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Friday by Skyisthelimit

Chapter 1

A/N: This was a tough entry. I literally scrapped it twice. However, I do like how this one turned out. It's a little different than what I'm used to, so hopefully I don't bore anyone.

Thanks to MissTeak, my opponent for this round of the tournament, for being so patient with me! I am so honored to be her opponent! (And a bit scared)

Title: Fridays

Prompt: Letters

Partner: Miss Teak

Words: 2521

Rating: K

Universe: Alternate

Voting begins tomorrow, I believe, on 7/2! You have two weeks after that to vote. Remember you're basically choosing between Miss Teak's entry and mine (whimpers). Send a PM to Tangerine Dream and vote for either Miss Teak or me! And don't forget to check out the forum for this tournament to see the other entries to the other vs. pairs!

Disclaimer: Do not own


She was there again.

Every Friday, she’d come to the park where he took his lunch break with a bucket of chalk and color something at the base of the fountain for an hour. Then, as soon as the clock struck noon, she’d fill the same bucket with water from the fountain and splash it over her art, washing the powder away. After that she’d dry the bucket with a towel, fill it back up with chalk, and leave.

At first, he took no notice of this odd woman, who obviously hadn’t grown up yet if she was still entertaining herself with chalk doodles. But one Friday, she had apparently forgotten a towel, so she approached him and asked for his handkerchief, promising to return it.

He lowered his newspaper, took note of clear cerulean eyes, and gave it to her.

She thanked him, completed her task, and left.

The next week, she was back again, and so was he. He’d all but forgotten his lent out handkerchief, but she hadn’t. After she did her normal chalk routine, she approached him again at his bench. He lowered his newspaper again, and she handed him his handkerchief, freshly washed and pressed. She thanked him once more, and asked what the initials embroidered on it stood for.

He answered, “Sesshomaru Taisho,” as he took it from her hands.

She smiled at him, making her eyes sparkle, and left.

The sparkling eyes haunted his dreams that night, but by Monday, in the rush of business, they were forgotten again.

The next Friday, he sipped his coffee and read his newspaper at his usual bench at exactly 11 o’ clock, but this time the girl was late. He didn’t notice this until she arrived, but he did notice she was crying.

He watched as her tears smeared her chalk lines slightly, watched as they mixed with the water she used to wash the dust away. When she passed him to leave, he cleared his throat, offering his handkerchief when she paused. She smiled, crinkling her eyes, distorting the tears in them to make them sparkle even more. She patted the wetness with the dark cloth, thanked him, and left.

This time, those eyes haunted him for longer, until his contract with China hit some snags, at which point he immersed himself in conference calls and negotiations.

The next Friday, she returned the handkerchief, freshly laundered and pressed again, and said, “Thank you, Sesshomaru.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome…”

“Kagome,” she finished. “Kagome Higurashi.”

“Kagome Higurashi,” he repeated. She smiled and her eyes sparkled brightly. So bright that he remembered them until the next Friday.

He watched her as she kneeled, scratching her chalk against the concrete methodically, moving left to right. She shifted, an suddenly flinched. She stood up and bent over to inspect her slightly scraped knee. This time, he approached her, kneeled, and wrapped his handkerchief around her bloody knee. As always, she smiled for him and gave her thanks. He nodded and walked away, thinking of the glittering water’s reflection in her eyes.

The next Friday, she did not return his handkerchief. Instead, she gave him a new one, embroidered with a simple “S”.

“I couldn’t wash the blood out,” she explained.

He nodded, fingering the soft blue silk. “Just ‘S’?”

“It’s a change,” she told him.

He tilted his head curiously.

“You always sit at the same bench, with the same newspaper, drinking the same coffee, and carrying the same handkerchief,” she told him, “I figured, if I was going to break the routine, I might as well go all-in.”

He nodded, fingering the cloth again. The blue shimmered, not unlike a certain pair of eyes. He pocketed it. “Thank you.”

She smiled widely. “I finally get to say ‘you’re welcome’ to you.”

He smirked. “Do not grow accustomed to it.”

She laughed, and this time her eyes glowed.

The next Friday, he offered her a handkerchief of her own. She politely declined it. “I like using yours,” she grinned, before going back to her mysterious chalk art. The handkerchief embroidered with a “K” thus remained in his pocket.

A week later, she came to the park with tired bags under her still vivid eyes. She asked for a sip of his coffee, and he gave it to her. Tasting it, she smiled at the flavor. “Cinnamon?”

He nodded.

