The Weight of Gentle Things by Midnight Song

Ume to Higanbana

Part One:
February 18

Kagome stared at the dark glass shopfront. In the window, lit by the warm yellow glow of dancing fairy lights, vases full of wilted roses, plum blossoms, camellia, and tulips covered every surface. Short, squat vases in lovely glass amethyst. Tall, narrow vases of burnished copper. Wide, open-brimmed vases covered in a gold and silver tile mosaic. Amidst it all, a wild array of sagging ferns, dying Dusty Miller (silver leaves glimmering under the dim light), and browning Senryō sat in thick, sturdy planters on solid white counter. Dusted over every available surface, mixed in with petals and leaves, teeny tiny pieces of pink, red, and silver metallic, heart-shaped confetti winked out at her, almost too much, so that from a distance it looked just a little bit like blood spattered snow

A hastily scrawled sign, her mother’s handwriting, in the window declared:

Confetti Cleanup Clearance: Help us sweep the love away—take 10% off anything covered in confetti! 

She stared at the sign and sniffled. Wiping away a tear and a passing snowflake, her eyes drifted to a second sign in bold white and black, slightly worn at the edges.

“Mochū nit tsuki, kyūgyō itashimasu.”

“Closed due to mourning,” she whispered, and reached out to trace a finger over the unfamiliar handwriting. Still, her fingertip only tapped lightly against the freezing glass. Wondering who had taken the time to place the sign, she dropped her hand. She dug into her pocket for the key she’d discovered amidst all the lawyers’ papers only an hour before. Pulling it free with trembling fingers tipped red from cold, she turned to the beautifully carved, stained-glass paneled door and pushed the key into the lock. It slid in with no resistance, and a moment later, as she turned the key, it issued a soft snick of sound as the tumblers turned and opened.

She hesitated on the threshold of pushing the door open, one hand on the delicate bronze-wrought handle and the other on the lovely, stained-glass orchids and peonies woven into one of the panels. The cold pressed at her back, urging her to step into the darkness, to face the unknown left to her by her mother. Loosing a heavy breath, she pushed the handle down and eased the door open. A bell jingled overhead, and like a gasp of fresh air, her mother’s perfume ghosted past her—jasmine, orange blossom, cinnamon.

Choking on a sob, Kagome stood in the open doorway for a long moment as she savored that scent. She’d spent days turning the Shrine upside down trying to find her mother’s perfume, desperate for one last breath of her mother’s scent—but she’d never found it. Of course, it hadn’t been something as simple as a perfume. Of course, it had been the flowers she’d always surrounded herself with. How hadn’t she known? How little had she known about her mother?

Biting her lip, she closed the door gently and flicked on the overhead lights with the switch to the right of it. Instead of the bright, overhead fluorescents she’d expected, dozens of small lamps lit up around the room. Some stood simple and elegant, spreading warm, yellow light like little bubbles of energy. Others sat or leaned or hung, too many to count. A few barely gave off enough light to be worth lighting, and others poured light like a waterfall, washing across the shop in waves of comforting, cozy warmth.

Off to her left stood two towering, glass-fronted refrigerators, stock full of half-wilted flowers, most of which Kagome couldn’t even begin to name. They sat, stiff and cold, under the dim white light of the refrigerator’s glow. In the center of the room stood what could only be described as a cashier’s counter, recognizable by the old-fashioned register with the draw handle to eject the drawer and a tiny bell. It reminded her of an old typewriter her grandfather had shown her once. Next to it, the white cube of a QR scanner and credit card machine looked oddly out of place. The counters spread out on four sides, two perfect L-shaped lengths of wood with a four-foot gap on two corners to allow entry.

Walking up to it, she pressed her palm against the warm sugi wood, recognizable because her grandfather had once redone the floors at home with the same wood. Wiping away another tear with her other hand, she eyed the left-behind detritus of someone’s order—frayed ribbon, browned tips of stems, a discarded roll of parchment paper—scattered haphazardly along one countertop. Shelves lined the insides of the counter space, filled with wrapping paper, ribbons, extra vases…the everyday needs of a small florist shop.

Swallowing thickly, she drifted away from the counter and wandered further into the shop. Windows lined two of the four sides of the corner shop, and except for the window display by the door, they stood empty and clear, letting in the pale winter glow of night and the splash of streetlights outside. In the farthest corner of the shop, lined up next to rows of cubbies, sat a long, scarred table—sugi too, she thought—sturdy and worn, large enough to seat at least 10 people. Perhaps her mother had held lessons here or spread out large orders when the counter hadn’t provided enough space.

The cubbies overflowed, like the shelves at the counter, with ribbons, twine, wire, scissors, paper, marbles, even some preserved moss and bowls full of dried flowers. A sketchbook sat abandoned, open on a page of a half-finished orchid. She couldn’t tell what kind of orchid—maybe a cattleya, but the idea of stepping closer to page through the sketchbook made her throat burn with swallowed grief. Even with the few feet separating her and the table, she recognized her mother’s work.

Behind the table, a door stood firmly closed. ‘Staff Only’ was painted across it in big, bold green script, twined into designs of leaves, flowers, and vines. She stepped towards that door, and as she had at the threshold to the shop, hesitated to open it. Here would be the office and the breakroom, a quiet sanctuary from holiday rushes and clamoring customers—and if the instructions the lawyer had given her held true, then an explanation for what this place was and why her mother had hidden it from them.

Girding herself, Kagome opened the door and stepped into the compact, but no less cozy, employee space. The walls, filled with numerous narrow windows, spread out before her in shades of deepest teal. A small, brown sofa, piled with throw pillows, sat along one wall. A coffee table and two brown chairs sat on the opposite side of the sofa. Along the other wall stood a simple, brown counter—made of the same sugi wood used in the front of the shop—with a wide-basin farm sink on one end. A coffee pot and two cups sat upside down in the drying rack next to it. A row of bookshelves hogged the third wall, stuffed to the brim.

From her place by the door, she saw ‘Ikebana: The Art of Arranging Flowers’ by Shozo Sato next to ‘Be not Defeated by the Rain’ by Kenji Miyazawa. She’d gifted the second one to her mom when she’d been thirteen. She’d been so hurt back then when she hadn’t seen the book on her mother’s bookshelf at home. In the dim glow of light peeking into the room from the shop behind her, she could just see the cracks along the spine and what looked like notes sticking out on various pages.

Clearing her throat, she stepped fully into the room and towards a set of doors on the fourth wall—one open to a small bathroom, the second to a larger office space. Determined to finish this before her tears got the best of her, she stepped into the office. White walls, no windows. A gray, utilitarian desk sat shoved into one corner with a black metal folding chair neatly tucked under it. A basic Toshiba computer sat behind a dusty, black keyboard and wired mouse. Servicable trays of paperwork occupied a space on the left-hand side. A miniature, black filing cabinet sat on the right. Tucked in between the file tray and the computer, a tiny photo of their family stood as the only sign that her mother had occupied this space at all.

Sniffling, she pulled the chair out of the way and knelt under the desk to locate the small safe pushed back out of sight. Entering the code—her and Sōta’s birthdays—Kagome let out another shaky breath when the door popped open with a small click. Tugging it open, she spotted the small stack of ledgers sitting neatly to one side of the safe. Beside it, two large boxes sat side by side. Her name scrawled neatly across the top of one, Sōta’s the other. On top of the ledgers, a white envelope with her name. On the bottom shelf, a small black bank folder sat empty and flat, next to a pile of paperwork and other small personal items that must have been connected to the shop.

Taking the ledgers, the envelope, and the two boxes with their names on them, Kagome set everything on the floor beside her before she closed the safe and locked it again. Unable to bear the idea of reading her mother’s last words to her in this tiny office that barely had her mother’s scent, she gathered everything up into her arms and carried it out to the long wooden table in the front of the shop.

For a long moment after she set everything down--on the opposite end of the table with her mother's sketchbook--and took a seat in one of the lovely wooden chairs, she couldn’t bring herself to actually open anything. This moment would never come again. Her mother had died weeks ago, and her grandfather last summer, and she’d adjusted to the fact she’d never hear their voices again, never be held in the safety of their arms—but this…this would be the last goodbye. The last words her mother thought most important to share with her.

Working up the nerve, Kagome watched as a trio of men stumbled out of the izakaya directly across from the flower shop, drunk and loud and laughing. She wanted to begrudge them their cheer as she sat here in her mother’s empty shop, surrounded by dead and dying flowers and the ghost of her mother’s scent—but she didn’t have the energy for it. Above the door, the kanji of the izakaya’s name stood out in stark black and white. Shirohana. A white feather curved around the characters in a half circle. How many nights had her mother gone in for a late-night dinner, for a solitary drink as she worried about her children?

