a shared public one.” 

“Send me the location,” he ordered briskly. In the background, she heard a door shut and lock. “I will retrieve you and take you home.” 

“I can take---” 

He cut her off. “It’s two in the morning, Miko. The busses and subways ceased operations hours ago. You are not taking a taxi at this time of night. Send me the location.” 

She bit her lip as he hung up before she could argue. Maybe it was for the best because the name of the studio had slipped her mind the moment he’d asked. Lowering her phone, she opened up Line and shared her location with him.

o.O.o

When he arrived thirty minutes later, Kagome waited in the studio for him. She’d spent the time cleaning up her supplies and organizing the space for whoever had it in the morning. Her mind wandered the whole time—what should she tell him? Did he already know?  Would he be angry? 

She paced the studio when she finished cleaning, picking at her nails with fingers and teeth until one of them started to bleed just as Sesshoumaru’s sleek SUV pulled up. Wiping the blood off on her leggings, she picked up her portfolio and backpack and hurried outside to meet him. “I’m so sorry!” she blurted.

 He exited the car and walked around the hood to her side. “You did not answer your phone. You failed to meet an obligation you agreed to.” 

Her hand tightened around the straps of her portfolio. Unable to meet his eyes, she dropped her gaze to the cement. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

Sesshoumaru stared down at her as the cool night air rolled over them. “Explain yourself. Apologies are worthless without explanation.” 

Kagome winced. “I’m in a group chat for a class project. The number of messages overwhelmed me, so I turned my phone to ‘do not disturb’. I forgot to turn it off.”  She swallowed, hard. “The ‘do not disturb’ also blocked my reminders. I got caught up in my assignment and…and forgot about tonight.” 

He studied her, glamoured eyes narrowed as he considered her downcast gaze. “This forgetfulness. It is not the first time.” 

She still didn’t look at him. “It’s just stress and hormones,” she mumbled. “I went to the doctors and I’ve done everything they recommended.” 

“Your concern weighed heavily enough to warrant a visit to the doctor.” A statement, not a question. 

Kagome finally chanced a look up at him and paled. “Yeah. A few weeks ago, after…after my birthday.” 

Silence fell around them as their gazes locked. A cool breeze danced by and shuffled the hair at the nape of her neck. Someone on a bike pedaled lazily by. The hum of electricity from the streetlights buzzed between them. The light from the convenience store on one side of the studio spilled out onto the street. Jewelry glittered and shown under display lights in the shop on the other side. She stood there before him, exhaustion and guilt slumping her shoulders. “Come,” he said finally as he reached out and carefully extricated her portfolio. “I will take you home.” 

She nodded and watched as he slid her work into the floorboards of the backseat. “I’m sorry,” she said again, the words quiet as the night around them. 

He glanced at her as he closed the door and opened the door of the front passenger seat for her. “You did not intentionally shirk your obligations, Miko. One apology is more than enough to suffice for a mistake, given the circumstances.”

Once they were on the road, Sesshoumaru turned the heater on low for her. “Until a sufficient solution is found, it is best if you share your location with me consistently.” 

Sōta’s worried words in the voicemails stalled any arguments she might have made. “Okay,” she mumbled as she looked out the window.  

If her easy agreement surprised him, he did not show it. He only flipped the signal for a left-hand turn and pulled out onto the main street as the hum of the engine vibrated between them. “You will keep me informed of your schedule and any changes to it,” he said, calm but firm as he glanced at her. “It will ease the burden of concern if I am aware of your schedule.” 

She swallowed and fisted her hands together in her lap, but gave a small nod. 

 “An assistant might be of use to help manage reminders and organizing your schedule for you.” He reached between them and tapped a few buttons on the center console as they stopped at a light. The music on the radio shifted to a soft lullaby. 

Her brows furrowed and she closed her eyes to lean back against the seat. “I don’t want to let someone else control my life,” she said softly. 

“Think of them as a friend, if that will help you accept it. There are numerous youkai students at your university who would be willing to work with you if it puts them in the good graces of this one’s family and boards of directors.” He spared her another glance as the night cruised by around them. “It would put this one’s mind at ease, Miko.” 

