CW: Drinking, depression

He didn't know her fucking name.

In the subway car, face-to-face with his soulmate—with his beautiful soulmate—he fucking ran away before he could even find out her name. As soon as the train doors closed and he saw her eyes—full of confusion and anger—staring back into his, he knew he'd made an insurmountable mistake. He deserved to be miserable for the rest of his fucking life. Cowards didn't deserve soulmates.

Inuyasha didn't remember walking back to his apartment. He didn't hear the text messages on his phone asking him where he was, why he'd skipped the cafe meeting he was heading to without so much as a message of apology. But he couldn't deal with Kikyo now; he couldn't deal with anyone. He wanted to hear nothing, sense nothing, feel nothing. So he pulled out enough bottles of whiskey to make a half-demon go numb to the world, numb to her.

She was gorgeous, with long wavy obsidian hair that somehow seemed to reflect all the colors of the rainbow. Her brown eyes sparkled like chocolate opals, full of life and fire. Her lips were full and pink, and pulled him to them whether they were curled in a smile or pursed in a frown. Her skin was creamy and her body was well-muscled. And her scent. The echoes of it that were left on him after his full demon had seen her had not prepared him for the sensation of being so close to her. Inuyasha did not think anything could drown out the smell of the subway, but her cherry blossoms and vanilla (and ginger—fuck) had done it. It sang him the most beautiful song he could ever imagine, and he wanted to be encompassed by that scent for the rest of his life.

The gods could not have designed a more perfect soulmate than that woman. And he biffed it.

Inuyasha popped the top off the first of his bourbons, chugging directly from the bottle. Six weeks ago, his full demon found and marked his soulmate, and he decided to hide from the truth (not like he could fucking do anything; he didn't know her name and he didn't know her scent, and walking up to random people asking if they had a matching mating mark to his would get his ass kicked even in New York.) Then two weeks ago, his full demon fucked his soulmate. At least after that, after knowing her scent, he'd started to fucking do something about it. Confessing his problem to Kikyo had been scary, and desperate, but not knowing his soulmate? That was worse.

He recalled his slowly building grief as her scent dissipated, until there was nothing he could do to smell it again, left only with its memory. It had taken two days for it to disappear, two days in which he spent thousands of dollars fixing the apartment his full demon had ransacked, two days in which he didn't shower, trying his damndest to cling to the last keepsake from her.

The moment the scent had completely faded was also the moment he started staying out late into the night, scouring the city, just hoping to find that scent—the scent of her—again. It had been a long time since he last wandered the city at night; he was always afraid of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Half-demons often found themselves getting into trouble for just fucking existing. He'd been stopped by police so many fucking times he'd lost count. And he knew one of these days, even when he complied, they'd throw his ass in jail. But… she was worth all the risks.

He figured once he found her scent (and goddammit he would), he could just watch her, track her. Get to know her… from a safe distance. He'd find out her name, where she worked, all that stuff. And maybe, hopefully, he'd be able to figure out what to do as the full moon once again approached. He would have to come clean, both about what he was and about what happened the night he transformed.

And then it fucking happened.

He wasn't even looking for her. He was sitting on the train on his way to meet Kikyo and… there it was. Cherry blossoms and vanilla. She was there, somewhere. He had to use every ounce of his self control not to go sprinting through the train to find her, walking just slow enough not to knock people over. Finally when he found himself in the right car, he knew. It wasn't just her scent either: she stood out from the background. She was more vibrant than even the most colorful characters in the train, haloed in bright light. He thought being this close to her would be enough to gift him flashes of the nights of the full moon, but that was not how things fucking worked. Not for him. He also thought that face-to-face with his soulmate, he would not act like a fucking fool. He had been wrong about that too.

Inuyasha was already halfway through the second bottle of bourbon. It hadn't started working yet. Not fucking fast enough, that was for certain. Because he still fucking remembered. He remembered her saying his name—fuck it sounded so beautiful on her lips. He remembered the way his nerves ignited when her hands brushed the skin of his arm, pulling up his sleeve and exposing his pitiful lie, the hurt and fire in her eyes as she tried to understand what the fuck was going on with him.

