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Little Gifts

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Commissioned Artwork by hopidoodle

What a day.

What a goddamn, annoying day.

Honestly, Inuyasha had never met anyone as incompetent as his boss. Inuyasha had spent the better part of the week working on a pitch for a client, and when he presented it to his boss, the guy basically shit all over it, then gave him the rest of the day to come up with something better, but couldn’t specify exactly what better meant. So Inuyasha and his team had worked through lunch, and past dinner, to come up with that “something better.” When they presented that to their boss, he was happier, but sent Inuyasha home with the task of cleaning up the language and the PowerPoint to make it “flashy” and “appealing” (again, with no sense for what those words could possibly mean). 

Inuyasha’s ears laid back on his skull; he let out a little growl, and wanted to punch a hole through the wall along the corridor as he stalked to his apartment—to number 328, to be exact. In fact, he had to hold back with everything he had to keep from doing so; that was, after all, why he’d been “asked to leave” his former place of residence. But honestly, if his fucking boss asked him to do one more thing without a clear direction, he was seriously going to lose his shit.

It was close to 9:00; he’d had nothing to eat since lunch, and he was rapidly approaching hangry status. Why had he taken an apartment so far at the end of the hallway? If he’d been in the first one, he could be inside, eating, relaxing, having a few beers, and definitely not doing the work his boss had asked him to do.

Inuyasha nearly fell over something when he reached his door. Snarling, he bent down to see what the fuck had been in his way.

It was a basket. A cute, little basket. 

What the actual fuck?

Inuyasha bent down and picked it up in both hands, turning it this way and that. There were...chips (he fucking loved chips), and some onigiri and yakisoba from a nearby convenience market? And a six-pack of beer. He balanced the basket in one hand, and dug around in its contents with the other. Towards the back, he found a note.

Welcome to the building! I hope you had a good day at work, and will enjoy living here.

There was no signature, but the basket had a distinctive scent—tangerine, with a hint of sweetness, like cherries—that obviously belonged to whoever had so carefully put this basket together. 

And, he noticed, the chips were his favorite brand, as was the beer. He would have preferred ramen to yakisoba and onigiri, but he wasn’t going to complain. 

But where had the basket come from? Who had left it? 

His head whipped around the corridor, as though he’d be able to see if someone was lurking, waiting to laugh at him. Because this couldn’t be real. It had to be a joke. No one left little gift baskets with cute notes for inu hanyou, especially grumpy, surly ones who didn’t understand how to use their “indoor voice.”

Before he had time to process this situation further, though, his phone rang, and he let out another frustrated growl. He held the basket in one hand as he dug around in his bag for his phone. He yanked it out of the front pocket.

“What?” he bellowed. “Oh, come on!” he yelled. “What do you mean, now he wants a completely different kind of pitch? Not fucking again! I was gonna spend the night watching Macross and having some beers.” He paused. “Hold on,” he said, “I gotta call you back. I’m in the middle of the hall. I haven’t even gotten inside my fucking apartment yet.” He disconnected the call and put his phone back in his bag, pulling out his keys instead. He opened the door, looked around for a moment, then threw himself inside. The door slammed shut, and a few minutes later, Inuyasha’s booming voice could be heard again, yelling something about wireframing and focus groups.

What Inuyasha had been too busy to notice, though, was that the door to apartment 333 was slightly open, and when he slammed the door to 328 closed, the door to 333 stayed open a few seconds longer, then closed as well. 

And so it went on for the next month and a half. Not every day, mind you, but at least 4-5 times per week, Inuyasha would come home from work—usually when he’d had a particularly rough day, for some reason—and find a little gift waiting at his apartment door. One time, the person had left him homemade cookies (which yes, he smelled first, and no, they were not poisonous). Another time, the person had left him a succulent plant, with a note to please leave it in his office, as plants could cheer up the workspace, and this one wouldn’t need much caring. Another time, the person left youkai-grade earplugs—how had they known that he’d been banging on the neighbor’s door at 2am, demanding that they stop fucking and go the fuck to sleep? Along with the earplugs, the person had given him a diffuser and several essential oils: chamomile, lavender, and cedar—all scents that his inu youkai side fucking loved. And the snacks: chips, ramen, beer, and sometimes nikuman or some other such fresh food from the nearby convenience store. 

But the thing that got Inuyasha most were the notes. Always sweet words of encouragement and comfort: Hope that work wasn’t too stressful today! Or: Here’s a little something to relax after your long day at the office! Always kind; always thoughtful.

