Inuyasha. Such a beautiful boy. Or was he a man? They had never discussed his age, or demon aging. She had no idea how old he was. Whenever she asked about it, he changed the topic or just stayed silent until she gave up and asked a different one. Her theory was that he hated talking about anything that made it obvious he wasn't human. But once he took his fire rat off, or more like she dragged it off in an attempt to bandage him, that confident man turned into a skinny brat. Which is why she always brought ramen for him. And why she always let him eat as much as he wanted. Except from Shippo's plate. She knew that she didn't have the weight to lose when she gave him some of her portions, but she wanted him to look like her. Like he had someone who loved him. Who cooked for him. Who cared for his well-being. But his demon metabolism sped ahead of whatever she gave him. He just would not fill out. And it frustrated her to no end. She felt like she was failing him. There was no way he could possibly know the effect his metabolism had on her psyche. And she never wanted him to. It wasn't something he could control. And she didn't want to add another burden to his soul. Every tear she shed, every scrape she swore over, every scar she accumulated was a stone weighing down his heart. No matter how much she yelled at him to protect himself better as she bandaged wounds that would kill a human (twice), he just yelled at her that he wouldn't ever let harm come to her. She yelled at him that that promise was stupid. She told him that she was always going to bleed and hurt. He didn't necessarily have to know that she was talking about her period, but it did rile him up. And she loved seeing light and determination in his eyes. She wasn't such a fan of the not-so-subtle sniffing around her person, always trying to make sure that she wasn't secretly injured. Oh who was she kidding. It was the primary way he showed affection and she absolutely loved it. She pretended not to notice. She even pretended she was cramping a muscle sometimes when he was sniffing around. It always lead to an early end to the day. Or at least a few almost kind words.
She was sad that she didn't know a lot about the past of the person she felt closest to in either era. She knew his mother was a princess named Izayoi. She knew his father was a powerful demon lord, mostly because she had been to hid grave. And Miyouga liked to talk. But Inuyasha only said that his old man was 'good' and 'loving.' And he only admitted that quietly and VERY privately. And only once. She knew nothing about how long he had with either parent. Or what, if anything, led to him hating Sesshomaru. But she knew him. She knew how he showed concern, compassion, love, fear, trust, guilt, sadness, and hope. She could tell his mood from the set of his shoulders or the crook of his brow. She knew when to keep Shippo away from him, and when to let them be demons who needed to play and chase each other around. He never said anything and neither did she. But he knew she knew him that well. She knew it unnerved him. But she also knew that it comforted him to have someone that he didn't have to talk to if he didn't want to. He had faith that she would take care of him, as best as she could. And she could tell he was grateful. And she knew that he loved her, just as he loved the rest of his pack. And she knew that she would be there for him as long as she could, whether he wanted her to or not. She knew that she wasn't the love of his life, but she knew that he would always protect her and lean on her and love her the best he could.
And she was mostly right.
Kagome. Such a strong, courageous, beautiful young woman. He would never say it to her face. He was too scared. He was too scarred. His father's death had scarred him. His mother's death had scarred him. Sesshomaru's refusal to help him survive in the world, or even teach him as their father never had a chance to, had scarred him. Had almost killed him. But he had figured it out. His inu instincts and demon strength were too strong to allow him to die. Kikyo. Kikyo had done quite the number on him. She had scarred him so badly that during his sleep, he had determined that no other would ever have to power to scar him again. But then she came. She woke him up from the pain, the darkness, the memories, the prison of Kikyo's making. And this stupid, wonderful, clumsy, cheerful girl introduced him to things he had been missing for decades, with or without counting the magical imprisonment. From the moment she met him, she had showed him interest, compassion, curiousity, faith, confusion, fear, joy, anger, determination, and friendship. And that was only in the first 48 hours. The girl gave him whiplash. But she also gave him family. She gave him love. She showed him that the world wasn't as awful as he knew it to be.
So he determined that she would never see the world he did. Every time he smelled hate or discrimination or perversion or harmful intentions, he blocked her from it. He blocked her from his world. He tried his hardest to keep her from it. But it bled through sometimes. Causing her to bleed. Whether from her kind heart or her fragile body. And he took every tear and every sob and every drop of blood as personal failures. And he always wanted to hunt down who hurt her. And it hurt him most when he realized that he was the reason for her tears. He did not let himself love her the way he wanted to. He could not. He wouldn't allow another scar. Another rejection. Another distraught mind or broken heart. He saw how she loved him. She fed him. She cared for him. She bandaged him. She cried over his wounds. Just like any mother would. And he couldn't lose another mother.
Well. He was mostly right.