He couldn't fucking tell her the truth. She was right fucking there and he couldn't tell her the fucking truth. Instead he let her believe that it was all because he was hiding his being a half-demon from her. And maybe it was a little bit that. Because people didn't accept fucking half-demons as soulmates, especially when they were baited into believing they were soulmates with a pure-blooded demon. That was it, wasn't it? She caught him. An unworthy wretch moonlighting as a decent fucking soulmate.

Fuck. It wasn't even just being a half-demon that made him such a fucking failure. Maybe if he'd called one of those fucking shrinks Kikyo had suggested… his head would've been screwed on straight again. Maybe if he'd searched harder, sniffed harder, paid more fucking attention to his full demon nights, he could've tracked her down sooner and without getting caught off-guard. Maybe if he'd not been such a scared little bitch, keening for her touch like a starving child but being too chickenshit to actually let it happen, he wouldn't have fucking run. Maybe if he'd had any balls at all, he would've handled meeting her how he wanted to: with joy that his soulmate was so fucking perfect. Maybe then he would know her fucking name.

His soulmate. Whose arousing scent spiked when she caught him looking at her. His soulmate. Who had fire in her eyes and a wit sharp enough to cut through every shield he had. His soulmate. Who wanted to touch the ears she knew he was hiding under his hoodie. His motherfucking soulmate. Who was way more pissed off that he left her hanging for weeks than that he hid being a half-demon.

The soulmate he ran away from. Before he ever found out her fucking name.

At the end of the third bottle, it was finally starting to work. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting at his table remembering, then chasing the memories away with bourbon. Maybe hours? But fucking finally the hopelessness retreated, leaving blessed numbness. Finally, he was able to stop thinking. Stop feeling. And just drink. He would never forget that subway ride. He would never forget her eyes receding into the distance on the wrong side of the train. He would never forget her scent.

He would never forget her scent.

A strange sensation came over him, and he looked out the window to see the soft light of the sunset. It was as if that numb edge he'd finally found rushed over him. Like he was underwater. Like all his senses shut off with the alcohol. Like… like… he was human.

Fuck.

He was so caught up in everything that he'd completely forgotten what would happen at sunset on that particular night. But... it didn't seem all that big a deal. Sure, he was having trouble focusing his eyes but… for the first fucking time he couldn't feel those shitty human emotions that always plagued him on the night of the new moon. Maybe he should get this drunk on every human night. Well, maybe not this drunk, since he was pretty sure the room was not supposed to be fading in and out of focus.

Inuyasha attempted to stand up and immediately tumbled back into his seat. Fuck was he drunk, and fuck was he numb.

Without his emotions, he could finally think clearly for once! All the fucking self-doubt and fear that came to the surface when he was a pathetic human was gone, replaced by a confidence that his idea was amazing: perfect, really. And without all those emotions getting in the way he knew he wouldn't stumble over his fucking words anymore when he told her that he was fucking hers.

Yes.

He knew what he had to do. He needed to go back and find his fucking soulmate. He had to find her right now. And he had to ask her what her name was and he could confess that his fucking asshole full demon took her from him and that was bullshit. He wanted his soulmate. Him. She was for him. And he was gonna go fucking find her and ask her to be his.

It took a considerable effort for Inuyasha to stand, but he did it. It was then a bit of effort to get out the door and down the stairs (he only tripped and fell on his ass once), but he was going to find his soulmate.

Right now.

So he walked out onto the street, breathing the evening air of New York. He couldn't make out anything, but… it was fine. He would find her. He knew he would. So he put one foot in front of the other. His vision was still fading in and out, but that didn't fucking matter because those pesky emotions were all gone. He'd be able to find her. He just knew it. And all he had to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other.

He didn't notice when he walked a bit too close to the curb, or that his usual grace had been gobbled up by the bourbon, and he didn't notice the headlights.

That was, until he tripped over his own feet, and stumbled directly into the path of an oncoming cab.