He still had no clue who the fuck it was, though.

He’d actually taken to sitting at his door when he was home, waiting for that tangerine and cherry scent to come by, so he could burst through the door and yell GOTCHA! and hopefully scare the shit out of the person. And if it was a practical joker, he could beat the shit out of them. That would definitely make him feel better. 

But the person never came by when he was home; they must have waited until he was at work. And since the food was always still warm (when it came from the convenience store) and the beer always still cold, it meant that the person knew approximately when he would arrive home. 

If the person knew his schedule, and knew exactly what he liked, did that mean that this wasn’t a practical joker, but rather, a stalker? Someone who knew his every move, who was just waiting for the right time to...fuck, he didn’t know. It couldn’t be “kill him,” because he’d rip their throat out before they could land one punch. 

The other possibility was almost scarier. Could someone actually be leaving him sweet little baskets because they liked him? Because they thought he was...well, shit. He didn’t know what people thought another person was when they were attracted to them! But whatever that was, could a person feel that way...about him?

That realization changed everything for Inuyasha. Suddenly, he was living and breathing these little baskets. He found them endearing; he found them adorable. He looked forward to coming home from work every day. What would they say? How cute would it be? What kind of treat would be left for him? Would it be more cookies? (Because he really liked those.) Would it be ramen from the convenience store? (He liked that, too.)

But mostly, he liked that someone had noticed him. That someone was paying attention to him, and not just because they’d known him since he was a kid, because he was fucking good at his job, or because he could turn human once a month or had nice hair. Because someone had seen him, and liked what they saw, and was maybe willing to get past the fact that he was a right asshole most of the time. (He knew he was, and he kind of owned it?) And actually...he liked that someone probably recognized that about him, and didn’t care.

Inuyasha became a hanyou obsessed. He had to know: who was tracking him? Who knew his movements? Who was so clever that they could leave him a gift nearly every day, without him getting a clue as to who they were? So far, he hadn’t been able to detect the scent of that tangerine/cherry anywhere, although he felt like it permeated the hallway whenever there was a gift left for him? 

They had to be close. They had to live somewhere in his building. Maybe even somewhere on his floor. 

Part of him was dying to know who it was. But honestly? Part of him also liked the secrecy, the excitement. He liked the mysteriousness of having an unknown person leave him little gifts and admire him from afar. Because that’s what this was, right? This was a secret admirer? 

Fuck, he’d never had anyone “admire him;” not really, anyway. There had been Kikyo, sure, but she had mostly been interested in him on his human nights; she hadn’t really wanted to be seen with him any other time. And before that, there was Yura, who had a weird kink about his hair and liked wrapping it around various parts of her body as he fucked her. So the women he’d dated… none of them seemed to see all of him; none of them seemed to admire him, not really and truly.

And even though he’d never met this person before, he felt like maybe, this person did?

So even though he really wanted to know who this person was, at the same time, he was kind of terrified to find out. What if they also had some weird kink? What if they also didn’t want all of him? What if he ended up rejected, all over again?

But really, deep down? He wanted to know, and he wanted to know badly. 

As per usual, Inuyasha fucking hated his boss. 

It was late; maybe 10:00 or so, and Inuyasha was finally leaving work. Once again, he was starving and dying for something to eat. Naraku, his asshole boss, had given him “feedback” on his latest design, and it wasn’t good. Inuyasha wished that, just once, he could get some positive feedback mixed in with the criticism, or that the criticism could be more specific and constructive, or that it could be...anything, really, besides what he was getting, which was “this sucks; it’s not what the customer wants; your grammar is bad.”

My grammar is poor, you asshole, thought Inuyasha angrily as he meandered the aisles of the convenience store, not really sure what he wanted to eat, but knowing that he had to have something. As it was, he would be up until at least midnight making design changes so they would be ready to go first thing in the morning, and he would need to replan his focus group questions to fit the new markup.

As he stood in front of the prepared foods, trying to decide how many nikuman he could possibly eat, he caught a whiff of a familiar scent.

Tangerine...and cherry.

Instantly, his golden eyes flew around the store, searching for the owner of that by-now familiar, and (he had to admit) delectable, relaxing scent. His nose went on high alert; since his eyesight wasn’t helping, he decided to give all energies over to his nose. He quickly looked around to see if anyone was watching, closed his eyes, and inhaled.

