Prompt given:
91. "Tell me you need me."
It wasn't weakness, she'd say, to admit you wanted reassurance. It was human nature, which in turn, was something Inuyasha signified as weakness for as long as he could remember. Kagome would repeat her beliefs for as long as she lived if need be, and the gesture, alone, was what helped Inuyasha finally understand what safety felt like. Early on, he learned he didn't need to put up a front when they were alone. He could let his guard down. He could talk, joke, laugh, sleep, frown, show sadness, be incomplete, be stubborn, hold her, absorb her, the full expression of his being available to be witnessed. It was still a struggle. Something told him it would always be a struggle. His instincts had trained him to close off, to protect himself. That was okay as well. During those times, she'd give him space, especially while they were around others. When they were alone, in the forest or in their home, she'd silently sit next to him and massage his ear, gifting him a small degree of comfort until the tension riddling his body finally unclamped.
He'd asked himself time and time again when he'd learned to trust. Obviously, it was during their journey for the jewel shards, but when? Inuyasha wasn't aware of it happening. All of a sudden it had just... happened. He woke up comfortable. He could finally sleep soundly at night. The group was no longer considered travel companions in his mind; they were friends. With trust came fast-growing affection and long-term relationships. It didn't take the words from Kagome's mouth to help him understand; her smile was what let him know it was okay.
Everything was okay with her. Their fights were okay. Their vulnerabilities were okay. It was okay to not be okay.
Tonight, she wasn't okay. The tears streaking her cheeks, the frown marring her face, and her swollen, red, watering eyes told him everything she couldn't through the hiccups and whimpers. He knew how embarrassed she was. He could physically feel her unnerving, unwavering, unforeseeable sorrow. Once a month, her emotions would grow a little more unguarded. Unpredictable, really. She could lash out over a snide remark he made, or tear up over a misshaped radish. Tonight was one of the rare nights where she wept, expressing insecurity on many different levels. So he held her. He cradled her in his lap and wiped the tears from her beautiful, pink-tinted face. He kissed her forehead and told her over and over again that it was okay. Everything was okay. She said she was sorry, that she was being irrational, and he'd say it was alright. He'd tell her to shut up, too.
Just for added effect.
Then she said, "Tell me you need me."
And without hesitation, because over the years he'd learned it was unnecessary with her, he responded, "I need you more than the air to fill my lungs, Kagome. I need you more than the heart beating in my chest. I need you. I'll never stop needing you."
"Promise?"
"Shut up." He whispered, holding her closer and kissing her forehead once more.