Miroku finished reciting a prayer over his father's grave and paused, sparing a glance to the clouds gathering overhead. There was a chill in the air and a stillness to the day that suited his mood perfectly. Now was a time for reflection and solitude, a pause for breath between the ending and a new beginning. The late afternoon sunlight was just beginning to fade beyond the thick clouds, tinting the world in subtle shades of blue and grey. Bowing his respects to his father, Miroku took a moment just to drink in the peace of the evening--

"Miroku no danna!"

--Well, it had been peaceful. Miroku sucked in a deep breath of the bracing air before turning toward the tanuki's voice. "What is it, Hachi?" Hachi gave no verbal reply, only dipped his head and glanced over his shoulder. Miroku's heart gave a small jump at the sight of the approaching figure.

"Houshi-sama," she greeted him, as Hachi hastily retreated back in the direction of Mushin's temple. She kept some distance between them, seeming hesitant.

Miroku gave her a winning smile. "This is an unexpected pleasure! I supposed you and Kohaku would be much too busy to even remember I was away. Did you really miss me so much?"

Sango's face was uncertain. "When you left, you said you only expected to be here for a day or two. It's been over a week. I--we worried."

He took a step closer to her, choosing his words carefully. Though Miroku cherished her presence here, it also meant he could no longer delay what he'd been dreading to tell her. He'd lingered here much too long already, he knew, but he'd had to be sure... "Things are a bit...complicated," he began.

For the first time she seemed to notice the tekko and string of juzu beads he still wore. "Houshi-sama?"

He flexed his right hand, sighing. "My Kazaana was a curse over a decade in the making. I suppose it was too much to hope it could be undone overnight."

Sango's eyes widened at that. "But you said–"

"I said Naraku's curse had been broken when he was destroyed." He gave a sardonic smile. "And it was. It's just...a bit stubborn." He formed a circle with his thumb and forefinger and held it up. "The Kazaana was this size." He curled the fingers a bit more, tightening the circle. "Now it is this. Day by day it grows smaller, but until the time when it fades away completely–"

"How long?" There was a desperate question in her eyes that betrayed the calmness of her voice.

He shrugged. "A year? Perhaps more, perhaps less." He paused, squinting up at the blue clouds. "I think it's beginning to snow."

"And our engagement?" The dreadful calm in her voice seemed close to breaking. Miroku looked down, from the first fat, wet snowflakes drifting from the sky, to Sango, but she had dropped her head, hiding her expression from him.

"It will only be a bit longer," he said in a comforting tone, eager to reassure her.

"Houshi-sama..." The word came out in a choked gasp, scarcely audible. He waited a small eternity for her to continue, watching, hypnotized, as snowflakes--first one, then another, then too many to count--caught in her dark hair and melted, glistening like a net of diamonds. Her shoulders trembled slightly, as if barely restraining some strong emotion. Sango paused for a moment, complete stillness, before drawing in a deep breath. She made no move to lift her gaze, but beneath the thick fringe of hair that hid her eyes, Miroku could see her cheeks blushing brightly.

A track of wetness caught the fading light as it rolled down her face.

Miroku could no longer restrain himself. "Sango," he said softly, resting a hand on her shoulder. He felt her tense up beneath the touch. "I'm sorry I made you worry." He cupped his right hand beneath her chin, smoothing away her tears with his thumb. "It will only be a little longer." Applying a gentle yet firm pressure, Miroku raised her head, longing to see her shy smile, her eyes shining with tears unshed.

Instead he caught the barest glimpse of eyes narrowed in anger--then he was picking himself up off the ground, his cheek stinging sharply. Sango stood above him, her open palm bloodless with the force of her blow.

"Sango?" he asked, bemusement clear in his voice. He paused halfway between crouching and standing, watching her warily. The storm hadn't passed from her eyes yet; if anything, it was intensifying.

She glared at him, her shoulders trembling once again as she lowered her arms, hands balling into fists at her sides. "Houshi-sama, you...you idiot!" Abruptly, she dropped to her knees in front of him, tears and melted snow mingled on her face.

He hated to think he was causing her this pain. Numb, all he could seem to do was repeat his litany. "Only a little longer, Sango, and then we can–"

She shook her head wildly from side to side, cool droplets from her hair splashing his skin in a fine spray. "No," she said in a voice Miroku found unreadable. "No more waiting."

He felt something catch in his throat. "But my curse...the Kazaana...it hasn't faded yet."

Sango looked at him, incredulous, tears spilling anew. "Do you think I care about that?" She moved forward like lightning. Miroku found himself on the ground once more, but this time he felt the warm press of her body against his chest; felt the lithe strength of the arms that encircled him; smelled the clean scent of her damp hair as she leaned her cheek to his. Her breath tickled his ear as she murmured, almost inaudibly, "Miroku-sama, what I care about is you."

In the next instant she had rocked back onto her heels, cheeks burning crimson as she brushed bits of snow and grass from her knees. Miroku sat up, reaching out with his left hand, his fingers just brushing hers. At his touch, she looked away. "I'm sorry, Houshi-sama. I–" She stopped short as he tenderly entwined his fingers with hers.

"Sango." Her name was a caress, the way he spoke it. "Don't apologize. And...don't take it back." His eyes sought hers, just hidden behind a cloak of dark hair. "If you do, I think I might die."

He heard her give a small sob, but a joyful one. Her hand squeezed his; she was laughing through her tears. Miroku gave her hand a gentle tug and she knelt again.

Sango's eyes widened as she met his gaze. "Oh!" Her hand pulled free of his and joined her other, scraping together what she could of the deepening cover of snow on the ground. The heavy flakes melted almost instantly as she scooped them into the cupped fingers of one hand and drew it up to press the coolness against his cheek. Miroku winced slightly, wondering how bright the bruise would be. "Sorry," she said, though with a smile that might have made one question her sincerity.

Miroku could only answer her expression in kind. "Don't be. Sometimes men need to have sense slapped into them." He reached up to touch the hand on his cheek. "Your fingers are like ice. We should go back to the temple. If Mushin's still conscious, he'll be happy to see you."

The world around them was slowly losing its color. Now the air swirled with large snowflakes, the ground acquiring an uneven blanket of wet whiteness that clung to their sandals as they walked.

In the midst of the dancing snow, the two walked hand in hand, and felt only warmth.