Gods, it was glorious. The tangerine scent filled his nostrils, curling around his nose and trickling slowly down into his lungs. He’d heard that tangerine was relaxing for dogs, but fuck, he felt like rolling over and letting the owner of that scent rub his belly. And his inu youkai instincts tended to stay pretty buried beneath the surface. This was bringing them all out. 

Inuyasha quickly got a bead on the owner of the scent, and he opened his eyes. He stalked slowly around to the back of the store, and stopped at the end of the aisle, peeking around the shelving. And there she was—there she was—standing in front of the alcohol, trying to decide between Asahi Dry and Sapporo. 

Sapporo...Sapporo… He was dying to shout this to her. 

He was sure. He was fucking sure. It was her. The person—the woman—who had been leaving him gifts, who had been making his shitty days that much brighter with her notes and her chips and her cookies and her succulents. And now, she was in front of him—well, her back, anyway—and from what he could tell, she was incredible.

She had blue-black hair that tumbled down her back in thick waves. Her body was tight—her jeans hugged her ass and thighs in a way that should have been illegal—and she wore little black ankle boots that she was tapping as she tried to decide between the beers. Her blazer was black, and three-quarter sleeved, and some kind of thin material that matched the warm weather. 

He had to see her face. Inuyasha needed to see her face.

He sauntered up beside her, leaned over so his right hand rested casually on the refrigerated shelving, and turned his face towards her. 

“Asahi is a decent beer,” he said, “but you never can go wrong with Sapporo.”

The woman jumped, let out a little yelp, and turned to face him. And yup: it was her.

How did he know? Because she immediately turned beet red and started stammering, and because her tangerine and cherry scent immediately became tinged with ginger—just a little at first, and then quickly overpowering. He grinned at her, just one fang poking out and over his lower lip. 

Her face swiveled slowly to meet his.

Holy fuck.

She was gorgeous.

Her face might have been as red as a tomato, but it was heart-shaped, with full, lush lips, and shining blue-gray eyes. Had he ever seen eyes that color? And her eyelashes...was it possible for eyelashes to be that long? 

Fuck, he didn’t know. He wanted to reach out and touch her. To see if she was as soft as she seemed. His youki, which was usually pretty subdued even at the best of times, started purring. 

That was when Inuyasha realized: whatever she was doing, whatever she wanted, he was all in. 

If this girl could make his youki fucking purr, what else was she capable of? He just needed to know.

“I—I—I don’t really drink beer,” she whispered. “I was going to bring some to a friend.”

“Oh?” He leaned into her, getting close to her face. “And who might that friend be?”

“Just—just someone I know,” she murmured. She grabbed a six-pack of beer—Kirin, not even what she was deciding between—and dashed away to the checkout. Inuyasha followed her lazily; now that he had her scent, he was in no hurry to see where she was going.

He’d be able to follow her anywhere. 

And he planned to.

Inuyasha watched as the young woman ran from the convenience store, across the street, and then hung a frantic left. 

Right in the direction of his apartment building. Of their apartment building, it seemed.

Inuyasha smirked, snagged himself a six-pack of Sapporo, and went to the checkout counter. He paid for his beer, and sauntered out of the shop, his hunger for food having been replaced by a different hunger.

For the chase.

For the catch.

Kagome paid for her beers and for the onigiri and nikuman and got the fuck out of the convenience store. She ran the whole way back to the apartment building, crashed up the stairs to the third floor, and flew down the hall to apartment 333. She thrust her key into the lock, shoved the door open, and burst through the door, slamming it shut behind her. She collapsed against the door and slid down its length.

What...the actual fuck!

She had been careful. So careful. She’d thought that it would be safe to go out that late at night. That she wouldn’t see him. That she wouldn’t see her handsome, hot-as-fuck, inu hanyou neighbor. 

Her neighbor that she’d been crushing on basically since he’d moved in down the hall.

Kagome rested her head back against the door and sighed, closing her eyes. She couldn’t believe she’d almost been caught! Did he know? Did he know who she was?

No. There was no way. If he had known, there was no way that he would allow her off so easily. He would have done...well, done something...let her know that he knew...teased her, yelled at her...something. Right?

Kagome thought back to the first time she saw him. Well, actually, she hadn’t seen him: not exactly, anyway. She’d heard him: his loud, gruff voice, shouting at his friends who were helping him move in. And as sour as he sounded, there was something about his tone that drew her in. It held a touch of sadness, of loneliness…

His voice had made her heart stop, and she’d just had to open the door to her apartment a crack, to see who he was.

