Disclaimer: Don't own Inuyasha.
Author's notes: Waffy little ficlet that I wrote to get my creative juices going. I think it's kind-of bittersweet but very... optimistic at the same time.
Nearness
His callused palm against her cheek did not speak of love, but perhaps of something close to it.
Devotion, adoration, possessiveness. It was a seedling that would one day blossom.
One hand was at his shoulder, another just a brief caress against his nape.
They would steady him, for in his youth and brashness, he needed guidance and patience.
Their movements were not doubting, not hesitant, but innocent and uncomplicated. It was just what they needed. They let chaste passion pull them under its waters as cool skin brushed warm.
Her lips against his, soft and shy and bittersweet, spoke of faith, for she believed in him. She would wait.
Their breaths mingled and the grey twilight seemed hushed as he exhaled. The emotion was pure and raw, a whisper on their souls. He could taste jasmine on his tongue.
Her eyes were dark as they found amber, and a smile tinged her lips as the starlight found their faces. She took her hand in his, silently questioning, offering. He did not look away, only dipped his head to find the tempo between once more.
She felt her heartbeat against his, an echo. She picked up the rhythm between their pulses. A promise.
That was enough for her. Together, they were as unpredictable as an autumn leaf borne by the wind, as a skylark in flight. But, as she knew very well, she could trace the paths of both their lives with her fingertips, warmed by the silk of his hair.
They would lose each other, for it was not eternal, but invincible, like that of summers shift into fall. Water would part from the earth. There would be a line between the blue of the ocean and the blue of sky.
But as the gods would have it, the rain would quench the willow tree roots, and that line would blur into nothingness. Fall would become winter, winter would become spring, and summer would come again.
They would always find their way back to each other.
The moon was bright over their heads; they were not yet seamless, but each of their bodies sought to start where the other stopped. They were no more certain than they had been at the very beginning, but it was there. Something building and growing, not yet fixed and tenuous, but potential.
In their imperfect nearness, they were content.