“I prefer some spice myself,” she told him before thanking him as usual, and going to her chalk art.

He hesitated for a long moment before taking a slow sip from the coffee she had just pressed her lips to.

The next Friday, she took his coffee away and gave him a cup she’d brought herself.

“Try it,” she encouraged.

He did.

It was warm, spicy, and sweet.

“Chai tea,” she grinned, “With a hint of expresso. That’s my favorite.” She took a sip from the coffee she stole from him while he continued to drink the new flavor.

“It’s good,” he declared.

She grinned, and her eyes glinted with triumph. It was then he realized her cerulean orbs could do much more than sparkle.

“Are you here every day?” she asked.

He nodded. “For my lunch break.”

She hummed in understanding, before leaving with his coffee.

The next time they met, it was Wednesday. She was waiting for him at his bench, holding a cup of coffee.

She smiled for him when he arrived. “Trade?” she offered, holding up the coffee cup.

He obliged, and took a seat next to her. Feeling comfortable, he opened his newspaper as he took a sip of the chai tea.

“Do you always read the business section?”

He nodded. “Research.”

She hummed, and stole his Comics section. As they read in silence, he’d occasionally glance up to absorb the humor that lit her eyes.

Friday, she returned to her chalk. As he watched her, he recognized the nostalgia in her eyes, and left her alone.

Monday, she was back on his bench with a cup of coffee. They traded, but before he could open his newspaper, she stole his business section, leaving him wondering what he should read.

He decided to do what he always did. Research.

So he flipped to the Comics section and began searching for the humor that appealed to her so.

Wednesday, they trade coffees again. This time, she stole his entire newspaper, and gave him a novel to read instead. He raised a brow.

She shrugged. “Enough research. It’s your break.”

“I enjoy research,” he told her.

She ignored him, opened his newspaper, and began to read.

He did the same.

Friday, it was the chalk again. This time, he was curious enough to ask.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing with chalk,” she answered.


“Writing,” she confirmed, and left it at that.

Monday, she brought him a sandwich and some pocky.

“I just realized,” she explained, “This is your lunch break, but I’ve never seen you eat. That’s unhealthy.”

He scoffed, but nibbled on the sandwich anyway. She took his newspaper, and he continued his book.

Tuesday, she brought a lunch for herself too. They ate together, making small talk, her drinking his hazelnut coffee, him her chai tea. When they were full, they read.

Wednesday, they didn’t stop talking after they were full. The newspaper and book lay forgotten on the bench.

Thursday, the book and newspaper stayed home.

Friday, Kagome returned to her chalk. Sesshomaru watched and asked, “What are you writing?”

“Letters,” she answered.

The next week, Kagome packed picnics, moving them to the grass. She’d leaned back and watched the clouds. He’d watched her.

When Friday came, he asked. “Who are the letters for?”

This time, she only smiled at him, before washing the words away.

The next week, during their picnics, his head ended up peacefully in her lap as she continued to watch the clouds. He still watched her, but now he could not see her eyes. Instead, the soft, smooth paleness of her skin lingered in his thoughts.

That Friday, after she washed away her chalk, he asked her to dinner. She agreed.

Monday, during their picnic, he offered her a handkerchief again. This time, though, it was the blue one embroidered with an ‘S’. She accepted it.

The cloth marked with a ‘K’ remained in his pocket.

Wednesday, she kissed his cheek.

Thursday, he kissed her lips.

Saturday evening, he invited her home after dinner. She accepted. She left Sunday morning, after they shared their first breakfast together. For the rest of that week, she brought him breakfast in the morning and they would share it in his office.

That Friday, he returned to the questions. “What are the letters about?”

“Me,” she told him simply as she dried the bucket.

Saturday, he made breakfast for her. She thanked him, then told him to sign up for cooking lessons.

Monday, he did.

This Friday, his question was, “What are the letters for?”

Her answer was, “Remembering.”

That evening, he cooked her dinner.

After fanning the smoke out the window, they ordered pizza.

Saturday, she spent the day teaching him herself.

Sunday, he discovered she was a chef.

That week, he visited her restaurant everyday for dinner. She’d seat him at the chef’s table each time, in the middle of the noisy, hot kitchen.

“Why here?” he asked.

“It’s my table. You’ll sit at my table,” she replied.

And so on a Tuesday Sesshomaru discovered Kagome was territorial.

That Friday, he figured out that he was too.

“Who are the letters for?” he asked again.

“Someone else,” she answered mysteriously.

Thus on Saturday, he gave her a necklace and a new bucket of chalk.