Kagome finally looked at him, resignation lining her eyes as she frowned. “That’s cheating.” 

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and met her gaze. “There are no rules when it comes to protecting pack. There is no shame in having help.” 

“I know,” she murmured, “but this is different. This isn’t just covering a shift at the shrine or the shop.” 

“No. It is not.” They pulled to a stop at another light and he turned back to the road. “What will you tell your brother?” 

“Nothing!” She flushed as the answer ripped out of her fast and loud, then covered her face. Mortification burned at the tips of her ears. “It’s been mostly small things, like forgetting a meeting with a professor or sending the same text a few times over. It hasn’t been anything dangerous or bad.” 

The light turned green, but since no one waited behind them Sesshoumaru did not pull forward. “Yet. Your memory has not endangered you, yet.” 

Kagome shifted in her seat, dragging her knees towards the window in a subconscious bid to escape the overbearing truth waiting for her in his words. “I’ll tell him I accidentally put my phone on do not disturb, which is the truth. Most of it.” When he didn’t answer, she peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. “He’s just a kid. I don’t want to scare him, not when he’s still reeling from…from losing Mama and Jii-chan in less than a year and starting high school.” 

Recognizing her attempt to put distance between them, Sesshoumaru turned back to the road and pulled forward when the light turned green again. “He is smart. He already suspects something is wrong.” 

Her hands balled into fists in her lap the moment she dropped them again. “I know.”

She didn’t say anything else for the remainder of the ride. Sesshoumaru watched as she closed her eyes and leaned against the window. He didn’t try to convince her again; he simply drove her home. When they arrived and she started to unbuckle her seat belt, he reached out and covered the buckle with his hand. “You will tell me,” he said quietly, “if it worsens.” 

Looking up at him, at the concern he so rarely let show in the furrow of his brows or the clenched muscles of his cheek, she nodded once. “I will,” she promised. And hoped she could keep it. 

o.O.o

June 1

In the bright glow of warm light from the towering street lights, Kagome dashed through puddles, hunched over the backpack clutched protectively to her chest. The rain had come out of nowhere, and now her sundress stuck to her like a second skin as she ran the few blocks to the next bus stop. The weather forecast hadn’t predicted rain, so she’d left her umbrella at home and filled its usual place in her bag with an extra water bottle. 

Now her hair lay plastered against her shoulders and cheeks. She shivered as rain soaked her through and through. She’d tried buying an umbrella at the konbini near the bus stop, but the convenience store worker had pointed impassively at the empty umbrella stand and offered her one plastic bag instead. More concerned about the sketchbooks and homework in her bag than about herself, she’d carefully put her backpack in the bag instead of over herself. 

The music in her AirPods stopped as a call came through. Kagome didn’t bother digging her phone out. Her finger slipped over the wet plastic of the bud in her left ear. “Hello?”

“Why are you in Ueno in this weather?” 

She winced as Sesshoumaru’s question cracked through the AirPods. “I took the wrong bus,” she admitted breathlessly as she darted under the overhang of a closed fruit shop to catch her breath.

Silence split through the call. “Did you forget where you were going?” 

“No,” she murmured, leaning back against the cold window of the shop. “I don’t know. I wrote notes in my planner while I waited for the bus, and then the next thing I know, I’m passing the sign for the last stop in Ueno.” 

Another long silence filled the space between them before he answered again. “Stay where you are. I will be there in twenty minutes.” 

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, standing up and glancing down at her soaked dress and the goosebumps covering her from the shoulders down. “The bus stop is only a couple more blocks from here.” 

“Twenty minutes,” he said only and ended the call. 

o.O.o

When Sesshoumaru pulled up to the curb, he cursed at the sight of the miko. She stood huddled under the barely there awning, pale and shaking, the pale, purple, strappy sundress she wore thoroughly soaked, clutching her plastic-wrapped backpack. Foolish. Reckless. Dangerous. 

Gritting his teeth, he turned the heat on high and then climbed out of the car.  “Put this on,” he ordered as he slid off his blazer—and not giving her a chance to argue, laid it gently across her shoulders before guiding her to the passenger seat. 