Swallowing, she dropped her eyes back to the envelope waiting for her. A sticky note in her mother’s pretty script read ‘read me first’. A tiny daisy drawing adorned one side. With shaking hands, she picked it up, broke open the old-fashioned seal, and began to read:

My Dearest Kagome,

By now, you’ve found the shop. The flowers are probably wilting and molded, the confetti hasn’t been swept up yet, and you’re standing there wondering why I never told you.

The truth: I wanted to see your smile every day.

The day you came back from the feudal era—bloody, bruised, clothes in tatters—you collapsed in my arms and sobbed until you fell asleep right there on the kitchen floor. It was weeks before you could even talk about what happened or leave your room, months before you would leave the shrine.

After that, I swore I would give you a life so ordinary, so soft, that the weight of the world and its needs would never bear down on you again. The first flutter of true love in your heart, the high-pitched coo of your first baby, the soft sigh of love when your husband brings you flowers just because. These are my hopes for you. The weight of gentle things.

And then one day you started to hum again as you hung the laundry to dry, you teased your brother about his haircut, you laughed at your grandfather’s stories. There were still days when your gaze lingered on the Goshinboku, when sunlight filtered down through its leaves as if you were waiting for someone. But you started to heal and even though you still paused now and then, still lingered on the past, still waited, you also began to move forward again.

You applied to university. You went on a date. You didn’t have to force every smile anymore.

How could I shatter that?

The cancer diagnosis came last summer. The doctors used words like ‘aggressive’ and ‘options limited’. I thought of you, of how hard you’d fought to find joy again. I thought of Sōta—of how hard he was studying for his entrance exams—and it was an easy choice.

The shop was meant to be a surprise for you one day later. I guess later is now. I bought it years ago with some of the insurance money left over from your father’s accident. I wanted to make sure you and Sōta had choices I didn’t have—good schools, university, travel—and every penny from the shop has gone to these things.

The ledgers will show you the truth—Sakihana was never just a shop. It was a vault. Every bouquet paid for your school uniforms and trips through the well, for your brother’s sports and clubs, for meals out with your friends, for the leaky roof at home and yes, for those jeans you wanted so badly at twelve (even though you hated them after a week)—forgive me, I’ve always been weak for your smiles.

All of that aside, Kagome—this shop is meant to be a gift, not a chain holding you down. You don’t owe me or it anything, especially with all you must be feeling about the Shrine and your brother. If keeping it feels like a duty, not love, then walk away. Sell it. Burn the ledgers. Dance in the ashes. Your happiness—and Sōta’s—is the only inheritance that matters.

(Though, if you do keep it—stock some peonies? I always undersold them because you loved them so much.)

In the box labeled with your name, you’ll find letters for all the big moments I’ll miss—your first real love (we both know Inuyasha wasn’t it), graduation (I’ll be cheering loudest), your first heartbreak (I’ll haunt him), your first child (I’ll be in their laugh)—and letters too for the days when it’s too hard to get out of bed, or when it seems like the world is bearing down on you again. Letters for birthdays and everyday type days. Read them all at once or save them—whatever gives you peace.

One last thing—your reiki? It’s not just for chasing demons, my sweet girl. Use it to chase joy, Kagome. The world owes you that much.

With all the love my hands ever held,

Mama

With trembling fingers, Kagome folded the letter carefully and tucked it to her chest. Her throat burned. For the first time since her mother’s funeral, Kagome let herself cry—not the weepy, runaway tears she’d allowed until now, but the full, cleansing torrent of grief she’d been holding back. Her body bowed over the old, sturdy table, weighed down by loss as she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed—a storm of anguish, as unyielding as the deepest of seas.

And then, like all storms, it passed.

The tears stopped. Her head pounded. Her throat still burned.

But the grief felt lighter.

Across the street, unnoticed by Kagome, the lights went off in Shirohana.

o.O.o

Late the next afternoon, Kagome stood next to Sōta in the shop. “You should be home resting,” she murmured, but didn’t reach out to check his temperature again. He’d already slanted her one look today, warning her not to mother him.

He didn’t look at her, just gave a noncommittal shrug and scanned the shop, his face unreadable. “I wanted to see it for myself,” he muttered. “Still pissed you came here without me last night.”

Kagome shifted, her sneakers squeaking on the wood floors. “You were knocked out cold from the fever meds. I didn’t want to wake you.” She dropped her voice and wrapped her arms around her middle, as if she could trap all her grief inside. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“It is a big deal.” His eyes finally met hers, “You should’ve waited. It wasn’t just yours to see!”

His words landed harsher than she’d expected. Kagome flinched at the heat in them and looked away.

Sōta sighed and scraped a hand through his hair. “Shit. Sorry.” He stepped towards her and opened his arms, all defensiveness gone. “That came out wrong. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay ---”

“It’s not,” he cut in quickly, and when she didn’t move, he pulled her into a hug anyway. “You flinched. I’m sorry.”

“You were right, though,” she mumbled, sniffling as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder and blinked back more tears. “I got caught up in the moment. I think part of me hoped she might still be here.”

“Yeah.” His voice cracked just a little. “Me too.”

They stood like that a moment longer, suspended in time and grief and memory, before Sōta pulled back and awkwardly patted her shoulder with a wry smile. “Mom would have given me that look. You know the one.”

Kagome huffed a watery laugh and swiped her fists across her eyes. “That one that made you apologize before she even said anything.”

“Exactly.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked around. “Do you think Grandpa knew?”

“I can’t see how he didn’t,” Kagome said. “He’d have had questions. Like where the money came from.” She watched him wander around the shop, the same loss-filled wonder sloping his shoulders as it had hers the night before when he spotted the box of letters with his name.

He didn’t move or answer, just stared at the letter and box. “You don’t have to read it now if you don’t want to,” she said after a moment. He flinched away from her comfort lately, so Kagome stayed where she was by the register.

“No, I’ll read it…” He trailed off and continued his stare down with the letter and the box.

Before she could say anything else, a harried knock sounded on the delivery door in the back of the shop. “Take your time,” she told her brother, and turned to deal with the intrusion. She’d taken hours the night before to absorb the secret of the shop and their mother’s last words, after all. The least she could do was give him some space to do the same.

Hurrying to the back, she unlocked the door and found herself eye-to-eye with the tip top of a bright blue ball cap, worn by a courier who was mostly obscured by the box that had to be nearly as big as his torso.

“Delivery here for Shirohana! Can you sign? I’m behind!”

“Um, sure.” She scribbled her name and accepted the box, distracted. It wasn’t until the delivery guy jogged off that she glanced at the slip. “Oh!! Wait, Shirohana…” Her eyes widened. “That’s not…”

Kagome started out the door after him, but her foot caught the edge of the door jamb. The box tilted, her ankle rolled, and she went down with a yelp. Somehow, she managed to fall backward and land on her bottom, keeping the box cradled in her arms like precious cargo, which proved true, as whatever was inside clinked and clanked as she adjusted her grip. Alcohol, probably, given its destination.

Sighing, she leaned back against the door a moment and turned her gaze to the sky. The electric hum of energy whispered to life as streetlights started to flicker on, and shops activated their display and outdoor lights. Clouds streaked across the darkening blue, painted with splashes of reds, golds, and purples. It would probably have been a breathtaking sunset if she’d been sitting at the top of the shrine stairs. If she’d been able to enjoy it properly. If her mother’s death and Sōta’s future and the shrine and the shop didn’t all hang in the balance of her just taking a moment.

Across the street, Shirohana’s back door swung open wide as a man stepped out into the growing dark. With the light from the kitchen pouring out behind him, he stood in shadow against her. Remembering the box in her arms, Kagome hoisted herself up, wincing when a scrape on her hand made itself noticeable. “Um…hi!” she called as she hefted the box up another inch in greeting. “I think this is yours?”

He stepped forward into the light. The sharp, aristocratic angles of his face cast small shadows and enhanced his beauty—elegantly handsome. Even as he froze, he looked like a model—decidedly poised and his clothing, sleek white chef's coat and black trousers—somehow effortlessly stylish on him. His hair, thick, black, and cut into a neat fade on the sides, fringe sweeping back and to the side. Evening light settled around them just enough to make determining his eye color impossible.

For a moment, Kagome looked at him and thought—but no, the past had gone. Who knew if even he had survived this long? She swallowed the ridiculous thought and held the box out to him.

Her fingers brushed against his as he reached for the box, and she froze, the box trapped between them now as her reiki hummed to life for the first time in three years. In the shadows growing thicker around them, the sun sinking finally out of view, the edges around him seemed to shift and twist in reaction to her reiki.

“You’re late,” he said.

The sheer blandness of his accusation jerked her back to the present. She let go of the box out of reflex. He caught it easily and took a step back, appraising her with deceptively normal brown eyes, his hair shining like copper in the glare of a street lamp. His voice, low and smooth, pulled at the hint of a memory she couldn’t quite recall. “I…huh? What?”

