Neighbors by Inumaru_Rapture

One

The apartment building was seven stories tall and made of sturdy red brick. The cornerstone boasted a founding date in 1895, making the building just over one hundred years old. The wooden floors creaked with any weight or strong wind. The pipes groaned and clanked together. The settling and groaning of the building itself was frightening for anyone who did not reside within the number of apartments on each floor.

Wrought iron banisters carved into intricate designs flowed down the worn steps. The wallpaper was an elegant red and gold, giving the entire lobby and hallways the feel of an old five star hotel. A large double wide banister lead from the entryway lobby that hosted plush chairs and a fireplace that always crackled merrily during the colder months. All in all, it resembled a ski lodge nestled high in the mountains somewhere, not in the midst of downtown Tokyo.

Kagome lived alone on the sixth floor, her cat Buyou keeping her company. Her apartment was decorated in gentle tones of red and tan, potted flowers blossoming throughout from stands, end tables, or from the floor. Old French Opera posters hung on the walls, feeding into the old sense of the building. Shrubs and potted plants sprouted from between the iron of her balcony, one worn wicker chair nestled in their welcome green leaves.

She worked in the library at the neighborhood Elementary School. She was known as “the Book Lady” because she read new books to the students every week. She helped them find good books to read, and helped the students understand the procedures of a library. She was twenty-four, in her prime, and enjoying life. She had recently been asked to take on a double position to help the computer lab teacher, Ms. Sango, who was going to be getting married and going on maternity leave shortly afterwards. Kagome would be filling in for both positions and getting paid double what she was earning now. Life, all in all, was on the upswing. Glorious good tidings shone upon her face with every breath she took. She was very happy.

Kagome's neighbor, on the other hand, was not living the high life of prosperous good luck. He, as it turns out, had fallen almost as far down as anyone could fall. The son of a prominent businessman, he was cheated from his inheritance by his whore of a step-mother who insisted all the money, business, everything, everything he had been raised for, be sent to his younger half-brother. His father, keen to keep his wife happy, gave in to her pleas. One day, he was the heir to the largest growing business in Tokyo, the next, he was the disowned son of a 'mistake'. That mistake, he would fume, had been the marriage to the man's mother. Anger and rage had separated father and son, leaving the son to live off what means he had saved and work for his living.

Sesshoumaru was used to living in the best luxuries with servants and maids at his every beck and call. He wasn't spoiled, that is just how things were. Of course he could survive without someone watching out for him, cooking for him, and keeping his laundry clean. There was no doubt about that, in his mind. He found a small apartment, a size to his liking, in a building of historic content and within a short walk to his new employment. He would be working, in all places, at his father's competitor was an engineer. He was an apprentice for the first year, before being a main employee, but the CEO of the company promised greatness.

He had moved into the little apartment, fitting all his expensive clothes and belongings into proper places, before realizing that he had no need for the Armani Suits, Gucci briefcases, or expensive trinkets family had given to commemorate one thing or another. He didn't know what to do with them, or with himself, as he sat on his plush couch staring at the blank television. What a way to crumble.

**

Kagome was standing, topless and in only her underwear, at her sink doing her dishes at 11:45 at night. She hummed a tune as the gentle clatter of metal and porcelain clinked together. She heard the door at the end of the door creak and crack once, a sign it was being opened, followed by the heavy foot fall of her neighbor. She had met the golden-eyed man once, when he was moving in, and had been surprised at his cold manner and the pain hidden in his eyes. She had baked her special cornbread for him and brought it over, welcoming him to the building and the floor.

He had been surprised, but his cold manner had instigated that her attempts for kind neighborly conversation were to be forgone, and she was to leave him alone. She was happy, however, when he returned the empty platter of cornbread two days later.

Buyou nuzzled her ankle as she rinsed a dish. She heard the sound of a paper bag rip, cans fall to the ground and roll around, and a muffled curse. She smiled kindly to herself as she went to pull on a pair of pajamas and robe, and maybe bring him a plate of leftover roast beef. He kept late hours, like she did, as she was always up until at least 1 am doing one thing or another. She could hear him pace through the wall before settling down and sleeping about the same time she did. Their bedrooms shared a wall.

