knittingknots (knittingknots) wrote,
knittingknots
knittingknots

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Drabble: Mood Swings

A little bit of InuYasha interacting with Miroku.  Takes place in February, 1558 in my story arc






Mood Swings


He sat there leaning up against a tree, staring of into the distance, his knees drawn up near his chest.  The scowl on his face was enough to keep most passers-by away, but Miroku knew that look, and the man, and being unafraid of the smoldering amber glance InuYasha sent his way, walked up calmly and sat down.

“Bad day?” he asked placidly.

“Keh,” the hanyou said.  He shifted and crossed his legs, shoving his hands into his sleeves.  Miroku just sat there patiently for awhile.

Finally, InuYasha sighed.  Still looking away at the distance, he plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between his fingers. “All I did was ask her if she talked to Sango about that chicken stuff she made the other day.  Suddenly, she was yelling about me hating her cooking and started to cry.”
He looked down at the grass blade, then threw it away.  “Nothing I could do seemed to help, so I thought I’d do better getting out of the house.”

Miroku sighed.  “Mothers-to-be sometimes have moments like that.  I remember Sango . . . ” His voice trailed off.

“I remember why you and I locked Hiraikotsu in the shrine,” InuYasha said, with the smallest grin touching his face, and then he sighed again.

They fell silent.  “So what do I do?” the hanyou asked.

“Go home.  Bring her home something pretty if you can. Tell her you’re sorry no matter what. Tell her she’s beautiful.  Knowing Kagome-sama, she’s probably crying now because she was mean to you.”  Miroku said, not meeting his friend’s eyes.  Instead, his eyes too looked far away, as if lost in old memories.

InuYasha stood up, almost reluctantly.  “If she purifies my butt, promise me you’ll be there and raise my child like one of your own,” he said.

Miroku snorted.  “Go home, InuYasha.  Your wife’s waiting for you.”

“Keh,” the hanyou said, heading down the path home.

Miroku watched him walk down the road for several minutes, then slowly stood up and dusted off his clothes.  Going home, he rubbed his head, remembering.  “You’re lucky, my friend,” he muttered.  “ Kagome-sama doesn’t pack nearly the punch Sango does.  It’s probably a very good thing we locked up Hiraikotsu.  I wonder how long it’ll be before she starts having mood swings this time.”


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