“The delivery.” He tapped the shipping label on top of the box and pointed at the date. “It was due yesterday.”

She blinked and followed his fingers—and could have sworn they were tipped in claws, but when she looked again, only blunt, human nails met her gaze. “Right. Sorry. I’m not actually the courier. I’m the new owner at the flower shop next door,” she murmured, and pointed over her shoulder at the shop behind her. A gust of wind whipped past. She shivered.

A pause. Then his gaze lifted slowly to take in Sakihana behind her, and presumably her brother sitting at the long wooden table by the windows. Something flickered in his eyes, too fast for her to catch, as he looked down at her hand. “A mistake,” he said at last. “You are bleeding.”

Eyes widening, she followed his gaze. Her mouth opened in a small mou of surprise. She'd forgotten.

“Come. I will clean it for you.”

She started to object and even looked back at her brother through the windows, but he still sat with his head in his hands. A little more privacy couldn’t hurt, she supposed. “Alright, I guess. I’m Higurashi Kagome, by the way.” Bundling a little deeper into her sweater as another gust of wind kicked by, she turned back—and found him gone, the door of his shop standing open, the warmth of his kitchen beckoning.

Sighing, she looked back one last time at Sōta before she followed the worker from Shirohana. The moment she stepped through the doorway and into the kitchen, the scent of citrus, woodsmoke, and grilled fish surrounded her. She saw the tall, dark-haired stranger kneeling under a counter next to a set of three stainless-steel sinks. Near the service window, an enormous vat of bone broth simmered. Three other cooks in black chefs’ uniforms worked efficiently at more stainless-steel counters, calling out orders, chopping ingredients, and plating up meals. Two younger boys, possibly high schoolers, worked at a back counter unloading boxes of ingredients. By a heating lamp, bowls and plates sat waiting to be sent to tables, and a solitary white chrysanthemum stood in a small vase just like the ones on the storage shelves of her mother’s shop.

Her eyes lingered on the delicate petals, still fresh and full despite the humid heat of the kitchen. “Did you know my mother?” she asked quietly.

Silence fell in the kitchen. Knives stopped mid-chop. The crinkling of packaging as ingredients were unwrapped stopped. Even the soup seemed to stop bubbling. The man by the sink looked over his shoulder at her, and under the bright lights of the kitchen, that deep, fathomless brown flashed gold again. Understanding dawned as the edges of her vision shifted and blurred again, as her reiki responded to the strange shift in the atmosphere. Not in fear, but in greeting. “You’re---

“Out,” he said as he stood, the first-aid kit clutched so tightly in one hand that it started to dent.

His staff did not hesitate. Sous chefs set tools down with quiet care, burners turned off with soft clicks, the curtain over the plating window pulled shut with a hushed whoosh as the workers filed out one by one until only he and Kagome remained in the simmering kitchen.

And like that, the glamour fell. Her reiki responded immediately, glowing to life along her hands and reaching out with longing to the yōki now pouring off him in waves. “Sesshoumaru-sama?” she asked tentatively as she watched the black of his hair fade to silver—still short, still stylish for this time, tapered thin above pointed ears. His markings appeared like ink blotting paper, magenta stripes and indigo crescent framing the lovely warmth of his golden eyes—eyes she thought she’d never see again.

He nodded, only once, then motioned to a small four-top table at the back of the kitchen. “Sit. I will clean your wound.”

She obeyed and sank down into the chair, but deliberately left her hand in her lap. “It’s just a scratch. We both know I’ve had worse. Please, tell me…about how you know my mother? And if you knew her, why didn’t you come find me?”

Sesshoumaru did not say anything, only waited with the first-aid kit open in front of him. Even after 500 years, he remained as staid and impassive as ever.

Scowling, she reluctantly lifted her hand and held it out for him. “You haven’t changed at all, Sesshoumaru-sama. It’s still your way or nothing.”

He shrugged non-committedly and took a wet wipe out of the kit to begin cleaning her scrape. “I met your mother a week after her diagnosis, in July. I knew immediately she was your mother.”

Bile turned in her stomach, and she tried to pull her hand free. “You knew she was dying and you didn’t—”

“She forbade me to contact you.” He tightened his grip on her wrist until she stopped struggling. “She made it clear if I attempted to do so, she would make sure your entire family disappeared, and I would be unable to find you again.”

Kagome sputtered, disbelief twisting her features into a deeper, angrier scowl. “You can’t honestly expect---”

“Miko. Breathe. Listen.” He traced his thumb across the pulse point in her wrist and waited until she calmed a second time. “Your mother wanted nothing more than to protect you and let you focus on your life in this time. She worried, rightly, that my presence would disrupt your life so recently after you ceased grieving leaving the past behind. Most importantly, she did not wish you to know she was ill.”

She winced, whether from the disinfectant he now sprayed across the scrape or from the truth in his words—she couldn’t tell. Everything about him distracted her. The gentleness of his touch as he tended to the scrape. The infuriating calm of his words. The quiet strength of his shoulders as he braced to accept whatever she threw at him. “Then why…why now, when everything is so fresh? Why are you showing yourself to me now?”

He withdrew a Band-Aid from the box and opened it. “I did not intend to. She asked me to wait until you needed me.” He peeled off the backing of the bandage and pressed it carefully against the scrape.

Pulling her hand back, Kagome stared at the empty table space spanning between them before she could meet his eyes. “And do I?” she asked. “Need you?”

For the first time she could remember, he looked uncertain. “That is not for me to decide.”

She found herself unable to look away from him as they studied each other in the quiet heat of his kitchen. Would she have made the same choice if her mother had asked her to keep the illness secret from Sōta? When she found the answer to be yes, she loosed a long breath and leaned back. “I have more questions,” she murmured.

Before he could answer, a knock on the door leading to the dining room popped the bubble of quiet tension between them. Immediately, the fuzzy glamour of the magic slid back into place. Watching his hair bleed black and his eyes darken to brown left her unsettled. It didn’t feel right, watching him hide himself from the world—but it also wasn’t her place to ask him not to use the glamour.

He turned to the door. “Enter.”

One of the cooks poked his head inside. “Chef, some of the customers are starting to complain.”

Sesshoumaru stood. “Comp their meals and offer a free drink or dessert of their choice. You may resume your work now.”

Kagome watched as his employees strode back in and picked up their tasks like they had never abandoned them in the first place. “I never would have expected to see you work in hospitality,” she said as she stood too.

“There is rarely a need for bloodshed and weaponry in this time,” he said wryly, and motioned her towards the back door leading out to the street between their two shops. “You have questions—but now is not the time or place.”

Disappointed, Kagome took in the once more bustling kitchen but didn’t object as she followed him outside. Sōta waited by the front door of their shop, her coat and bag in his hands. When he looked up and mouthed a quick ‘you ok?’, she nodded once and turned back to Sesshoumaru. “I don’t know if I need you,” she admitted as she wrapped her arms around herself in the cool night air. “And maybe we weren’t friends then, either. But I…” she trailed off and looked away, scuffing the toe of one shoe against the pavement.

“It would be a nice change of pace to discuss the past with someone who understands it,” he said quietly. “And there are questions I desire answers to as well, Miko. You are not alone in that.”

“Then when can I see you again?” she asked, finally meeting his gaze again.

He slid a hand into one of his pockets and withdrew a plain black business card. “My mobile number and home numbers are here. You may send a text message or call to arrange a meeting whenever you wish.”

She took it and traced her fingers over the embossed silver feather in the shape of a crescent moon. On the back, in plain white, the name Souma Tsukihara and two phone numbers shone in bright silver. “I guess a name like ‘the killing perfection’ doesn’t exactly blend in with the popular names now,” she murmured.

“Indeed.”

Tucking it into her pocket, she ignored the insane instinct to hug him and took a step back. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

He nodded once and slipped both of his hands into his pockets.

Shivering as another burst of wind puffed between them, Kagome turned and started towards her brother. She only made it a few steps when he called out to her.

“Miko.”

Pausing, she looked back over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“It is good to see you again.”

Warmth seeped into the tips of her ears. Grateful for the dark now settled fully around them so he couldn’t see the color of her cheeks, she nodded once. “You too, Sesshoumaru-sama.”

And feeling oddly lighter than she had in weeks, Kagome left him behind to walk home with her brother.

o.O.o

February 28

The living room table resembled a disaster zone. Account ledgers, loose papers, stacks of legal documents, and books lay spread open to a half-dozen different pages and scattered about. On one side, Kagome slept, a mop of unruly hair hiding her face. A smudge of ink smeared across her cheek, just visible through her hair. One shoulder of her T-shirt hung off her shoulder. A pen lay in one hand, the point still pressed against a piece of paper. Her snores filled the quiet of the room almost in perfect time with the ticking of the clock.

