The night passes slowly.
She sleeps; he doesn't. The still-familiar feel of this tiny woman in his arms leaves him stripped of rest, the stolen moments sinking into his muscle and etching into his heart like little forbidden gifts that must hide away.
He wraps around her, covers her with himself, and breathes in the memory of long ago.
Just there, barely clinging, his own scent lingers.
Sesshoumaru closes his eyes. Without hesitation—without doubt—she had known him. Embraced him. Trusted him.
"You are without equal, Kagome," he murmurs.
Then, burying his face in her hair, he finally sleeps.