She was pulling an arm into the robe when a knock came through the solid oak of her door. Her eyebrows crinkled in confusion and stepped over the threadbare carpet to the door. She unlatched it and opened it to find him standing before her, soaked to the bone, and clinging a paper bag handle in one hand.

“Hey,” she said softly, glancing at the spilled food on the ground.

“I understand it is late, but may I request the use of your telephone?” He asked, extremely formal. She blinked at his formality, but did not answer right away. He seemed nervous. She blinked again, suddenly aware she hadn't responded. Her cheeks reddened.

“Of course. I'm sorry, where are my manners? Please come in,” she said, pulling her robe together and tying it tight around her. She pulled the corded phone off the wall and handed it to him. He nodded his thanks. “Do you mind if I...” She gestured to his food strewn across the floor. She saw an unmistakable tensioning of his shoulders.

“Not at all,” he responded with a mumble. He was more than embarrassed. He had stood in the hall way for almost five minutes before telling himself there was no shame in knocking on her door and asking to use the phone. The heavy paper bag of food mixed with the rain from the sudden downpour had ripped and spilled all the contents on the floor as he had searched for his keys. His search was aimless, as he came up empty handed, only to remember that his keys were firmly locked in his desk at work, and his desk key was in his wallet.

Thunder shook the windows of the apartment as he stared at the phone in his hand. He didn't even know the landlord's phone number to call. The sound of the girl in the hallway made him aware that she was repacking his food into a fresh paper bag, setting it just inside the door as she came back in. She hadn't heard him talk, and found him staring at the phone.

“Who are you trying to call?” She asked, brushing her bangs from her face. He looked over at her.

“The landlord,” he responded easily enough. She smiled kindly.

“Lock yourself out? I do that once a month,” she stated lightly, taking the phone from him and dialing the number she knew by heart. She handed it back once it started to ring, and went to finish drying the dishes in the other room. Sesshoumaru stood there, listening to the phone ring, and ring, and ring...and ring. It went to the old woman's voicemail, where he learned that she was out of town until next Tuesday.

“Hn,” he almost felt himself growl as he hung up the phone. The woman poked her head back in.

“She didn't answer?”

“She's out of town until Tuesday,” he looked at his watch. It was 5 after midnight. He had to be back at work at 8, and it would take almost two hours to make the round trip to his office to get his key, come back, take a shower, and sleep. He was not fond of the idea.

“Did you leave your keys somewhere?” She asked, holding a dish in her hands, the towel drying it as she watched him. It struck him how domestic she looked.

“At work.”

“How far?”

“It would take about two hours,” he wondered why he indulged her. This was the strange woman who didn't believe he ate enough and played opera throughout the morning before going to work. The woman who seemed to always have a book in her hands or sticking out of her bag. The woman whose apartment always smelled fresh, clean, and like a meadow. He now understood why, as the many potted flowers invaded his eyesight with their bright colors.

“Two hours?” Her eyebrow furrowed along her forehead. “Why don't you stay here for the night?” She asked, turning and setting the dish on the stack of clean dishes with a gentle clatter. He stared at her. “Unless you have someplace else to go.”

“I barely know you,” he stated.

“Doesn't matter. You're my neighbor. My couch pulls out into a bed, and I have a second mattress to pile over it so the bar doesn't hurt your back. My brother has some spare clothes you can sleep in, and you are welcome to the shower, if you need it.” He stared at her, wondering the complexities of her kindness.

“I...” He stopped, unsure of the words to use. He weighed the reasons not to, and the reasons to take her up on her offer. The ending he came up with was the same: he had no where to go and his new life depended on him keeping this job. His pride cried as he lost some of it to circumstance. “I would be greatly appreciative of your assistance.”

“There is no need to be so formal with me,” she said as she shut her apartment door, after looking to make sure all bits and pieces were inside. The finality of the lock depressed him even more. “I work with elementary school students, I am not used to the formality.”

“I will try,” came his honest response. He looked uncomfortably around himself. She smiled to him.