Suddenly, the doorbell chimed. Once. Twice. On the third, Kagome startled out of sleep and stared blearily towards the front of the house. Her brain plodded along as she processed the sound, then she spun to look at the clock hanging over the TV. “Oh, gods. The family court people.”

Panic stirred bile at the back of her throat as she burst up from her spot on the living room floor. “Just a minute!” she called. Dashing to the laundry room, she grabbed the first pair of trousers she could find off the drying line and tugged them on over her house shorts. She ripped off the oversized tee next and replaced it with one of her mother’s old blouses, one she’d been too sad to take off the line until now.

“Coming!!” she called as the bell rang a fourth time. Running for the door, she threw her hair up into a messy bun and then ripped open the door. “Hi!” she said breathlessly to the two women standing outside—both of whom looked decidedly unimpressed. “Sorry, I was just in the middle of uh…cleaning!”

“Of course, Higurashi-san,” said the taller, younger of the two. Despite the kindness in her words, the stern narrowing of her eyes told another story.

Kagome swallowed back the bile and glanced at the other woman, shorter and at least a decade older, if the grey streaks in her hair indicated anything. “Uh…um, please come in. I’ll make us some tea while we talk.”

She led them inside, heart pounding so loud she could swear they must hear it—a problem only made worse as with every step inside the house, she noticed every little thing she hadn’t gotten around to cleaning…in weeks. Leftover dishes on the shelf by the door from two nights ago, when they’d eaten on the shrine steps, dust on almost every surface, piles of laundry, the disaster zone she’d left in the living room. The kitchen table piled with half-empty boxes of take-away since neither she nor Sōta could cook to save their lives.

“A…hah…hah…we’ve—we’ve been pretty busy around here,” she said, looking at the two women anxiously as she detoured to the living room. At least the sofas were both empty. “Please have a seat. I’ll get some drinks.”

The older of the two women sat, but the younger followed Kagome. “Part of our purpose here is to make sure the home is still a safe and reasonable place for the minor child to live,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just take a poke around while you prepare the drinks?”

Kagome thought raggedly of the bathroom that hadn’t been scrubbed in weeks, since the last time her mother had done it—or of Sōta’s room, probably filled with the detritus of a typical teenage boy, of her own room with piles of unwashed laundry, textbooks spread out all over her desk, piles of canvas in front of her closet, her unmade bed full of wrinkled sheets. “Sure,” she wheezed, “go…ahead. Ha…ha.”

Rubbing the back of her neck, she hurried to the kitchen and stared in dazed shock. When was the last time she’d made tea? Had they really been surviving on takeaways and convenience store runs? Disgusted and embarrassed with herself, with what she’d allowed, she scrubbed her hands over her face and then groaned when one of them came away smeared with ink.

Grabbing a rag, she scrubbed at her face until the towel came away clean and then, seeing nothing for it—there wasn’t time to wash cups now anyway--grabbed two bottles of water off the top of the fridge and returned to the living room. She handed one to the social worker and then set the other on a stack of books nearest her for the one wandering around the house. “We haven’t really…had time for much housework, what with everything going on.”

The woman smiled, much kinder than her younger partner, and waved a hand. “Don’t worry, dear. In these kinds of situations, it’s not uncommon for the house to be a little uncared for in the face of grief. You’ll get the hang of it soon.”

“Right…” Sitting down on the couch opposite her, Kagome rested her hands awkwardly in her lap. “So…so will there be any problem with Sōta staying with me?”

The younger social worker stepped into the room at the tail end of her question and sank down gingerly next to her partner. “It’s hard to say at the moment,” she said, sparing a glance for the sprawl of ledgers on the table and haphazard paperwork.

Kagome resisted the urge to lunge forward and hide everything. Barely. “I’m the only family he has left, though. Our grandfather died last summer, our father when we were children. We don’t have any aunts or uncles or any distant relatives.” She twisted her fingers together to keep from fidgeting. “I’m all he has.”

The younger worker relented just enough to let pity show in a small, sad smile. “Yes, we understand that. But we must keep in mind the best thing for the child. He still has many years of schooling left, and you haven’t quite reached twenty. You have no job or income to speak of, and the added responsibility of deciding what to do with the shop and the shrine—the maintenance of which will eat up a large portion of your income.”

“I can take a leave of absence from university. I have high marks in all of my courses, and all of my professors would vouch for me to return at a better time when there isn’t so much…so much chaos,” she said quickly. “I can work in the flower shop to pay for anything Sōta needs, and Mama left a small inheritance for us that will help too. And I have my competition winnings from archery in my savings. It’s not much, but between that and the shop I can—”

“And the shrine?” asked the older one gently as she pulled a folder out of her purse.

“Grants. I found old paperwork here where we applied for grants in times of need. Surely now qualifies as a time for need. I’ll apply for everything we qualify for, or if I have to, I can take out loans—”

The younger one raised her hands. “Calm down, please, Higurashi-san. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

The older one opened her file and withdrew a small stack of papers. “We’ll start with the applications. Fill it out first. Then there’s the form to submit to prove your financial status. You’ll need to submit a full accounting of your personal accounts, the accounts from the shop, and the shrine.”

“And you’ll want to get the house in order, of course,” added the younger, wrinkling her nose at the mess on the coffee table—and everywhere else. At a stern look from the elder, she cleared her throat and bowed slightly. “Apologies, Higurashi-san. No insult intended.”

“Right.” Kagome sucked in a breath through her nose and held it, forcing herself to let it out slowly. Her stomach growled, and a point behind her eyes resumed the low throb that had lulled her to sleep earlier.

The older one held out the papers to her and smiled gently. “My colleague is still new to working with these situations, Higurashi-san. Please don’t take to heart her judgement. Take these papers now and submit them as soon as possible. It’s best if we can get this sorted before your brother starts high school next month.”

“Right. Right.” She took the papers and stared down at them. When the words started to blur together, she rubbed her eyes. “Thank you. I’ll submit them tomorrow, first thing.”

The elder stood and motioned for the other to do the same. “A bit of advice, Higurashi-san?”

Kagome looked up, the weight of the bags under her eyes heavier than ever. “Yes?”

“You can’t pour tea from a broken pot. You look like you haven’t had a good night's sleep in weeks. And since our first meeting the day of your mother’s funeral, you’ve lost weight.” That same gentle smile pulled up the corners of her lips. “I understand you’re still grieving and new to such responsibilities—but you have to take care of yourself before you can take care of anyone else.”

The back of her throat burning, Kagome nodded once. “Right.” Feeling like that was the only word she knew, she started to stand but stopped when the older social worker waved her away.

“We can see ourselves out. Take a break. Maybe eat something,” said the younger, pointedly looking at her stomach as it growled again.

“Right.”

For a long time after that, Kagome simply sat staring at the stack of papers in her hands. Somehow, the idea of Sōta being taken away from her had seemed like such a far-flung possibility. He was her baby brother. Of course, she’d take care of him and see him through to college. Maybe she couldn’t nurture him the way Mama could have, but she could be there for him in other ways.

The house settled in silence around her, the kind that amplified every creak of the old floorboards, every tick of the aging clock, every drip of the leaky faucet in the kitchen. She should move. Go clean something. Fill out more paperwork. Something. Something other than sitting here staring at the words “Guardian Evaluation From” blurring before her tired eyes, as that point in her temple throbbed even harder.

A knock sounded at the door, enough to draw her out of the daze of her last appointment. “It’s open,” she called faintly, glancing at the clock again and remembering she’d agreed to have Sesshoumaru over for a late lunch. She looked around the disaster of her house and couldn’t even summon the energy to feel embarrassed at the state of it a second time.

A pair of fancy leather shoes appeared in her peripheral vision, but she couldn’t make herself meet his eyes. “You just missed the welfare workers coming to check on my suitability to have guardianship over Sōta.”

He stared down at her. “When did you last sleep?”

“The ledgers aren’t adding up,” she mumbled, ignoring his question to drop down on her knees in front of the coffee table again. “I have to figure that out so I can prove I have the money to take care of him.” She finally looked at up him, barely taking in the charcoal grey sweater and dark slacks he wore as he watched her with unsettling focus.

His gaze swept the room, taking in the empty take-out containers and half-full coffee cups. A checkbook sat open next to a calculator with an error message. Sōta’s uniform deposit, 35,000 yen. Roof repair, 67,000 yen. Kagome’s tuition, 538,000 yen. “You are drowning in shallow water, Miko.”

She scowled and turned back to the paperwork and ledgers. “I’m handling it. I just have to get this math right first…”

“You’re handling it?” He pointed towards the closest empty take-out container. “How many days has it been since you ate that?” When she opened her mouth to answer, he held up a hand. “Don’t think about lying. It’s only been ten days since I saw you last and you look 6 kilo lighter, Miko—a feat, given you already looked like a strong breeze could knock you over the night we met.”