“You will use those from now on,” he told her as he tossed her old bucket into the trash. She laughed at him, then kissed him sweetly.

Five weeks after the first Friday he asked her to dinner, he asked her to move in with him.

By Saturday, she was settled in his penthouse.

Sunday, they stayed in bed as he triumphed over the fact that he’d see her every day now.

Monday morning, she cooked him breakfast again and tied his tie. They kissed each other goodbye, promising to meet at the park as usual. From that day forward, sharing breakfast, lunch, and dinner became a routine. Sharing morning and nights together became a treat.

One Friday, his contract with China hit bigger snags. He called her and made apologies, and for the first time ever, he didn’t go to the park.

He called Monday and Tuesday to tell her he wouldn’t make it again. I’ll see her when I get home, he thought as he negotiated with China for the umpteenth time.

Wednesday and Thursday, he didn’t even bother calling.

Friday, she called him.

“Where are you?”

“Work,” he said apologetically, “I’ll see you tonight, though.”

“Alright,” and she hung up.

At midnight, he went home to a sleeping Kagome.

Saturday, he went to work again.

Sunday, he locked himself in his office, frustrated and dealing with calls from his Asian branch.

The next Monday, he woke up earlier than usual to get to work for another conference call with China. He left her sleeping peacefully on an empty bed.

That night, he returned after midnight again.

That Friday, she didn’t cook for him, and went straight to bed. He barely noticed, his ear glued to his smart phone.

Three Fridays later, he managed to finalize his contract with China. With a light heart, he went to the park at 11, looking forward to their first picnic in a long time.

She wasn’t there.

He called her.

“Where are you?”

“Work,” she said, and hung up. He gazed at the phone guiltily.

That night, he brought home flowers and wine, only to enter an empty penthouse. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he called her cell. She didn’t pick up.

He dropped the flowers and wine and headed out the door.

He went to her old apartment, her restaurant, her favorite café, everywhere. She wasn’t there. He called the friends he had met, her mother, her coworkers. No one had seen her. He called her phone dozens of times, only to be taunted with a recording of her soft voice. At a lost, he sat on a bench by the street, his head hung in distress. He gripped the edge of the bench hard, staring at the wood for a long while, thinking…before springing back up and taking off at a run.

There she was. In front of the fountain, alit by moonlight, scratching the chalk he had bought her on the concrete.

Stomach practically floating in relief, he stared at her glittering dark eyes, drinking them in, before moving his gaze to her inky black hair, her pale, glowing skin, her soft curves, her pink lips, her smile…

This time, he asked many questions. “Why do you erase it every time?”

“Because memories fade,” she responded, not looking up.

“Why every Friday?”

“Because he died on a Friday.”

“Why with chalk?”

“Because he taught me to write with them.”

“Why here?”

“It was his favorite spot.”

He was silent for a moment, before finally asking, “May I read it?”

She looked up. “Yes, you may.”

Dear Dad,

I’m sorry I was late today. We had a critic come to work around lunchtime. It was chaotic and I had to stay.

Today, he called me. I think that means everything is okay now. Thank goodness. Now, we can pick up where he started. Me changing him. Him changing me.

He really has changed me, Dad.  I wonder if he knows that. Now, when I cry, I seek his comfort. When I am lonely, I think of him. When I hurt, he heals me. When I miss him, I forget to miss you.

And now, he has caused the biggest change of all. This will be my last letter, father. I think you understand why. You always seemed to get these things. But this is the last time I’ll write a letter for you to read from the heavens. The last time I commemorate your favorite picture of us drawing with chalk together on the concrete. I don’t think you’re disappointed, are you? In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had actually helped me work up the courage to ask him for that handkerchief all those months ago.

So I have no doubt that you know you’re always in my heart.

Your daughter,


He stared a moment longer.

“Will you wash it away?” he finally asked.

She shook her head. “No, this is my closure.” With that, the clock began to chime midnight. He took her by the hand and yanked her up for a soft, sweet kiss.

On a Friday sometime later, he proposed to her.

On another Friday, they had a small outdoor wedding.

On a Friday soon after that, their first child was conceived.

But on this Friday, the skies opened as they left to go home, washing away the last letter and the shadows of the last man in her heart. 


A/N: What do you guys think? Boring? I'm kind of nervous, this isn't very funny or angsty. So please leave a comment! This is the first time I tried something like this but the muse hit me...

Edit: Somehow, I made it past the first round!! I was sincerely not expecting that. Thank you all for your votes! I hope I don't disappoint in the next round!


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