He had been so beautiful that she nearly forgot to breathe. Long silver hair pulled back in a ponytail, white fluffy dog ears twitching in anger as he yelled, his muscled arms and chest revealed through a dark red t-shirt as he and another youkai—a wolf, Kagome thought—struggled to carry a dresser down the hall. She’d watched, breathless, as they set the dresser down, and her new neighbor stopped to run his hands across his face. He turned in her direction, and she’d seen his eyes: golden, blazing, burning lava. She’d nearly collapsed on the spot, and shut the door immediately, terrified that she’d been seen.

It wasn’t that Kagome was an agoraphobe, or an introvert; quite the opposite, actually. Usually. But when it came to ridiculously hot men, she often found that she couldn’t speak: she lost her ability to put together a coherent sentence. And with her handsome neighbor, she found she had no words at all. It was both a blessing, and a curse. There were so many men that had ignored her, dumped her, slept with her and then ghosted her, because she got so flabbergasted around people she was attracted to. She could only really express herself physically; she struggled to express herself verbally. When she liked a guy, she would offer him a smile, a touch, a hug, and sometimes, something more. And men were always happy to return her physical attention. The problem was, without proper preparation, she just couldn’t make herself sound intelligent, charming, sweet… especially with a brain distracted by sheer animal attraction. 

She just regularly sounded like a fool.

Like she’d sounded that night: whispering something silly, and then running away.

That first day—that first gift—she’d fully intended to knock on his door, offer up a smile, the gift, and maybe her phone number (or even herself—fuck, he would be hard to resist and she knew it). She planned to brush her fingers up against his; to lean in and maybe rub his cheek with hers. Affection was never the problem, and she really wanted to be close to him. She had it all figured out. 

And, she spent so much time putting that basket together! She had seen him come home with this particular beer; she’d seen him out and about, carrying those chips. She wanted to give him something nice, and she just couldn’t resist putting some of his favorite things into the basket.

But when she’d gotten to the door with her beautiful little basket—when the moment had come—she’d chickened out, left the gift at his door, knocked once, and ran. And then she’d hidden in her doorway, watching closely, waiting for him to come home.

She’d waited two hours. She couldn’t leave the door. She missed dinner; she didn’t even leave to go to the bathroom. She just had to see his reaction.

It was nearly 9:00 when he finally came ambling along, angry and stalking the corridor. He looked so mad that Kagome imagined he might punch a hole in the hallway. His long silver hair was down and wild; his shirt and tie were rumpled; he looked pissed about something. For a split second, she regretted leaving the gift for him; she wasn’t sure how he would react. She saw him nearly fall over her little basket, and she cringed. Then, he bent over, picked it up, rifled through it, and found her note. Kagome saw his face light up a little; his eyes blazing against the darkness of his face. She felt a little thrill at that—that she had made him happy. She thought she saw the soft curve of a smile, and then his phone rang. He answered it, and promptly began yelling into the phone about work. He’d gone into his apartment, slammed the door, and continued to yell.

That night, Kagome resolved that she would keep giving him gifts. She could see how he liked it—even a little bit—and she could also see how much his job must suck. So, if she could bring him joy—even a little—she was more than happy to do it.

Because underneath all that bluster, Kagome had a feeling that here lay the heart of a teddy bear. That sadness she’d heard in his voice...she was sure he just wanted someone to see him, to see his heart: not the fact that he was inu hanyou. And she wanted to get at that heart, more than anything else. 

So nearly every night of the week, whenever she had time, she started leaving him gifts. When she heard him yelling at their neighbors at 2am about some particularly loud sex, she immediately went online and found the best youkai earplugs she could find. When she realized that he was coming home increasingly late from work, she started leaving, if not meals, at least good convenience store snacks. And every night, she watched as he picked up each little basket she made for him with such care, and she watched as he opened each basket, and she watched as he smiled. She didn’t see him much; she really only saw him coming and going from his apartment, and occasionally at the convenience store that was across the street and down on the corner, but she knew enough about him to know that his smiles were rare. So, when he grinned as he opened her gifts, she knew that it was something special, and she glowed with pride and pleasure.