Her stomach growled in answer. Where had the energy she’d had after meeting him gone? Near tears, she went to stand but found her knees wouldn’t hold her—they buckled the minute she tried, sending her crashing back down. Sniffling, she scrubbed at her face. “Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing. But Mama made it look so easy. Sōta needs new shoes that fit and I can’t even remember to pick up milk at the store. I tried cooking one of her recipes and burned myself. I broke the washing machine because I’ve never loaded it before and I didn’t know where to put the soap or which option to choose so now it’s still full of water and the towels I wanted to wash are probably ruined and the whole laundry room smells like mildew. And there’s a leak in the roof in Grandpa’s room and I’m so angry!” Her words came out on a shout even as the room spun. “Why didn’t she teach me how to do any of these things? How am I supposed to take care of Sōta when I can’t even keep the house clean?”

Unsurprised by her outburst, Sesshoumaru reached behind him for the thermos he’d brought and crouched down next to her. Her brother had texted him that morning, asking for help getting her to eat. “First,” he said as he sat down fully next to her, “you will drink this. Then you will bathe. After that, you will take a nap.”

She stared as he unscrewed the cap of the thermos and then poured a thick, creamy broth with shredded chicken and ginger into the lid and held it out to her. “But Sōta---”

“Is at Shirohana, delightedly learning how to fillet a fish with what is undoubtedly one of the sharpest knives in my inventory—under the very skilled and careful hands of my top sous chef. He will be home by six,” he added as worry started to cloud her features. When she didn’t take the lid of the thermos, he reached for her hand and forcibly wrapped it around the mug. “Drink, Kagome. That is the first thing you do.”

Had his gaze always been so unflinchingly calm? But her stomach growled, and another wave of dizziness made the room spin. So she drank. The minute the creamy broth hit her tongue, she saw fireworks. The true ache of her hunger forced a appreciative groan from her as Sesshoumaru turned his attention to the mess of paperwork.

He poured her a second cup the minute she finished the first. “The paperwork is all here. If there is a discrepancy in the math, it is likely because your mind is clouded by grief and stress. I will help you to fill out the forms.”

She started to object but he lifted a hand to stop her.

“We are friends, are we not?”

Swallowing another sip, she nodded slowly.

“In the battle for Naraku, when I hesitated over leaving Rin in the elderly miko’s protection, what did you say to me?”

She looked down at her reflection in the half-full mug of broth. “Let us help you.” The memory surfaced like a lifeline and she clung to it desperately, the first gasp of fresh air she’d had in days.

“Precisely.” Rolling up his sleeves, he refilled her mug a third time and then turned to the papers, ledgers, and books and began organizing with ruthless efficiency. “I will call Jaken and a cleaning service. They will get the house in order for you tonight. And then tomorrow morning we will deal with whatever is left.”

“But the Guardianship form…”

“Will wait one more night. You can barely stand without fainting. I doubt you could even spell guardianship correctly in your state. Eat, shower, sleep.” He paused, one hand on a ledger, and looked back at her. “Do not test me, Miko. That was not a request.”

The broth, warm in her belly, eased the ache at the back of her throat. Now that she’d unleashed her burdens on Sesshoumaru, relief settled on her shoulders like a blanket as she watched him stack the ledgers together by category—shrine, shop, personal accounts. “I thought…it would be a burden to ask for help. I thought I could do it alone, like she did.”

Sesshoumaru paused and glanced back at her. Exhaustion lined her eyes, held up by the thick, purple bags beneath them. Grief and stress weighed her shoulders down. “Your mother did not do it alone,” he said finally, turning back to the table and organizing papers into the same neat categories as he had the ledgers. “She had many friends who helped her through her hospital visits, and she turned our street of shops from a simple strip of shops into a community who cares for each other. She also had your grandfather to help with the shrine, among other things.”

She took another sip of the broth, slower now that the ache in her belly had eased with the 3 small cups of soup. “She made it look so easy, all the things she did around the house—and now finding out about the shop, too…”

With the paperwork and forms organized by ‘to be completed’, ‘completed’ and ‘legal documentation’, he turned his attention to the stack of research books and began stacking those together—‘library’ and ‘personal’ to start, then by subject. “How long did it take you to learn to shoot your bow in the feudal era, Miko?”

Knowing the direction he wanted to take, she shrugged noncommittally and took the final sip of her broth. “Months. More than that and I still wasn’t a perfect shot. I missed as often as I hit until towards the end.” With her belly fully, she blinked sleepily as he stacked books.

“And the other miko, years of practice. The same as your mother—20 or more years of taking care of you, of running the shrine and the shop and raising you and your brother.” He placed the last book and then looked back at her. “Twenty years next to your twenty days, Miko. You ask too much of yourself.”

She sniffled and set the mug down on the newly cleared table. The lovely, worn wood of the coffee table shone dully in the later afternoon sunlight for the first time in days. “You’re good at this.”

He didn’t look up from his new task. “Basic organization skills should not impress you.”

“But they does,” she said, leaning her head back against the soft seat cushions of the couch. Her voice slurred slightly as the words on the pages he flipped through turned to grey smudges for her. “You’re always so…put together. That…never…changed.”

Sesshoumaru finally paused again as her words trailed off and looked back to see her eyes flutter closed. The empty mug slipped from her fingers and her head lolled sideways, resting completely against the sofa now. He leaned over her to grab an old throw off the arm of the couch and draped it carefully over her. “Foolish miko,” he murmured, but there was no bite in the words as he turned back to the coffee table, set aside the ledger, and began filling out the guardianship evaluation form for her.

Outside, the windchimes sang a quiet lullaby as afternoon sank slowly into evening.

o.O.o

March 1

Kagome work to the scent of spring. Peeking blearily through sleep fuzzy eyes, she spotted the open window on the far wall, the curtains shifting slightly in the breeze. The scent of a flower she couldn’t name drifted through the living room and settled around her like a soft embrace. Spring was finally here.

For one blissful moment, she forgot.

Then memory came rushing back—the social workers, the ledgers, Sesshoumaru’s unexpected help. Her gaze drifted around the living room, taking in the spotless, gleaming surfaces she had not seen in weeks. No dust motes floated through the air. The bookshelf full of her mother’s photos and knick-knacks gleamed with fresh polish. Every face in every frame shined so brightly she thought for sure he had imbued them with some kind of magic. The TV played quietly, so low she could not decipher a single word.

Sesshoumaru sat on the other side of the low coffee table, the sleeves of a crisp white button up rolled to his elbows, writing notes in the margins of one of her ledgers. His brows furrowed just the slightest in concentration. Her pen—a cheap, modern gel pen from the nearest konbini—looked absurdly small in his large hands.

She watched him for a long, quiet moment. Time had changed him. The lanky youth she’d known then had filled out. His shoulders were broader, his chest fuller. Even his hands seemed larger. He had grown into his face, too—the sharp angles and elegant planes of his youth had suited him then, but the sharper jawline, harder edges, and broader brows suited him now too. We were so young back then, she thought.

“It is impolite to stare, Miko.”

Heat filled her cheeks as she pushed herself up on one arm. “Sorry! I was just thinking about the feudal era and…and how much more mature you feel now.”

He finally paused in his note taking and looked up at her. “It has been 500 years since we last met,” he pointed out.

“Not for me. For me it’s only been three. It’s surreal to see you sitting here in my house, in a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, writing with a gel pen I bought from the konbini down the street.” Sitting up fully, she tugged the blanket he’d covered her with into her lap and held it in front of her, rubbing her thumb over one of the intricate knots.

“Would you rather I parade around in my armor and threaten you with Bakusaiga?” he asked dryly as he set down her pen with deliberate care. The barest hint of a smirk belied his amusement.

“That’s not what I—” she broke off as her stomach growled loudly enough to echo. More color suffused her cheeks.

He chuckled and stood. “Go shower and refresh yourself. I will prepare breakfast.”

She blinked up at him owlishly. “You can cook?”

“I do own an izakaya,” he reminded her, another smirk tilting across his lips.

Her stomach growled loudly again, derailing whatever retort she might have managed.

“Shower,” he said again, eyeing her hair and the ink smudge still on her cheek. “The state of your person offends me. We can discuss matters after you have properly reacquainted yourself with the facilities.”

As insults went, it lacked heat. Even as more color converged on her cheeks, she recognized his attempt to leaven the mood with jibes. Still, a girl had to have some pride. “It’s not that bad,” she muttered, reaching up a hand to pat her hair. “And where’s Sōta?”

“Your brother is outside sweeping. Twenty minutes, Miko.” He was already starting out of the room, rolling his sleeves higher.

Kagome opened her mouth to protest but stopped when the scent of dashi broth wafted out of the kitchen. Her traitorous stomach growled in appreciation. Not bothering to argue anymore, she set aside her mother’s old afghan and hurried upstairs to do as he said.

