𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝; 𝐒.𝐊.

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

It started with the quiet shuffle of movement, the whisper of clothe being drawn to be worn, and the practiced noise of putting away her futon. His ear imperceptibly twitched as the sound of smooth hair being pulled into a ponytail came to him, and the part of him that was not yet muffled with grief yearned to run his rough hands through the soft, smooth strands, to marvel at the surprising texture and luster.

The noises continued as usual, the humming bustle of breakfast and softly hummed notes of music not of the era, a remnant of a time far ahead of the two of them, encased forever in their past. Clatters from ceramic bowls and a murmur of prayer before subsequent eating, thanks, and cleaning acted as a lullaby to the hanyou, the rhythm comforting in its familiarity, its surety.

Familiar, and sure; such words encapsulated Kagome's character as a whole to Inuyasha.

However, what next occurred jarred him from such comfort.

Kagome, as per usual, placed a bowl beside his resting figure, and knelt next to him; he could almost feel her gaze, blue and serene, with a hint of uncharacteristic sadness that began blooming within the still depths for little over a half a year. Warm arms—warm, real and alive—gently enclosed him, her familiar scent dew on grass, spring flowers, and sunshine on clothing trinkling into him, enticing and calming his senses—

And then a scent of clouds, wind, and cold came to him.

Blood roared in his ears, drowning out the habitual words she always offered him, the crinkle of the straw mat door being moved aside, the clank of slipping into and adjusting her sandals, and the gentle hum of her travel. Ears twitching, nose stinging with the acrid and joltingly familiar scent filling his nose, and suddenly, the fog of grief and Kikyo was high, high up into the sky, blown away by a winter wind that clung to his fiancée.

Only single question hung in the air within the silence left behind by Kagome:

"...Sesshomaru?"