The kitchen is quiet.
Kagome stands with her hip against the counter, a hand pressed to her lips as she waits for the kettle.
He kissed her.
Little electric sensations prickle along the back of her neck, spreading like fire to her cheeks. She barely notices the water finishing and mechanically starts to make the tea.
This one's kiss is different—unconscious, reflexive. There's an instinctive comfort ingrained into the affection, testifying to an intimacy bred by time.
Time.
Setting teabags to seep, Kagome swallows back tears.
Time may be her enemy, but it can't stop them from making memories.