“I’m drenched, Sesshoumaru,” she objected as she stared at the pretty white leather. “I’ll ruin your upholstery.” 

“Get in the car, Miko.” He stared down at her, bodily stepping in her way so the only place she could go was into the SUV. 

He watched as her shoulders slumped before she finally relented and hoisted herself up into the seat. For good measure, he reached in and tucked the folds of his blazer more firmly around her and then buckled her in. “Stay,” he ordered, before closing the door quietly between them. 

When he settled back into his own seat, he turned all the vents on the dashboard towards her. “You did not bring a jacket or an umbrella?” he asked after he buckled his own seat belt and put the car back into drive. 

She didn’t look at him as she answered. “My weather app predicted a sunny, clear day,” she murmured, tucking her hands into the sleeves of his blazer. “I had a sweater. I’m not sure where I left it.” 

His hands tightened on the wheel, but he said nothing else. 

“You got here fast,” she said after a few minutes. “It didn’t feel like twenty minutes.”

He could feel the quiet resignation of her gaze as she finally looked at him. “One of my offices is nearby. In Marunouchi.”  

She turned her attention back to the road and sighed. “I’m sorry for causing so many problems.” 

“You are not a problem that needs dealing with. You are pack.” He slowed for a turn and eased them through it smoothly as the windshield wipers slashed furiously at the rain. “Your current dilemma is difficult, but not unsurmountable. This one will find a suitable solution.” 

He guided the SUV through rain-slicked streets and glaring, angry taillights as other drivers braked or passed erratically. Every shiver of the woman beside him sent an acute sense of unease through him. The year might have been 2025, but humans still passed with some regularity from influenza. It didn’t matter that she was young and strong and…relatively healthy. 

When he turned the SUV the opposite direction of the shrine she glanced at him. “We aren’t going home?” 

“In this weather and traffic, it will take at least an hour to reach the shrine. My residence is closer. You will stay here tonight, and I will escort you home in the morning,” he answered. 

“Sesshoumaru, I can’t. My clothes—” 

“Can be easily laundered.” 

“Sōta—”

“Will be happily preoccupied at a friends. I discussed the matter with him on the way to collect you.” 

She huffed out a breath and slumped back against her seat. “You can’t just keep controlling my life like this.” Her quiet words hovered between them, laced with the helpless frustration that had been eating her alive for weeks now.  

“I can and I will,” he said darkly, sparing her a glance as they approached a modern high rise enclosed by a sleek, steel, reinforced gate with a security booth, two young guards, and multiple cameras. “When you refuse to accept logic and reason.” And then, softer when the tension still did not seep out of the tight set of her shoulders, “My residence has everything you will require. You will be warm, safe, and dry.” 

“That’s not the point, and you know it.” She refused to look at him, instead turning her face stubbornly towards the window, watching the sterile grey of the concrete garage roll past as he pulled in.

Sesshoumaru didn’t answer as he pulled into his reserved space. He turned off the engine, unbuckled his seat belt, and exited the car. Walking around to the passenger side, he opened the door for her and reached across her to unbuckle her seat belt. “The point,” he said as he leaned back slightly while he pulled the belt to the side and tucked it into place by the seat, “is that you fear losing your autonomy because your mind is betraying you.” 

Stepping back to give her room, he only held a hand out to help her down from the SUV. “Allowing yourself to be cared for does not mean you are incapable of caring for yourself. It means there are those who wish to ensure your safety. If you truly desire to return to the shrine, then I will take you. But first you will have a warm shower and dry clothes.” 

She swallowed hard and finally dragged her gaze from her lap to him. “It’s not fair when you word it that way.” 

He smirked, hand still waiting between them. 

Her shoulders slumped, but she relented and let him help her from the car. 

Leading her to the private elevator, he tapped his phone to the panel on the side. The doors slid open with the barest whisper of sound. After she entered, he followed and tapped his phone against another panel inside. 

“I would have figured you for a house guy, out in the country,” she said quietly. 

Sesshoumaru shrugged as the doors slid closed. “The pack estate is much more to my taste. However, the demands of my various roles require a more convenient and central residence.” 

