Love.
Sometimes, Inuyasha thinks he doesn't believe in love. Why should he if he isn't even sure of what it is? Love is not hate and not like and not desire so how can he understand it when he only knows what it's not?
Once in awhile, in the quiet cover of darkness, Inuyasha will peer down at Kagome and gently touch her hair and think, if this is love then why does it feel like longing? Why does it feel like pain? Why call it love when it's something else entirely?
And when she stirs beneath his palm, his name a muttered whisper on her lips, he wonders if it's love or happiness that makes his heart clench. Love or fear that forces him to retreat to the tree branches.
Once in awhile he will wonder, but most often he is just confused. If love once pierced him through, how can it be love piecing him back together?
In the end, Inuyasha finds questions are useless and answers even more so. What is love?
Love is love, like the inhale and exhale of breath, like the beat of a heart with silent intervals. It exists regardless of choice, even awareness. The pull of its tide can build you up and tear you down. But what does it matter anyway? Inuyasha doesn't believe in love.
He just feels it.