But now, she had fucked up. She had let him see her standing there, at the convenience store, trying to decide which kind of beer to buy for him. And the way he leaned against the shelving, so sexy, so sassy, and then the way he had talked to her— gods, she felt it down in her very soul, in the very core of her being. His voice was deep, and gruff, and amazing. He was talking to her, and only her. And his teasing tone, that little fang poking out when he grinned…

Yup. She’d had no choice but to run away, as fast as she could.

And now she was in her apartment, hiding like a little girl. A little girl who was afraid of the dark. Nothing at all like a grown woman who had the opportunity to talk to her crush and let him know how she felt. 

Kagome got up from the floor and wandered into the washitsu. She sank down at the chabudai and rested her head in her hands. 

What was she going to do?

On one hand, this could be a reckoning. This could be a time for her to go knock on his door, say hello, introduce herself properly, and invite him out for a coffee or a drink. Any normal, rational adult would take that option.

On the other hand, she could just keep doing what she was doing. Keep leaving him gifts; keep hiding; keep her identity a secret. And honestly? While the first was what she should do, she also kind of enjoyed being somebody’s secret admirer. She enjoyed watching him from afar, and she enjoyed watching him get so much pleasure from her gifts. She really did. It was safer that way.

So, maybe this was for the best; maybe she would just go, leave him the beer and a cute little note, and be on her way.

A soft knock at her door had Kagome sitting upright in a panic. She turned her ear to the genkan; who could it be, so late at night? 

Two knocks on the door, slightly more insistent, sounded. Kagome wanted to hide; she wanted to ignore it. But she couldn’t.

She got up, and went to the door. She looked through the peephole, but no one was there. So, slowly, cautiously, she opened it. 

There was definitely no one there, but Kagome’s eyes were drawn to the ground.

Sitting there was a six-pack of Sapporo, and a note. Kagome bent down, picked up the beer and the note, and read the short, dashing script:

I think you may have forgotten something tonight. This is my favorite. Care to share?

Kagome let out a tiny eep and went back inside her apartment, slamming the door for the second time that night.

What she didn’t notice were a pair of fluffy white dog ears, sticking out of the doorway of apartment 328, which didn’t go back inside the door until Kagome’s door was safely closed.

He’d done it. He’d fucking done it.

He’d followed her home—followed her scent home, anyway—back to their apartment building, and was shocked that it led up the stairs to his floor.

To their floor.

Eagerly, he tracked her to the apartment at the end of the hallway: 333. San san kudo. Like they were fucking meant to be.

Inuyasha loitered outside her apartment door for a good while, trying to figure out what to do. Should he knock, demand answers, take her in his arms and kiss her senseless? (Not that he’d ever kissed anyone senseless before, but still.) Should he ignore everything and go back to his apartment? Forget this ever happened?

She had to know. She had to know he knew.

Which meant...she was gonna stop leaving him baskets. She would stop leaving him notes: cute, little notes that made his days significantly less shitty.

Inuyasha let out a tiny growl. That was unacceptable. He couldn’t...he had to…

He had to do something.

He set the beers down and pulled a pen and a notebook out of his bag. He left her a little note, slipped it between in the holder, and knocked once, decided it was too gentle, and knocked again, more insistently. He turned and took off down the hall, making it to his apartment door in five steps. He opened his door, slipped inside, and left it open the tiniest of cracks, and listened. He heard her open the door; he heard her pick up the beer; he heard the crackle of the paper as she unfolded it. He heard her squeak, and then he heard the door slam shut.

He had her. He just knew it.

 Or….maybe he didn’t.

Inuyasha has been so sure that his note would do it. He would leave her the note, and the beer, and she’d come barreling down the hall and right into his eager and waiting arms. He’d been so fucking sure.

But as one day bled into another, he realized: she wasn’t responding.

There was no knock at his door; there were no gifts for him at his doorstep.

Things had gone strangely, eerily, silent.

And Inuyasha realized: he fucking hated it.

Because whether he wanted to admit it or not, he’d grown fond of the gift baskets and the sweet little notes. He’d gotten used to the anticipation of seeing what she had planned for him at the end of what was always (for him) a very long and frustrating day. She made his day a little brighter; she gave him something to look forward to, even when his entire day was shit.

Fuck, he’d gotten used to having a woman in his life, a woman that he barely knew, but a woman he was absolutely dying to know.

He would chase her. He would catch her. He would make her his.

Inuyasha started by staking out her scent. Now that he had a pretty solid recall, he was much more easily able to track her. He realized that she left before he did in the mornings—about an hour before, if the density of her scent told him anything—but that she beat him home by at least 3-4 hours at the end of the day. He reasoned out she was probably a teacher with hours like that, and decided to see if he was correct by waking up super early and hanging around outside their apartment complex—like he was the goddamned stalker—and waiting for her.