The smooth whir of the elevator rising hummed between them for several seconds before, somehow desperate to fill the silence, she continued, “You once told me about your palace, in the feudal era. Is that the pack house?” 

He shook his head. “No. I relinquished that parcel of land to protect other more private areas. Later it suffered ruin during the humans second world war.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she murmured, burrowing into his blazer a bit more, “that must have been a horribly difficult choice to make—and then to watch it be destroyed and taken over…” 

“It is of little consequence. The palace served only as a ceremonial seat of rule. Never once did it act as a home for the pack.” The elevator started to slow. He glanced down at her, as impassive as ever. “On your next school holiday, if you would like to visit the pack house, I can arrange such an outing for you. It will always serve as a place you can call home, should you need it.”  

“Oh,” she said again, eyes widening as she met his gaze. “Are you sure?” 

“Hn. Whenever you have need of it.” 

The elevator finally slowed, then stopped. The doors slid open with the tiniest whoosh of sound. Sesshoumaru lifted his hand to the small of her back, silently guiding her forward to exit first. 

She stepped out into a genkan almost the size of her family’s kitchen. Dark, navy-blue walls. Soft brown leather benches. Two half-empty shelves for shoes. She toed off her wet sandals and laid them tentatively on a shelf that already held several pairs of leather shoes in different shades of brown and grey. After he placed a set of small, pink slippers before her, she glanced down at his own larger, grey ones. “Why do you have slippers my size?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them. 

He paused, glanced down at their feet. “The possibility of your visitation at my residence was not unexpected, given our connection as pack. It seemed a…prudent purchase.” 

For reasons she didn’t understand, her heart did a traitorous little jig against her ribs. “Oh. Okay. I guess that makes sense. We have slippers for you at home, too, now that I think about it.” 

“Hn. Come. You will catch a chill if you remain in those clothes. The bathroom is this way,” he said, and led the way inside. 

o.O.o

When Kagome stepped out of the bathroom, she tangled her hands into the long legs of the lounge pants he had given her and lifted them up as she walked. The pink slippers smacked against the hardwood floors with every step, slightly muffled by the fall of fabric catching on her heel with every step. “You,” she said breathlessly when she made it out of the hallway, “are impossibly large. Like, look at this!” 

She held out her hands and the sleeves dangled, a sharp L-angle from the tips of her fingers, a good five or six inches in the air. Then she picked up the loose fabric of the lounge pants again and hauled them up to show him her feet. “How tall are you?” she demanded, letting her leg and the fabric fall as he watched her from the kitchen. 

He stared at her, his eyes traveling up from the pink slippers to the grey loungers to the white button up and settled on her hair, still hanging down her back in damp tangles. “204 centimeters,” he said, his words just this edge of smug as he smirked at her from across his kitchen island. 

For a moment, Kagome could only stare at him as her hair dripped down the back of the shirt, dampening the fabric so it stuck to her skin. Then she said, “The world is grossly unfair,” but there was no heat to it as she approached the kitchen and took a seat on one of the four stools lined up on the opposite side of the island. 

He snorted and carefully slid one of the cups of steaming, fragrant tea across the counter to her. “You have fought demented youkai, defied an undead miko, and faced a goddess during your travel in the past. Yet the height of a pack member makes the world ‘grossly unfair’?”

She puffed out a breath, her cheeks full and rosy still from the heat of the shower, and looked down at the tea. Chamomile flowers floated in it. “You’d understand if you were short.” 

“Hn.” 

For a long moment, only the silence existed between them as they drank tea. His kitchen sprawled out around them, the picture of professional elegance. The counters glittered under the warm lights overhead, the blue and cream swirl of the granite slabs mesmerizing. Thin veins of gold twined amidst the swirls of color, reminding her of sunshine pouring down on an ocean shore. Cabinets lined the entire wall behind him, save for the massive refrigerator hulking at one end. A six-burner stove and oven occupied one corner of the extensive island. 

“Your hair is wet.” 

She blinked at him, her cup halfway to her lips before she set it down instead of drinking. “I was tired,” she admitted. “I didn’t feel like bothering with the hair dryer.” 

He stared at her then set his cup down. The quiet clink of china meeting stone barely penetrated the silence as he strode out of the room. 