“I'll give you the tour. My name is Kagome, by the way. I don't think we ever really introduced ourselves the day you moved in,” she said, holding her hand out to meet his. He shook her hand, surprised at the strength of her grip.

“Sesshoumaru,” his baritone voice slid over her. She smiled again.

“Nice to meet you. The bathroom is over here,” she said leading him down the narrow hallway. She pointed into a generously sized bathroom. “Living room is right here,” she continued, leading him into the largish space. She scooped up the pillows from the sofa and set them aside.

“I'll set the bed up while you shower, if you need it?” She stated, turning to open an ottoman and pull sheets from inside it.

“Is there a towel inside the bathroom?” he asked, wondering if she also had a linen closet inside the bathroom.

“Yup, help yourself. I'll put some clothes outside the door for you when you're done. Would you care for dinner or tea?” His stomach answered for him with a gurgle. She smiled kindly at him again.

“You shower,” she instructed, “I'll take care of the rest.” He wasn't used to being given orders, but he followed them without complaint. He already felt defeated. There was no point. He entered the bathroom and shut the door. The faucet complained loudly as he turned on the shower, wanting nothing more than to stand under scorching hot water, letting the pain eat him away.

He was not one for depression or the shame of giving up, but this last year had been shame enough. Losing his inheritance, family, home, cars, job, and reputation...mixed with having to find a job and an apartment without spending his saved money...mixed with losing his fiancée now that he was not going to be rich and handsome—just handsome...mixed with that asshole of a step-brother's smug look when he was handed the keys to the business. All of that on top of finding out he was a terrible cook, prone to bouts of forgetfulness, and felt like a child relearning everything of life as he struggled to grasp some different and unproductive methods of working at his new job. Not to mention forgetting his umbrella and keys today...

He pushed his clothes aside with a foot, unsure of how he had undressed already. He stepped into the scalding water and let it run over him, his hands bracing against the sides of the shower. If only he knew what all of this was preparing him for...it may be easier to bear.

Ten minutes later, he stepped from the hot shower into the steamy bathroom, and grabbed a fluffy towel from the linen closet to dry off. He tied it securely around his waist and opened the bathroom door to find a neat stack of clothes waiting for him. He shut the door, the clothes in his hand, and set them on the toilet seat cover. He stared at the worn t-shirt advertising for Tokyo University and pulled it on. The sweat pants fit snuggly and were a little short, but it was comfortable enough. He wrapped the towel around his head, drying his short silver hair for a minute before hanging the wet towel over the shower curtain rod. He stepped into the coolness of her apartment and headed into the living room.

The bed was pulled out and made up with soft red sheets, an off-white blanket along the foot of the bed. It looked plush and comfortable, two things his own bed lacked. Beside the bed, a cup of hot tea sat waiting for him, the gentle curls of steam beckoning him towards it. He set his dirty clothes on the foot of the bed and sat on the edge, his hand reaching for the cup.

“Was it a nice shower?” She asked, emerging from the kitchen with a steaming bowl of stew. The delectable smell wafted into his nose, causing him to salivate. He nodded, eyeing the bowl hungrily.

“It's left over from a stew I made for dinner today. I hope you have no allergies to foods...” She seemed suddenly hesitant to give him the bowl. He reached out to take it from her.

“None whatsoever,” he replied, taking the warm bowl from her. She disappeared back into the kitchen for a moment, only to reemerge with a generous hunk of freshly baked bread.

“So you're the one who makes bread,” he stated, accepting the bread from her. She blushed.

“Yeah,” she rubbed a hand over her neck nervously. “I'm sorry if the hallway sometimes smells odd, I enjoy cooking so much, I can't help myself when I experiment.” She watched as he delve into the stew, blowing gently to cool it before shoveling it, unceremoniously, into his mouth.

“This is delicious,” he offered, trying to ease the awkwardness of the situation. He watched her face light up with the compliment.

“I'm glad you like it. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“No, thank you,” he said between bites. She nodded.

“I'm going to go to bed then. I wake up at 6am, do you want me to wake you up?”

“That would be helpful, although, I may already be up.” She nodded.

