As he heads to bed, Sesshoumaru realizes something.

Four months is in six days.

Cool sheets slide around him, and he settles with an arm behind his head, the thought sinking in as he stares at the walls.

They're nothing like hers.

Austere, impersonal white surrounds him, shadows the only vibrancy in the small space. And frowning, he realizes it's always been this way.

With a huff, he turns his head, trying to get more comfortable. But he misses the warmth that fills every nook and cranny of her home. Misses the feel of her in his arms.

Four months.