Kagome stared after him down the dark hallway, her eyes going wide as he came back holding a hair dryer and a comb. “It’s really not—” 

“Come.” His tone brokered no argument as he stepped into the living area and sat down on his sofa. 

She watched as he pushed the side table out a little and plugged in the cord to an outlet she hadn’t even seen. “Sesshoumaru, it’s fine, really,” she mumbled when he turned around to stare at her, clearly waiting. He didn’t say anything else, only watched her with those unnervingly quiet gold eyes of his. 

Kagome hesitated a moment longer before she started over, the fabric of his lounge pants bunched in her hands, so she didn’t slip. For several seconds when she reached him, Kagome hesitated as they locked gazes. The idea of his hands sifting through her hair, lifting it, separating it, drying it, struck her immensely intimate in a way she had never allowed herself to think of him before. “Are you sure?” she asked tentatively, her gaze flicking between his eyes to the spot between his knees where he was clearly waiting for her to sit.

“Sit,” he said simply, gesturing to the floor between him and the coffee table. 

So she sat, the fight draining out of her. The warmth of him nearly vibrated through her as she settled between his legs. The fabric of his slacks brushed lightly against her biceps. The scent of his cologne, something woodsy and electric, tickled her nose. He started combing her hair, separating it with deft, smooth touches she barely felt. 

“Tell me about the memory loss. When did it begin?” he asked and clicked the hair dryer on low. 

The muscles in her shoulders bunched and tensed. She forced herself to take a deep breath and closed her eyes. “When I came back from the feudal era,” she began, her words quiet and heavy against the hum of the dryer. “I’d be in bed, waiting for my wounds from the battle to stop hurting, and thinking about Inuyasha or the others. But some days…Inuyasha’s face was a blur. Like trying to look at a photo through water in your eyes. Or I couldn’t recall the sound of Sango’s laugh, or the exact shade of purple on Miroku’s robes. Or…or the way Shippou’s voice sounded the first time he called me ‘mama’.” 

He didn’t say anything, only continued to lift, comb, and dry her hair, so she continued. “I thought it was just…the trauma of the battle. I thought the violence of it all stole the memories from me.” Her fingers drifted up to press against her sternum, where the brutal scar of Naraku’s attack marred her skin. “When my body healed, Mama took me to a therapist. One who wouldn’t ask the wrong kind of questions, who I could tell the truth to.” 

His fingers were warm and gentle against her scalp. She closed her eyes as she remembered that first day. The stiff, rigid line of her shoulders as she’d sat in the soft chair of that quiet office and told her story. The way the tears had come, burning tracks down her cheeks. The tremble in her fingers as she’d clenched them tight in her lap. “That’s how I started drawing. The doctor said the body sometimes remembers what the mind forgets. That drawing what I could remember might help me to recall what I couldn’t. And it worked. I filled sketchbook after sketchbook with everything I could think of from the past. Their faces, the forests, the battles, our nights around the campfires. The sound of their laughs or the emotions in their eyes. Everything.” 

The dryer clicked off and he set it beside her phone on the coffee table. “That is how you became interested in art.” 

“Yes,” she said softly. “It became more than an outlet. It was like…like a release valve but also a way back. The well was closed but, once I started drawing, the memories became their own type of magic. I could remember again. At least a little.” 

“Now they have begun to fade again.” 

“Yes.” The telling of it this truth, her story, had eased the tension from her shoulders without her even realizing. Mama had been the only one who knew everything. “I went to the doctor. Several different doctors, because most of them said it was stress or exhaustion or grief or just female hormones. They recommended more sleep, gaining weight, losing weight, exercise, birth control, and so on.” 

“And none of their recommendations have proved beneficial.” He set the comb aside. “You can stand now. Your hair is dry.” 

Kagome’s cheeks flushed and she scrambled up. “Thank you,” she mumbled. 

“Hn.” He stood and held his hand out to gesture back to the kitchen. “Come. I will prepare dinner, and we will discuss further options for your treatment.” 