“Good night then,” she said, turning to head back down the hallway to her bedroom. He sat, spoon halfway to his mouth, eyes lost in turmoil. He gave in and called after her:

“Thank you.” He couldn't remember the last time he had shown gratitude to someone. She turned, her face alight with a radiant smile.

“Sleep well,” she said, disappearing into her room. He listened to the gentle click of the door as it shut and completed his bowl of soup, soaking the last of his bread with the juice clinging uselessly to the bowl. He turned off the light beside the bed, and crawled beneath the sheet. He felt, for some odd reason, that things may be turning for the better, and chided himself for losing so much of what he had been raised for. He had been raised to be a cold, calculating businessman whose poker face outmatched anyone's, whose eyes locked in all emotion, and whose demeanor would chill the warmest of days. Yet here he was, showing his exhaustion, gratitude, and hunger to a woman he had barely met and was sleeping in her living room after one of the worst endings to his days in a long time. He heaved a sigh, turning onto his side, and was asleep before he could stop to consider the way his stomach fluttered when she smiled.

**

He awoke to the soft docile sounds of opera wafting through the apartment. Gentle fragrances of flowers, ferns, and herbs met his nose as he awoke feeling more refreshed than he had in god knows how long. The gentle tinks and clinks coming from the kitchen reminded him that he wasn't within his own apartment, but sleeping in his neighbor's. He sat up, dazed for a moment, feeling the overwhelming sense of confusion and loss, before remembering where he was and why. He shook his head to clear it when she appeared from the kitchen with a tray ladened with food.

“Good morning! I was wondering when you would get up,” she said, setting the tray onto the cleared table beside him.

“What time is it?” He asked.

“About 6:15 or so. I woke up earlier than my alarm today, unable to get back to sleep. I am getting a new shipment of books today, so I'm very excited,” she realized she was rambling as she handed him a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast. A bowl of fresh fruit and a cup of coffee remained on the tray.

“Do you always cook so much?” He asked, taking the plate from her.

“I cook for myself, and sometimes my coworkers. I don't like to eat out. It's too expensive and unhealthy. I enjoy cooking for others more than myself though,” she said as she sat in a chair across the room, her own plate filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and a chopped up banana. They ate in silence, the only sound the scraping of the metal forks against the porcelain dishes.

“Thank you for your assistance,” he said after his plate was emptied. She smiled at him, an eyebrow raised.

“You're welcome for my assistance,” she replied, lips pulling back to show her pearly white teeth in a wide grin. An irk of irritation rose in him, but he pushed it down as he stood up to walk to the bathroom. She followed him until she reached her bedroom, and he saw the organized chaos within. He smirked at the thought that everywhere else in her house was in clean order whereas her room was in disarray. He stepped into the bathroom to change back into the clothes he had worn yesterday, wondering if he had laundry soap to do laundry that upcoming weekend. He glanced at his watch and noted that it was Thursday. Only two more days of this hell week before it was over.

Twenty minutes later, he thanked her for her kindness, telling her he would pick up his groceries after work that evening, and exited her apartment. He made his way to the end of the hallway, before the sound of her door opened.

“Wait!” She called, hurrying after him. She was wearing only her black silk nighty, the red lace adorning her bosom and against her thighs. Her legs were incredible long and shapely and lightly tanned. Her hourglass figure was enough to stop him dead in his tracks. Had she continued wearing her robe, he would never have seen the extremely womanly body she possessed.

“You dropped this. I think it's important,” she said, holding up his desk key. He paled at the thought of arriving at work without it.

“Thank you,” he said absently, taking the key from her. “It is indeed important.” He realized, suddenly, that the hallway was colder than he thought and he looked away from her body. She blushed, covering her breasts with the gentle crossing of her arms.

“I'll be home from work about 7 tonight,” she said. “Feel free to stop by whenever you get home.” He nodded, thanked her once more, and turned to leave again. The image of her body had burned into his mind's eye, making him still see the gentle sway of her hips and the bounce of her full breasts. He bit back a groan at the sight of her erect nipples peaking through her silk nighty. He would have to try to find anything else to think about on his hour walk to work.

**