By the time she returned, wet hair piled atop her head in a messy bun, Sesshoumaru had set the table with three table settings worthy of an actual restaurant. Tamagoyaki sat neatly sliced on a small plate next to a bowl of rice at each seat, sprinkled with freshly sliced green onions. Bonito flakes and roasted sesame seeds sat next to dipping bowls of soy sauce. Side dishes of simmered vegetables accompanied steaming bowls of miso, delicate slivers of shiitake mushroom floating on the surface.

Her mouth watered at the sight of it. Glancing around, she saw him standing at the counter with his back to her, finishing the preparations for what looked like tea.

Before she could say anything, Sōta strode in and patted the top of her head—only to make a sound of disgust when his hand came away wet. “Gross, sis. Towel dry at least,” he complained as he wiped his hands on his jeans and sank down into one of the seats.

“My hair dryer is broken,” she said faintly, only half paying attention as Sesshoumaru finally turned to face them, carrying a small tray with three mugs of tea and three glasses of warm water.

Sesshoumaru stopped at the sight of her and narrowed his eyes. “Why are you crying?” he demanded.

Surprised, Kagome touched her face and found it wet with a few tears. Sniffling, she wiped them away quickly and sank down into one of the two remaining empty chairs. “It just feels like a home again. Even though I know you cooked, I came downstairs and saw the table and the scent, and it reminded me of Mama.”

He considered her a moment, then glanced at her brother—who kept his face suspiciously pointed at the table. Setting their glasses in front of them, he returned the tray to the counter and then took the seat between the siblings. “I will teach you both how to cook. Your ineptitude would embarrass your mother.”

Hearing the comfort behind the insult, Kagome could only nod as Sōta snickered.

Sesshoumaru raised a brow at him. “If I recall,” he said lightly, “Your brother had the same reaction last night after I prepared food for him.”

“Hey!” burst out Sōta, half choking on a piece of egg. “You promised you wouldn’t say anything!”

“That was before you decided to laugh at your sister for having the same reaction.” Sesshoumaru picked up his chopsticks and began to eat with the same efficient precision he did everything else.

Kagome couldn’t help herself—a giggle escaped before she could stop it. She froze and locked eyes with her brother, before he also broke down with a small chuckle.

It was the first time either of them had smiled or laughed in weeks.

Breakfast continued in much the same vein for at least an hour—bickering, laughter, veiled insults designed to ease the tension. Only when Sesshoumaru deemed them relaxed and their bellies full did he allow them up. “Dishes first, then we deal with the necessary matters.”

Breakfast had started late, and by the time they’d cleared away the mess, mid-morning sun painted the kitchen tiles with warm, golden light. Sesshoumaru supervised dish duty, though in this at least both Kagome and Sōta had plenty of practice. Mama might not have taught them how to take care of the house, but cleaning up after a meal had always been a rotating chore.

They filed into the living room afterward. Kagome sank down into the same seat she’d occupied the whole week—on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table. Sōta lingered in the doorway, one hand clinging to the frame, the other fisted at his side.

Kagome glanced up at her brother as Sesshoumaru took the seat opposite her on the other side of the table. “You can stay, you know,” she said to her brother.

Sōta’s shoulders tensed. “Is it…okay?”

The uncertainty in his voice cracked something inside of her. Their mother had kept many secrets. Maybe it had been a way to protect them, but secrets had a way of leaving scars—doubt, fear, distrust. She scooted over to make room for him at the table and patted the floor beside her. “This is about your future too. You should be here.”

Sōta exhaled and glanced at Sesshoumaru, but stepped into the room and sank down beside Kagome. “It’s not just your problem, sis,” he mumbled, hands balling into fists on his knees. “I can help too. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

Kagome’s throat tightened as she looked at her brother. That stubborn set of his jaw—so like their mother. She turned to Sesshoumaru. “Our mom kept a lot of secrets, and I understand why she did it. But things are different now.” Her voice steadied and she reached out to set a hand on Sōta’s arm, squeezing lightly. “You were right last night—I can’t do this alone. If we’re going to get through this in one piece, then we have to do it together—all of it.”

Sesshoumaru nodded once and began. Paging through the first stack of documents, he withdrew one—the guardian evaluation form—and slid it across the table to them. “We will start with this matter, since that is the one you are both worried about.”

She picked up the form and stared down at it. His handwriting, every stroke exact, littered the paper. He’d filled it out completely. All that remained was for her to sign it and seal it. “You did this?” she murmured as Sōta peeked down at it.

“While you slept. It seemed the most pressing of your concerns.” He slid a second form across the table to her and tapped one deadly claw against his signature at the bottom. “I also took the liberty of printing this. It establishes my financial backing for your guardianship petition. With this form, no human court can question your suitability for taking over Sōta’s guardianship.”

Kagome looked between him and the second completed form, her hands trembling as he picked it up. “Why are you going this far?”

“Because you are pack.” He slid a third document across the table. Thicker, larger, older. Gold flake lined the borders. The kanji painted across it in bold, ancient calligraphy told a story in stark, violent strokes. “This,” he said quietly, “cements your position in my court and pack—and Sōta’s, by association.”

She tried to make sense of the writing, tracing her fingers over some of the kanji. “Record of…blood-sworn…kin….?” She trailed off, eyes widening as they moved further and further down the ancient document. She traced her fingers over her own name, not scrawled in modern day ink but swept across the page in the same ancient strokes as the rest. “What is this?” she demanded as her heart thudded against her ribs. “What have you done?”

Sesshoumaru met her gaze head on. “In the battle against Naraku, you and I alone survived at the final confrontation.” He spared a glance for Sōta, who followed the conversation avidly, but continued when neither sibling stopped him. “You stood poised to end him and make the wish. But the children ran onto the field. They’d slipped free of the old miko.”

Kagome closed her eyes as she remembered. Even now the scent of blood came back as if it had only happened yesterday—the vision of her friend’s bodies, mangled and desecrated by Naraku and his minions. Rin screaming, Shippou crying. The incessant hum of the samiyōshō swarming across the field.

“A trap,” he said quietly, golden eyes sliding closed as he remembered too. “An illusion. You saw through it when this one did not. I turned towards them at the same moment Naraku struck. But you took the blow.”

Sōta whipped his head around to stare at her, aghast. “What---you never said—”

His voice cracked, and she reached out to take his hand to help ground him. “I couldn’t at first. The miasma damaged my throat. It took weeks of healing just to speak again. And then after…after I couldn’t find the words.”

Sesshoumaru’s gazed dipped down to her sternum, as if he could still see Naraku’s barbaric tentacle poking out between her ribs. “You died inches from my protection, Miko. Your blood stained my armor before I could raise my hand to stop it.”

Letting go of Sōta, she dropped her gaze to the ancient parchment and traced her fingers over the gold flake inlaid along the edges again. She exhaled shakily before forcing herself to set it aside and focus on the conversation. “I barely choked out the wish in time. You were the last thing I saw.”

Sesshoumaru nodded once, gold eyes darkening. “When you wished the jewel out of existence,” he said, “time stopped. I watched the world unravel—every life touched by the jewel undone and remade.” He paused, his eyes drifting down to her sternum again. “When the world started again, only I saw your body turn to light and drift apart like ashes. Your friends, Inuyasha…they survived. Not untouched, but alive. And none of them remembered you.”

He nodded towards the old parchment between them. “There are some laws that predate the Sengoku era. Ancient laws created by ancestors and spirits whose names have been lost to time. One such law is an adoption rite.”

Reaching out a hand, he tapped a finger against the seal of the House of the Moon, dark crimson and browned with age. It still reeked of blood after all this time. “It is not a ritual easily invoked. In truth, you are the only one to have been accepted into the House of the Moon via this rite.”

Kagome blinked, glancing between him and the seal. “Why?”

“Because the conditions are almost impossible to meet,” Sesshoumaru said. “First, the one who dies must be mortal and human. They must give their life not merely fighting beside a Daiyoukai, but in an act that saves them—or an heir—at a moment when death is certain. Their sacrifice must have a profound impact against fate—and they must do so with no expectation of a reward. No final wish. No regrets.”

Sōta leaned in unconsciously, brows drawn in disbelief. “Like…like absolutely nothing? That’s insane! Everyone wants something!”

Sesshoumaru nodded once and turned his gaze back to Kagome. “Precisely. Few existed in the past who have met all conditions. The ancestral spirts, and even the lands we tie our blood to, judge intent. Any selfishness at the moment of death invalidates the rite.”

Kagome’s eyes burned. She set the paper down with the utmost care. “I didn’t know…I didn’t mean…”

Sesshoumaru stood and poured her a glass of water from the sideboard. “It is an honor, Miko. Do not cry.” He set the mug down and then resumed his position opposite her at the table. “You returned to your time, but that does not negate the enormity of what you gave. Your name has been in the pack registry of the House of the Moon for centuries—and by extension now, your brother’s will join it.”