She followed him and quietly obeyed his directions to wash and cut potatoes, onions, and carrots as he peeled shrimp and began cleaning them. The quiet again filled the kitchen, only the soft rush of water or the quiet chop of the knife echoing between them. The peace of it landed on her like a tide slowly seeping into a dry, thirty shore. The lost memories and gaps of time still floated on the edges of her mind, a looming terror she couldn’t hide from, but the threat of them dimmed under the silent strength of his determination to fight it.

He stepped away from the cutting board he’d been cutting the shrimp on and pulled a box of udon noodles out of the refrigerator. “In the morning, I will bring a healer here. If a human doctor cannot provide a more sensible diagnosis, perhaps a youkai’s magic healing will prove more sufficient.” He paused, looked over his shoulder, and added, “If you are amenable to such a solution.”  

A youkai healer. She turned the idea over in her mind. Even in the feudal era, the tachi had never stumbled upon one. Whenever they’d suffered an injury, she, Sango, and Miroku had healed the old-fashioned way: rest and herbs. Only Shippou and Inuyasha had managed without, thanks to their innate youkai abilities. But Sesshoumaru’s rank and wealth probably opened up a whole other world of medical knowledge and accessibility. 

“It couldn’t hurt. But…you’ll stay? To help?” she asked, not meeting his eyes as she scooped up the chopped veggies and dumped them into the bowl he set on the counter next to her. The request had come without thought. Nerves danced in her stomach and she still couldn’t look at him as she brought the bowl over to him next to the sprawling cooktop. She remembered sitting in the doctor’s offices, her fingers knotted together between her thighs as she’d waited for their prognoses. “I’m not scared,” she said quickly. “But…it would be nice to hear whatever they have to say and not be alone.” 

As if he could sense her embarrassment, he didn’t look at her as he flicked the burner to life and started the water to boiling. “Yes, miko. I will stay.” 

o.O.o

The next morning, huddled under one of Sesshoumaru’s cardigans over her freshly laundered sundress, she sat awkwardly in his living room and tried not to fidget as the healer stared at her. If Kagome hadn’t known she was a youkai, she never would have guessed. From the lovely soft brown, like rich soil after a rain shower, of her eyes to the lustrous waves of black hair cascading down her back, to the fine lines around her eyes and mouth, she looked as simple and human as anyone Kagome had ever met. She couldn’t even feel her yōki under the glamor. 

“You are the Shikon miko,” said the healer, her voice quiet and unassuming. 

Kagome’s eyes widened and she nodded sharply. “Yes!” 

The healer smiled faintly. “Relax, Miko-sama. Sesshoumaru-sama informed me of who you are—and even if he had not, your reiki is as clear and bright as the sun. It has been generations since such a powerful miko has existed.” Her smiled faded slightly and she leaned forward, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. “Sesshoumaru-sama informed me you are having troubles with your memories.”

“Yes,” she answered, and as she had the night before with Sesshoumaru, told the healer the whole story. Her expression gave nothing away, no matter what Kagome said. She was a rock in the middle of a stream, and Kagome’s story the water flowing around her. Sesshoumaru, seated next to the healer, filled anything Kagome missed. 

When she finished, the healer nodded. “Ailments of the mind are always difficult. Especially memory,” she said. “But it is hard to say until I have examined you. May I?” 

When Kagome nodded, the healer stood and stepped closer. Her hands, small and fine-boned, began to glow a soft white gold. She lifted them towards Kagome, settling her fingers lightly on either side of her temples. She closed her eyes, leaving Kagome to stare up at her as the glow spread from her hands up to her wrists, arms and shoulders until her whole body was encased in that soft glow. 

Kagome could do nothing but watch, her mind racing. Only a tingle of warmth where the healer’s fingers made contact told her something was happening. Her reiki, usually so responsive to yōki, slumbered on unbothered. What would she find? Whatever was happening to her, could the healer fix it? Was it as simple as taking some kind of herbal medicine found on some rare, difficult to find place?

Across from her, the weight of Sesshoumaru’s gaze penetrated more than whatever the healer was doing. Would he get tired of her soon? He’d already done so much for her, since Mama had passed. The trust funds. The shrine and the shop. Helping with Sōta. Now, this. The Sesshoumaru she remembered, while not as cold as he had been as an enemy, rarely made time for human problems. 