At about 7am she came ambling out of the building, pulling on her coat and slinging her bag over her shoulder. He could see it was full of books and papers, and her frowning face made him chuckle. Even irritated, she was still fucking gorgeous. 

She was on foot, so he decided to follow her—see where she taught. It was a middle school about ten minutes away, and while he wondered why she left so early in the morning, he realized she probably had a lot of work to do to get ready for her classes. 

He frowned. Teachers worked hard—really hard—and yet she was taking the time almost every day to get him a little something. And what was he doing in return, for her? 

Except for the beer (which he had technically bought for himself), he hadn’t done anything to show her that he was interested. Outside of accosting her at the convenience store, anyway. 

Yup, it was definitely time Inuyasha did something in return for her.

When he got to the office, he lied and told his secretary that he had a lunch meeting and would be taking an extended break. When she asked who it was with, he gave her his friend Miroku’s name. A real person, yes, and someone who would cover for him should the occasion ever arise. The whole morning, he sat in meetings and listened to his boss drone on and on about budgets and bottom lines and focus groups, but he was just thinking about the smoking hot middle school teacher and what he could do for her. His mind wandered; he could see her shapely ass shifting from side to side in the convenience store as she tried to make up her mind about what to buy. He saw her beautiful, lush, full lips, making a little “o” of surprise when she realized who he was. He saw her adorably irritated look as she tried to balance her books and her bag. He saw all the little baskets of treats with notes written just to make his day a little better. Notes written just for him, special for him. 

Inuyasha saw it all, and knew just what to get her. He couldn’t wait for his lunch break, and when it rolled around, he bounced out of the office, telling his secretary not to expect him back anytime soon.

Three hours. He had about three hours to put together a gift for her and get it outside her door before he started running the risk of her coming back and catching him. He knew that he had to make it count.

He went from store to store in Shinjuku, looking for exactly the right things. Shiseido; Kitao; Hadalabo. He made sure to hit all the right stores and get what he needed. He picked up flowers from a street vendor, then stopped at a craft shop and bought several baskets; enough to last a week. He then went to a stationary store, to get several cards. 

On the train back to their apartment building in Kichijoji, inuyasha had to do all he could to keep from cackling with laughter. He...was… so fucking brilliant. He predicted that after the first basket, she’d be beating down his door, ready to jump him. 

Once safely ensconced in his apartment, he began to create the baskets: lotions, face masks, relaxing bath salts and essential oils. A foot massager. A lavender-scented eye pillow. Stargazer lilies. Godfuckingdammit, he did it all up for her like she was fucking gold.

Because she was.

After the first basket had been placed, Inuyasha had to go back to work, so he didn’t get to see her reaction to the basket. But he fully expected something in return when he got home that night.

Imagine his surprise that there was nothing. Not a note, not a gift: nothing.

There was only quiet.

But instead of causing Inuyasha to give up, her reticence only ignited the Inu youkai in him, and drove him to do more. He wanted for her. To show her that he could be worthy of her attention. That he could be worthy of her.

So every day, the baskets got bigger, and more elaborate. Inuyasha wanted—no, needed to know—what would be her breaking point? When would she finally give in and come to him? And he couldn't believe he was admitting this, but his notes to her were so goddamned sweet he could have been her sugar daddy and not her not-so-secret admirer.

For example: I hope you had a good day at school! I’ve missed getting baskets from you, and hope you will accept mine.

Or: it’s been a few days since I’ve heard from you, and I miss your wonderful surprises.

Or his most recent: I hope all is okay. I didn’t realize how much I loved your baskets and your notes until they were gone. I hope you will start leaving me notes again, because...I miss you.

Yup, he was a goner. He’d just admitted his feelings that he shouldn’t have to a woman he didn’t even know. But fuck, he wanted to know her—all of her—badly. 

Even when Sango and Miroku insisted on taking him out for drinks, and tried to set him up with every single woman in the room, his mind was full only of the beautiful schoolteacher with the stormy eyes and the wild hair. Each time a girl approached him, he could only smell her delectable tangerine and cherry scent. Each time a girl talked to him, he only heard her stammer and her soft, lovely voice. No one else came close. No one else could do it for him.

He was sure.

He just needed to know if she felt the same way.