Sōta blinked rapidly. “Wait…does this mean I’m like…part of a demon family now?”

Choking out a weak laugh, Kagome nudged Sōta’s shoulder with her own, but Sesshoumaru interrupted her before she could answer.

“In simple terms, yes. Now that your position has been reactivated within the pack, you will both be required to add youkai law, etiquette and other such courses to your educational background.”

“Woah, that’s so cool! Are there youkai everywhere, just in hiding?” Sōta blurted as Kagome swiped surreptitiously at her eyes.

“Blending in,” Sesshoumaru corrected. He let the moment breath, giving her time to collect herself, before he continued. “The adoption effects your social status. Given your new rank, it is likely both of your names will draw attention in youkai circles. The Miko is the first to be adopted into the House of the Moon by the rite. I would not be surprised if your schools place you both in specialized tracks—one designed for students with mixed heritage or ties to the old bloodlines.”

Kagome let their chatter drift around her, wind in the trees, and drained her mug quietly. Everything Sesshoumaru had said echoed inside of her, impossibly large.

Her sacrifice hadn’t been some grand, thought-out choice. There hadn’t been a plan. Just a moment—breathless, bloodly—where she’d wanted the pain to end. She’d just wished desperately for the pain to stop, for the death, the hate, the sorrow—for all of it to stop. She’d wished for her friends to live. For someone—anyone—to make it out alive. For everything they had given to be worth something, not just their deaths.

There hadn’t been anything brave about her choice. She’d acted on instinct. Desperation.

She’d watched in horror as Sesshoumaru turned towards the children, as the illusion glimmered and spun at just the right moment for her to spot it. She’d watched as his face—Sesshoumaru, that immovable, unstoppable, indomitable force—twisted with fear at the sound of Rin screaming, of Shippou crying.

Dying for him? She hadn’t thought about it—she’d just acted. She’d thrown herself in front of him, took the blow that would have killed him and did end her—but not before she’d wished. Her wish had been messy. Fraught. Not a grand gesture, just a child screaming into the dark ‘make it stop’ ‘make itstop' 'makeitstop’…and then the hope it would as she wished instead, 'I wish the jewel had never existed!

One moment she drowned in her own blood on her side in the dirt, the next she’d woken up in the bottom of the well, bloody, broken, throat burning—but whole. The jewel had healed the killing blow. A mercy, maybe. A parting gift or a curse. She’d never been able to tell.

The sound of water trickling into her cup drew her back to the present.

Sesshoumaru leaned over the table, the pitcher in his hand as he refilled her mug again with ceremonial meticulousness. He finished and sat again then said, “There is more, if you are ready to hear it.”

Kagome nodded faintly as Sōta reached over and rubbed a hand soothingly along her back.

Reaching into his briefcase, Sesshoumaru withdrew two folders. He slid the first one, red, thick, weathered by time, across the table to her. At the top of the folder, in simple bold white, read Sunset Shrine Trust.

“The erasure of your memory from the timeline dissatisfied this one,” he said cooly, his claws flexing over the top of the folder he still held. “Thus I secured the land the well sat on and everything around it. What you call the shrine grounds today, your home, exists and is protected by the Western Court. Guardians, human and youkai, were assigned to protect it and make sure it passed down to successive generations.”

“Then why…why didn’t you come find me sooner? If you knew we were here, your Court protects it and sponsored the trust…” She frowned and stared down at the red folder.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “The stubbornness you are known for is not…unique to you,” he said stiffly. “In the 1800s, tensions between youkai and humans reached an all time high. Some of your ancestors deemed it unsafe for the well to be protected by youkai. They sealed the entire shrine from us. From that point, only humans could enter and it became undetectable to youkai. They even went so far as to hide their bloodline so the guardians could be safe on or off the shrine.”

Sōta snorted a laugh and leaned back on his palms. “Well they didn’t do a very good job of it,” he pointed out. “We got attacked by youkai, there were possessions, the demon sword, and so many other things that happened while sis was going back and forth between the past and present.”

“Sōta has a point. Even Inuyasha was able to come and go as he pleased,” Kagome added as she idly turned her mug around and around between her palms.

Sesshoumaru sighed. “I can only speculate that after your birth, given the presence of the jewel inside of you, the protective seals began to weaken only to then be severed again when you returned to the future for the final time. After you disappeared, no one could divulge the exact date of your birth—leaving it to guesswork and observation over the centuries. I also suspect that when your mother discovered she was ill, her own untapped abilities dampened the seal on her so that I could find her.”

“You found mom?” Sōta demanded, leaning forward eagerly.

“Yes. Coincidently, she received her diagnosis and later care in one of my medical facilities.” He tapped the red cover of the shrine trust folder. “I met with her two times. The first after her diagnosis where I informed her of the shrine trust, should she wish to make use of it—and a second time a week before she passed.”

Kagome swallowed, her throat tight. “And she asked you to wait.”

He inclined his head.

A beat of silence filled the room—heavy, but warm. Kagome turned her cup again, tracing the pad of her thumb over an old chip on the rim. “And that one?” she asked, nodding to the blue folder his hand lingered on, a bronze nameplate half-hidden under his palm as she filed the shrine trust away in the back of her mind.

Sesshoumaru slid the thick, navy-blue folder over to her. “Protecting the well secured your future—that you would be born into safety and eventually make the first trip down the well.” He withdrew his hand and dropped it into his lap under the table as his voice hardened. “Yet this alone did not honor the magnitude of your sacrifice. A secure home—a mere fraction of what you deserved for the cost you paid. Thus, I established a second trust. One in your name, solely for your personal use. No limitations.”

For the cost I paid. Kagome cleared her throat and reaching out, flipped open the folder. The first page explained in a brief paragraph the purpose of the trust and its intention—for her personal use, to protect her future, a secure foundation for her well-being. At the bottom, a small box listed the total net value. For a moment, Kagome couldn’t breathe as she stared at it.

Beside her, Sōta whistled long and slow. “That is a lot of zeros.”

“Yes,” Sesshoumaru said cooly. “It is the least the world owes her—and a reminder that even though her wish erased her from history, she was not forgotten.”

Kagome thumbed through the pages numbly, only making sense of half of what she read. Land, property, reserves, treasures. All of it rattled through her mind, on and on, until she reached the last page where a blank line waited for her signature and seal. “This is…” she swallowed and glanced up at him. “…a lot. Too much.”

A muscle ticked against his jaw. “It is not a gift, Miko. It is restitution. For your erasure. For your memories. For leaving you alone to grieve.”

The room went still and silent. Even the steady tick of the clock over the tv couldn’t sound through the tension. Her throat burned again, and more tears swelled at the corners of her eyes. That was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? First the battle all those years ago, and now this—now the shrine, the adoption rite, the trusts—all of it an apology that she’d had to do it alone, that she had paid the price with her own two small hands. “I don’t know what to do with this,” she admitted weakly, fingers trembling as she smoothed them over the smooth white signature page.

“Live,” he said. Not a request, but a command. A plea. “Let it keep you safe. Use it to live the life you earned.”

For the first time, Kagome really looked at him—not as the untouchable, unbeatable daiyoukai from her past, but as a man who had lived centuries in regret, protecting a memory of her that no one else remembered. She looked past the short hair, the deep, burnished gold of his eyes and saw what he kept well buried from the world—a man desperate to save her now as he couldn’t then.

Exhaling slowly, she reached across the table for her cheap, konbini gel pen and scrawled her name in neat kanji on the signature line on the trusts first, and then the guardianship forms, and finally, the heavy, ancient adoption paper. On this one, her name glowed briefly before it faded to the same smooth calligraphy strokes of the ancient rites.

For the first time in weeks, maybe in years, her chest felt light.

“Good. It is done,” he said, and carefully took all the documents to organize for her.

Beside her, Sōta looked between them. “So since we’re basically family now, does this make us like…youkai nobility?”

Sesshoumaru snorted and eyed them both. “It means you are under my protection. Do not abuse the privilege.”

Smiling, one of the first to come easily in weeks, Kagome leaned back and tucked her knees up against her chest. “What now?”

“Now,” he said as he rolled his sleeves back down and began putting all the legal documents into his briefcase, “You rest. Tomorrow we will discuss the details of the trusts and what comes after.”

For once, the urge to argue didn’t come. Kagome nodded. “I could probably sleep for a week,” she admitted.

“Start with today,” he ordered as he stood. “There are leftovers in the refrigerator.” He turned to Sōta and lifted his chin in quiet command. “Make sure she eats at least two more times today. I will check your progress tomorrow.”