Yet there he sat, intent and patient. 

The healer made a soft note of dismay and frowned. Kagome’s eyes darted back up to her face, trying to decipher the sound, but no hint of the noise meaning lay there for her to read. “Is…is everything okay?” she asked tentatively but received no response.

The glow surrounding the healer started to fade several minutes later. She stepped back and reclaimed her seat next to Sesshoumaru. Her hands shook before she clasped them in her lap as she stared at Kagome. The calm confidence she’d radiated before now trembled in the line of her clenched jaw, in the white knuckles of her grasp. “Memory,” she began, her voice hushed as if they sat in the halls of a temple and not Sesshoumaru’s living room, “is not a record. It is the foundation upon which a soul is built…” 

“And…my soul?” Kagome failed to keep the hoarse note of panic from her words as she scooted another inch forward on the edge of the sofa. 

The healer would not meet her eyes. “It is being…unmade. Not damaged. Not hidden. It is as if the very stones are turning to sand and blowing away. I have never seen such a thing.” She finally looked up, her gaze filled with a profound pity that chilled Kagome to the very marrow of her bones. “Sesshoumaru-sama told me of your wish on an artifact called the Shikon no Tama. Your name sake, so to speak.”

A numb buzzing filled Kagome’s ears. The wish. 

“You posited a theory.” Sesshoumaru’s voice cut through the silence, cold and sharp as a blade. He had been a statue next to the healer until now. “Explain.”

The healer flinched but obeyed. “The wish created a paradox. To grant your wish, the jewel had to violate its own nature. It could not simply disappear; it had to have never been. And you, Miko-sama… your life seems inextricably tied to it. Your existence was a thread woven into its fabric.”

The truth unfolded in Kagome’s mind, a horrifying clarity. “So if the jewel never was… then I…”

“Your thread must also be unwoven,” the healer finished softly, her voice trembling. “It is not merely stealing your memories. It is systematically severing your connection to reality. When the last memory of you—by you—fades, the anchor holding you here will be gone. You will not die. You will simply… cease to have been.”

The silence she’d appreciated the night before now felt louder than a detonated bomb. Kagome could only stare at the healer, her mind scrambling to make sense of it, to grasp at some easier to digest problem. But there was nothing—only the gaps in her memory. “How long?” she whispered, not daring to look at Sesshoumaru now. 

The healer hesitated. “Based off what you told me, and what I saw when I examined your spirit…less than a year. Perhaps by winter.” 

“What can be done to stop it?” His cold words cut into the noise of her panic like an icy blade and finally drew Kagome’s eyes to him. Fury rippled across his face in the narrowing of his eyes, in the clenched muscle of his cheek, in the faint, pulsing line of a vein in his temple, as he glared at the healer. 

“It is difficult to say.” The healer looked between them. “This…this is a kind of magic even I am unfamiliar with. I could be completely wrong about its origin, its effects, its solution. I would need to study Kagome-sama’s spirit in-depth to be sure. It would be weeks or months or even years of intense study into her soul, her connection to the jewel, or even the power of the wish. But given the limited time…such research might not even be possible.” 

Tears burned at the corners of Kagome’s eyes. The injustice of it all threatened to choke her. “There’s nothing you can do to…to stop it?” 

The healer hesitated and glanced uncertainly at Sesshoumaru. “There is one thing…but it is not something I can perform. It would have to be Sesshoumaru-sama, or another equally powerful youkai if one could be found that was…willing.” 

Sesshoumaru, whose gaze had settled on Kagome with an intense, helpless fury, looked at the healer and waited. 

Seeing the unspoken command, the healer swallowed hard scooted an inch or two away from the Daiyoukai. “A mating bond. Your yōki would act as a glue, holding the pieces of her soul together. But it would be a temporary answer. A stopgap, to buy time until a real solution could be found. Even a mating bond can’t fight against the unraveling of a soul indefinitely.” 

o.O.o

Sesshoumaru stood at his door after escorting the healer out, his gaze fixed on the unyielding cedar grain. A permanent price for a temporary solution. A mating bond to the Miko would not only act as a stopgap for her memories and soul; it would tie their souls together. If she died, so would he. If her soul unraveled, it would pull his into the void with it. 

