And for the meme: The closing passage from the last chapter of Fragments:
Even now, five years beyond Mushin's passing, he still felt raw and vulnerable in personal relationships; that's why he didn't have very many, beyond a few trusted friends. Meeting Sango had changed all that – for the first time since his father, he sensed in her someone worthy of his time, his effort, his love and passion and protection – the whole of his being, the entirety of his soul. Perhaps most surprising of all, to him, was that none of this was tinged with worry or fear. When he was with her, it just felt right. He wasn't afraid to share his past, the soaring highs and deep hurts, the promises and regrets, the thick and thin of it all. The more he knew of her, the more he sensed she could be the one…another time, another place, maybe it could've all fallen into place perfectly.
Instead…
He looked up, finding himself across the street from her hotel, as if drawn there by some force beyond his own will. He glanced up into the window he knew was hers, relief flooding through him when he realized the light was on. So she's still here, he thought to himself. Against all odds, his tumultuous memories calmed, fresh resolve forming in his heart.
The obstacles were obvious. They lived in two different worlds as of yet; she, in her glamorous whirlwind of society parties and fancy hotels, of beautiful gowns and pantries filled with gourmet food, of never having to worry about paying bills or covering payroll, stood in stark contrast to his more modest lifestyle. He lived in a crummy little apartment, the greatest attribute of which was being close to the bar; he didn't always eat right or well, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been out shopping for pleasure instead of necessity.
Even if she could accept a serious downgrade in lifestyle, would she be comfortable in his world of sin and temptation? Could she live with the idea of being two steps away from a willing lay, or a bottle, or a pill? Would she stand for long working hours or the unsteady, seasonal ebb and flow of his business?
Could she accept that this was his life, or would she invite him into another one, away from all of this as well as his own sorrow-filled past? The ball was in her court – the balance of his life was in her hands, and she didn't even know it.
All the same, he felt no fear, no regret, no shame.
He was surprised to feel the sting of tears coursing down his cheeks as the wind howled past him, his eyes still steady on that brightly lit window. I'm still here, Sango, he vowed silently. If you still feel it, if you still want me…I'm here.
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Even now, five years beyond Mushin's passing, he still felt raw and vulnerable in personal relationships; that's why he didn't have very many, beyond a few trusted friends. Meeting Sango had changed all that – for the first time since his father, he sensed in her someone worthy of his time, his effort, his love and passion and protection – the whole of his being, the entirety of his soul. Perhaps most surprising of all, to him, was that none of this was tinged with worry or fear. When he was with her, it just felt right. He wasn't afraid to share his past, the soaring highs and deep hurts, the promises and regrets, the thick and thin of it all. The more he knew of her, the more he sensed she could be the one…another time, another place, maybe it could've all fallen into place perfectly.
Instead…
He looked up, finding himself across the street from her hotel, as if drawn there by some force beyond his own will. He glanced up into the window he knew was hers, relief flooding through him when he realized the light was on. So she's still here, he thought to himself. Against all odds, his tumultuous memories calmed, fresh resolve forming in his heart.
The obstacles were obvious. They lived in two different worlds as of yet; she, in her glamorous whirlwind of society parties and fancy hotels, of beautiful gowns and pantries filled with gourmet food, of never having to worry about paying bills or covering payroll, stood in stark contrast to his more modest lifestyle. He lived in a crummy little apartment, the greatest attribute of which was being close to the bar; he didn't always eat right or well, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been out shopping for pleasure instead of necessity.
Even if she could accept a serious downgrade in lifestyle, would she be comfortable in his world of sin and temptation? Could she live with the idea of being two steps away from a willing lay, or a bottle, or a pill? Would she stand for long working hours or the unsteady, seasonal ebb and flow of his business?
Could she accept that this was his life, or would she invite him into another one, away from all of this as well as his own sorrow-filled past?
The ball was in her court – the balance of his life was in her hands, and she didn't even know it.
All the same, he felt no fear, no regret, no shame.
He was surprised to feel the sting of tears coursing down his cheeks as the wind howled past him, his eyes still steady on that brightly lit window. I'm still here, Sango, he vowed silently. If you still feel it, if you still want me…I'm here.