“I got it!” Sōta answered, and grinned at his sister as Sesshoumaru started out of the room—but rolled his eyes when he saw she’d already closed her eyes against the sofa cushions. “At least go to bed if you’re going to nap again!” he groused.

o.O.o

March 3

Sōta grumbled under his breath as he stocked bread on the shelfs of the bakery for old Mrs. Tanaka, a chore he’d done occasionally at his mother’s bidding—continued now as his quiet way to honor her. It helped that Mrs. Tanaka always gave him an armful of free melon breads and red-bean paste buns to share with his friends every time.

“What’s that, Sōta-kun?” she called as she dragged over another box from the storeroom.

Scrambling up, he carefully took the box from her and hefting it up, carted it to the shelf with the others. “I told you to call me if you needed help lifting things, Tanaka-obaa-san.”

“Yes, yes,” she said agreeably as she pulled over her worn old stool and sank down next to him to help stock the shelf. “Now, what’s got you so upset today? Didn’t you just get accepted into Tokyo Metropolitan High School?”

A bittersweet wave of excitement and grief washed over Sōta as he remembered the news yesterday. He and Kagome had stared at the thick envelope for close to ten minutes before Sōta had worked up the nerve to open it—and now it sat, tear stained and slightly crumpled—on the butsudan with their mother’s, father’s, and grandparent’s photos.

He swallowed hard. “I did.”

Have raised eight boys of her own, the old shop keeper waited patiently and didn’t comment on his display of sorrow. Commenting on a teenage boy’s tears promised to shut him down fast.

For a long moment, they worked in tense quiet. Only the occasional scooter passing by interrupted the sound of crinkling plastic being lifted, stickered, scanned into the shop system, then placed onto the shelf. Until finally the truth spilled out of Sōta in a torrent. “Sis says she’s going to continue her administrative leave for the year, to take care of me and the shrine and the shop.”

His voice cracked and he stuffed the next bun on the shelf with more force than necessary. “She won’t listen! It’s not fair at all! She said school will always be there and she could come back to it later—but she won’t. She’ll give up everything to make sure I’m okay.”

He remembered what Sesshoumaru had said the day they’d signed the guardianship forms—how his sister had given up everything for them, how she had died for them, thrown away her life to save theirs. And here she was, about to do it again—only this time, she wanted to save him.

Tanaka’s lips pressed down into a thin line. She remembered when the boy’s mother had come into the shop, pleased to the moon about her daughter’s acceptance into one of Tokyo’s best art universities. “Don’t you worry about a thing,” she told the boy, and patting his shoulder, stood up and hunted down her ancient flip-phone. We’ll just see about this, she thought, and pulled up the community phone tree.

Sōta gaped, open-mouthed, from his place in front of the shelf. “What are you doing?”

Tanaka smiled grimly. “Calling in reinforcements.”

o.O.o

The walls of her grandfather’s tiny old study in the main shrine building pressed in on her, especially with Sesshoumaru leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, blocking her only exit. Refocusing her attention on Jii-chan’s nearly illegible handwriting, she tried again to decipher the newest ledger she’d discovered only thirty minutes ago before Sesshoumaru had barged in. “I’m not changing my mind,” she muttered when he didn’t leave.

“You are being irrational.”

That point in her temple started to throb again. “I’m doing what I think is best to make sure Sōta is taken care of.”

“Dropping out of university ensures his future how?”

Gritting her teeth, she slammed the ledger closed and put her head in her hands so she didn’t have to look up at him. Ever since she’d signed all those documents, he’d shoved his hands into every aspect of her life—suggesting, guiding, helping. “Administrative leave,” she corrected as she reached for another ledger, yanking it off the shelf so harshly that a loose pile of papers she hadn’t noticed fluttered down around her.

“How long?”

He refrained from commenting on the scattering of papers, at least. Resisting the urge to leave them where they lay, she leaned down and scooped them up one by one. “Until he doesn’t need my anymore.” She shrugged and sat up, shuffling the papers together and tapping them on the desk to line them up neatly before she set them aside. “I can’t run the shrine and the shop and attend university and make sure he’s okay all at the same time. And it’s not about money,” she added, pausing to point at him. “It’s about time. There’s only so much of it in a day.”

“Miko.” He stepped into the small study and set a hand on the ledger she was about to open. “You are not his mother.”

She recoiled in hurt. “I—

“Do you know what your sacrifice did to this one?” he asked quietly, letting go of the ledger to sit on the edge of the desk and stare down at her.

Kagome swallowed hard. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze, so she shook her head. Silence settled around them as a soft, chilly breeze slipped through the window she’d cracked earlier that morning.

“This Sesshoumaru watched you die,” he said. “Knowing you did it for me. A smaller, weaker, untrained human girl who thought her life the only thing she had to give.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You left a legacy of honor—and guilt. That I couldn’t save you. That I couldn’t change it. That no one would know.”

She bit her lip, watching his arms out of the corner of her eyes. “It’s not the same thing.”

“No,” he agreed. “The stakes are different, but the cost is the same. Would you have your brother carry the weight of knowing you gave up your future for his?”

“Sōta start’s school in three weeks. I just don’t want him to feel like he’s missing out on anything because she isn’t here anymore.” She forced the words out and clasped her hands together in her lap. “What if I’m so busy with everything that I’m not there when he needs me? Something has to give.”

Before Sesshoumaru could answer, the shrine bell clanged—not the usual, gentle trill of the bells announcing a visitor, but the loud, discordant tug of an invasion.

Swiping at her eyes, Kagome stood and stepped stiffly past him. She stalked through the open sliding doors and went outside and froze mid-step at the sight of the crowd that greeted her.

“Ko-chan,” greeted Tanaka-san.

Kagome’s mouth opened as she stared at the old woman and then eyed all the people standing behind her. Old Mr. Hayashi, from the tofu shop down the street, balancing a tower of hurriedly wrapped bento boxes. The two oldest Fujimoto brothers, tool belts swung low on their hips, quietly directing their younger brothers as they hauled up wood and tiles and tools. Aoki-san and her husband, owners of the laundry mat just next to the konbini, stood with washing buckets and new futons sitting between them. Dr. Kobayashi, the small family clinic three streets over from the shrine, held his medical bag and eyed her with his eagle eyes. Three aunties from the local elementary PTA, still donning their aprons and house slippers, carried cleaning supplies and grocery bags.

And on and on. At least two dozen people crowded into the courtyard. “What’s…what’s going on?” she asked breathlessly as her heart thundered against her ribs.

“We heard you were dropping out!” shouted a voice from the crowd.

And then—“Your mother would be so angry!”

“But—”

Tanaka-san raised her hand—silencing the crowd immediately—and strode forward, shoving a piece of paper at her. “A schedule, for covering the flower shop and the shrine.”

Kagome eyes traced over shakily drawn lines at names, dates, and times written so quickly some of the ink had smeared as Tanaka-san’s hand had moved about the page. “I don’t understand,” she managed as she glanced up at Tanaka-san. Everyone slowly started to disperse around the shrine grounds.

“A little birdy told me you were thinking about taking leave because of the shop and the shrine.” Tanaka tapped the paper. “See here, the little Tsuikimori girl is studying horticulture and has time in the evenings to help cover the shop for you. And old Mrs. Watanabe already helped your mum in the mornings. And see there, at the bottom? A list of volunteers or students who are hoping to work part-time for you one or two days a week, either here or at the shop.”

A young man who towered over most everyone raised his hand from in the crowd. “Our cram school down the street already set aside a spot for both of you, if you need tutoring for your classes.”

Looking back down at the hastily scrawled schedule, Kagome swallowed hard as the tears she’d been holding back all morning limed her eyes. Tanaka-san had even included blocks for studying time and studio sessions. “Why?”

Old Tanaka’s face softened as she wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Ko-chan. Your mother spent most of her life helping this community, stitching it together so no one fell apart at the seams. Did you think we’d let you unravel all alone?”

Kagome couldn’t speak. She watched as the Fujimoto brothers set up their ladders and scrambled up onto the roof over Jii-chan’s room. Her kouhai from the archery team hauled open the doors of the worship hall and lined up neatly to scrub the floors together. Aoki-san and her husband chattered and laughed at the chōzuya, cleaning the small purification fountain as if they’d done it dozens of times in the past. “I don’t know what to say,” she murmured, turning finally to Tanaka-san as her tears broke free of the strict control she’d tried to lash them down with.

Tanaka-san chuckled and pushed her lightly towards Sesshoumaru (glamour back in place), who still lingered in the doorway of the office shrine, looking smug and satisfied. “You say thank you, and you go inside with that handsome young man and prepare snacks and drinks,” she said, “And then you call your university registrar and arrange your make-up exams and course registration.”

All the arguments inside of her fled—how could they stand against the warmth of the community her mother had left her? Sniffling, she did as she was bid and followed Sesshoumaru into the house—shoving his arm just a little when he smirked.

Ch.1 Fin
Wc – 14,778
a/n - sorry for formatting mistakes. I copied/pasted from my original submission on Ao3.