Millennia stretched behind him—centuries of brutal training and conquest, of mastering every art and science, of wandering the empty spaces of a world that offered no equal. The Miko’s quiet question in Shirohana echoed back: Was it lonely?

And what had she known? A handful of years, shadowed by war and a selfless wish that had broken her. She had asked for nothing and given everything. And the world did not even know her name. He had spent centuries building funds and power to ensure she was not forgotten. 

No clearer cost existed. His soul in exchange for the chance to save hers. 

In the grand ledger of life, no simpler calculation existed. The cost posed no price, only a purpose. The decision settled within him, cold and clear as forged steel as he turned back towards the living room.

o.O.o

Kagome sat immobile on Sesshoumaru’s sofa, her face wane and her hands loose in her lap. The buzzing in her ears had faded. Now the silence of the room bore down on her like a tomb waiting to be sealed. Fitting, with death lurking around the corner.  Not just the death of her body, but her soul. There would be no reincarnation. No second chances. 

When Sesshoumaru stepped back into the room, her world upended. “No,” she said, bursting to her feet as the grim determination settled into the solid, immovable set of his brows. “Absolutely not!” 

“You will consent,” he said, not stopping until he stood less than a foot from her. “You are not allowed to be noble in the face of your own death. Not again.”  

“You heard what she said! It would…it would tie our souls together. You would disappear too, if we can’t find a solution! You think I want that? To be responsible for your life ending?!” She tried to step around him, to walk away and leave, but he stood as immovable as his determination. Tears, the ones she’d been holding back since the healer had given her prognosis, welled hot and terrified in the corners of her eyes and slipped unchecked down her cheeks. 

“This Sesshoumaru watched you die once before. I will not do it again.” He stepped closer, until she had to crane her head back to look at him. “You will not throw your life away to protect me a second time.” 

Unbidden, she remembered the quiet morning after the social workers had come. His unerring honesty about her first death.  How he had been a second too slow. How he had watched the life fade from her eyes before her body dissolved into motes of light. How the world had forgotten her. The memory of guilt hardening his jaw, the way he had pushed the trust fund documents across the table as if they were a poor substitute for the life he couldn’t save…a fresh sob tore from her throat. She bowed her head, the fringe of her hair brushing the buttons of his dress shirt. “Mates…mates are supposed to love each other,” she wailed, floundering for any defense to change his mind. “I’d be stealing your future!”

A small huff, something between a laugh or a scoff, escaped him. “Youkai of my stature rarely choose their mates for such sentimental reasons. They are chosen for power, for alliance. You are the Shikon Miko, even forgotten. You make an honorable mate.” He paused, and his voice lowered, a subtle concession. “But I am aware you value the notion. I can promise…I will be receptive, should you ever decide it is what you want.” 

It was such a quintessentially Sesshoumaru answer that a watery hiccup, half-laugh, half-sob, escaped her.  “What about children?” she demanded, desperate for one last argument. “I might want them. They’d be hanyou. Like Inuyasha.” 

“Then they will be powerful, with the blood of a daiyoukai and the reiki of reiki of the Shikon Miko. They will be formidable heirs to the West, regardless of which blood runs stronger.”

Her determination to stop him from this sacrifice choked, starved for air. “What…” she whispered, the words so soft they barely stirred the air between them. ”What if it doesn’t work? What if I still disappear?” 

“Then we will find another solution. One that does not require walking into the void. We will find it in the time this bond grants us.” He fell silent, and she felt the weight of his gaze on the crown of her head. 

Her resistance shattered, not under the weight of her fear, but under the future he painted with steadfast certainty. A future with a husband, children, a life. It would not be the story she had once dreamed, but that didn’t make it less. A final, shuddering sob escaped her as she nodded just once. “Okay.” 

More sobs wracked her, but he said nothing to make her stop. In the quiet of his living room, he only lifted his hand and set it gently against the crown of her head. A promise of warmth--and possibility.

o.O.o

Ch. 2 Fin

Word Count - 18,487