Miscellany by Chie

Anagapesis

18. Anagapesis

Written for the SessKag Week on Tumblr!

Prompt: Anagapesis (Noun. Falling out of love; the feeling of not loving someone or something once loved.)

Universe: (Post) Canon

Genre: Angst, Drama.

872 Words

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He found her sitting on the rim of the well, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her red hakama, her glum blue gaze trained on her feet.

The slight slump of her shoulders told him that she had noticed him, even though she did not raise her eyes.

He crossed the clearing, and wordlessly sank down to sit on the warm grass next to the old well.

“We had another fight,” she confessed sullenly after a while.

He hummed noncommittally. He had guessed as much, her relationship had been volatile for a while now. When they met, he would find her moody more often than not.

The tell-tale signs were there again, the gloominess tainting her bright aura, the tension that was etched into her slender frame.

He did not like this defeated look on her; it did not befit someone like her who bore such fire within.

Still, he was grateful that at least this time she had not been crying.

“What about?” he asked, idly picking at the grass by his feet.

“Something stupid,” she sighed, her fingers curling to grip the rim of the well as she leaned back.

“Like what?” he prompted.

“Dinner,” she replied at last. “We fought about what we should have for dinner.”

He nodded, and shifted a little so that he could lean his back against the well.

“Seems like it has been happening a lot lately,” he commented, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

She pursed her lips, her fingernails digging into the worn wood.

“Too often,” she breathed.

The sadness permeating her soft voice made him scowl in discomfort and he squirmed, his shoulder brushing against her thigh in passing.

And then, finally, the words came, pouring out from her mouth with desperate urgency.

“It’s not like either of us really even cares that much about what we’re having for dinner. All our arguments are always over silly little things, you know? And we’re never really fighting about them… we’re just fighting because we want to fight. Because it’s one of the only outlets we have left.” 

She took a deep, quivering breath, before she continued. 

“One of us is feeling bad and takes it out on the other and then the other in turn will feel bad and it will fester until they reciprocate by picking another fight. It’s an endless cycle of feeding off of each other’s negativity.”

“That does not sound healthy,” he commented, a frown creasing his forehead.

“It’s not,” she replied readily. “It’s wrong.”

Her fingers twitched and she pulled them back into her lap and clutched them tightly.

It’s not what I wanted, he could almost hear her say.

“It’s been two years,” she spoke wearily. “And I’ve been trying. I really have.”

She paused, steeling herself for the next things she really needed to say.

“I don’t think it’s working.”

Sesshoumaru stayed silent. Privately, he had been of that opinion for a while now, but this was the first time he had ever heard the priestess voice the words and admit to herself that perhaps her relationship had hit a wall.

“I know Inuyasha can be rough and that is only because he has had a rough life but I thought… I guess I hoped that he would grow out of it, you know?”

“Hnn,” he agreed. “I do not think that was an unreasonable assumption. You were both very young. Well, you are still young, but you are not the same person you were two years ago.”

“I’m not sure I like the person I am right now though,” she confessed in a small voice. “Or rather, I don’t like the person I am when I’m with Inuyasha. It’s like he drags me down to his level or something. He makes me angry and I do and say things I regret later.”

He hesitated for a moment, before he tilted his head, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. When she finally met his gaze, the words hovering at the tip of his tongue spilled out.

“Perchance the time has come to sit him down and talk.”

The miko was silent for a long while. Her trembling fingers fisted her hakama again, kneading the fabric in a constant unconscious motion.

He watched her and took in her pale face, the downward angle of the corner of her lips, the creases on her brow, the vulnerable expression in her tired blue eyes.

“I guess,” she finally whispered, her voice breaking a little. She sighed, all the air exploding from her lungs and she lifted her hands to cover her face.

Sesshoumaru noticed that her shoulders started to shake.

“I don’t think I want to do this anymore,” she said in a small voice.

Sesshoumaru did not reply.

Gently, he turned to her and reached over, prying her hands away. Her eyes were swimming with tears as she met his steady gaze. Her fingers curled around his hand, clinging to it, squeezing it tightly in a silent plea of comfort.

He allowed her that, and ran his free hand through her hair in a soothing caress.

If it was his support she needed, he was more than willing to give it to her.