Chapter Text
Title: Crescent
Chapter One: The Beginning of the End
It had felt like she had always loved Inuyasha.
That’s how long they’d been together. Three years of bickering over where to eat, of late-night ramen runs, of mornings waking up to his messy hair and half-hearted apologies. No proposals. But she thought they were close to it. He’d hinted once, clumsily, that he was saving for something important. Kagome had imagined a ring—something silver, maybe understated, like him. Not this.
Not a text message from Sango telling her Sesshoumaru needed to speak with her.
Not a bar meeting with the brother who barely ever acknowledged her.
He was already seated when she arrived. Of course he was.
The place was elegant in the way only money could buy—dark walnut paneling, bottles of scotch she couldn’t pronounce lining the walls, the bartender polishing glasses like he was in a noir film. Sesshoumaru sat like he owned the place, long fingers around a lowball glass of something amber, his expression unreadable. In front of him sat a manila folder. Neat. Closed. Too casual to be innocent.
“Kagome,” he greeted, voice low and polite. As if this were a board meeting.
“I…hey,” she managed. “What’s this about?”
“A drink,” he said simply, sliding a glass toward her. Something fruity and pink. Not his taste, clearly, but hers.
She frowned but sat, perching at the edge of the stool. “Sango said you needed to show me something.”
“Yes,” he said, then opened the folder.
Photographs.
A woman. Familiar. Long dark hair. Red and white priestess robes. Kikyou.
Another photo. Her with Inuyasha. Too close. His hand not where it should be. Her lips at his neck. A timestamp from three weeks ago.
Her mouth opened. Closed again.
“No,” she said quietly. “This has to be… you’re misunderstanding something. Kikyou is his spiritual advisor. That’s all. You know that.”
Sesshoumaru didn’t blink. He simply pulled another sheet from the folder—an ultrasound image. Her name—Kikyou Higurashi—was typed across the top. Estimated gestation: eight weeks.
Kagome stared at it.
“There has to be some mistake,” she repeated, though her voice sounded thinner this time. “Maybe they’re just…it doesn’t prove anything.”
More photos.
A hotel entrance. Inuyasha and Kikyou walking in. Same clothes as the earlier photos. Time-stamped hours later: them leaving.
Kagome gripped her drink tighter. It was nearly empty. When had she finished it?
“You’re sure?” she asked, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her voice wasn’t pleading. Just confused. Numb. “Why would you show me this?”
Sesshoumaru set down his glass. It made a soft clink against the marble. “Because it brings shame upon my family. And because you deserve to know.”
There was no warmth in his tone. Just…fact. Cold, elegant truth spoken as if this were a formality.
“I don’t—he wouldn’t…Inuyasha wouldn’t do this to me,” she murmured. “Not after everything.”
She remembered their first anniversary. When he surprised her with a weekend in Kyoto. The time he sat in the rain for three hours waiting for her to get out of a night class. The way he once called her at 2am just to say he missed her voice.
Another drink arrived. She didn’t remember ordering it, but it helped her swallow the ache building in her throat.
Sesshoumaru pulled out a sleek black tablet and tapped the screen.
Clicked on a video. Kikyou’s apartment. Inuyasha’s voice. Laughter. A kiss. Her moan.
Kagome didn’t blink. She just watched, eyes glassy but dry.
The bar’s dim lighting made everything feel hazy. Safe. She sipped another drink—something stronger this time, maybe vodka—and told herself it wasn’t real. That maybe this was someone else’s life she had stumbled into. A twisted mistake.
But Sesshoumaru was still speaking. Calmly. Precisely. Explaining timelines, receipts, discreet surveillance. All of it tied together in a bow of cold certainty.
“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted finally, dragging a hand through her hair, elbow knocking the empty glass.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he said.
Her fingers trembled slightly. She stared at them, as if surprised by her own lack of steadiness.
She had been here an hour now. Seven drinks deep. Still no tears.
Sesshoumaru stood. “There’s a hotel next door. Quiet. Clean. You should rest.”
She blinked. “I…I don’t want to stay in a hotel alone. Not like this. I’ll just go home.”
“You will regret that,” he said without missing a beat. “Letting your grief crash into your familiar spaces. It will ruin them.”
She looked up at him. Tall. Impeccably dressed. Not a strand of hair out of place.
“You talk like this is something you’ve done before,” she said.
“I have observed enough to understand patterns.”
He said it as if he hadn’t been behind this entire one.
Kagome hesitated. She didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want to be vulnerable in her own bed. But she also didn’t want to cry in a hotel room with a stranger’s sheets.
“I don’t want to be there alone,” she said softly, unsure why she admitted it.
Sesshoumaru didn’t so much as sigh, but he looked at her with something that almost passed for resignation.
“Then I will accompany you.”
It wasn’t a question.
She nodded, slowly. Too tired to argue.
As he placed a black card on the bar and the bartender nodded wordlessly, Kagome followed him out into the cool night air. Everything felt weightless. Like she was floating above her own choices, watching them being made without her.
Sesshoumaru didn’t touch her. Didn’t offer his arm. But he walked close enough that she could feel the gravity of his presence. Like a shield. Or a trap. She couldn’t tell.
The hotel lobby was quiet, perfumed faintly with cedar and rose. She didn’t ask how they had a room ready. Or why the suite was already stocked with chilled water, painkillers, and silk robes.
She sat at the edge of the bed. He stood by the window, unhurried, as if this were routine.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked again, softer this time. Not accusing. Just trying to make sense of him.
He looked over his shoulder. His eyes didn’t waver.
“Because my brother does not deserve you.”
The words should have sounded comforting. They didn’t.
They just felt…inevitable.