The day Inuyasha stopped seeing Kikyou in Kagome's face, he knew something was very, very wrong.
It came to him in pieces, blooming slowly in his subconscious like the blossoms she secretly loved, but was never given. He wasn't sure when he realized it—and in the years afterward, no matter how much he thought about it, he wasn't exactly sure when it had started. Perhaps it had been when he first met her. Perhaps it had been the first time that the monk, Miroku, had groped her, and the twinge of jealousy and ire he felt burned in his heart.
After a while, he started to see the little things that made her so special, so precious to him. He saw how she quietly endured her burdens, without allowing them to affect her actions—for the most part. He saw the pain and bitterness in her eyes when the well-meaning, simple-minded villagers commented on how lovely their precious miko was, so dutiful and kind.
They shared a bond, closer than the bonds with the other members of their makeshift-family. They had both lost everything, only to have it resurrected into a cruel marionette, a heartless, soulless shadow.
Perhaps he had fallen in love with her the night he found her crying by the stream.
He remembered it very well. It was after a long, hard day of fighting, as per usual. Something had stirred him from sleep, which was quite common for him. But this time, something had felt very wrong. He'd scanned the campsite and realized she was not in her usual place, curled up as comfortably as possible on the cold, unforgiving ground. He'd followed her trail until he came upon a clearing.
She sat on the dirt by the stream, the moon in the sky bathing her in silvery light, adding to the beauty he'd secretly admired as she slept. Tears streamed down her face, catching the light, and falling to the ground, staining it with her sorrows, as she whispered a name…
"Kohaku…"
He had come before her then, with all the ire the role he played in his new-life required. He said every line perfectly—why didn't she have a weapon? She was necessary to the group, she couldn't get hurt or the quest would fall apart—but the act fell apart as well when he looked into her eyes and saw a part of her that had been breaking slowly shatter. He had held her then, comforting and warm, whispering soft assurances that everything would be alright, and the day after they spoke nothing of it. They both kept their secrets well.
They continued their act, a romance lived in hidden gazesand in embraces by the dying embers of the fire. They still hid behind masks and foughtt for their lives, as they would the next day, and the next, and the next—maybe one day they would succeed. It was all they had left, save for each other and their hope. And maybe—just maybe—Inuyasha would let himself admit it. Perhaps he would let the schoolgirl and the dead priestess go—he knew it was cruel that he keep trying to love them.
Because he no longer saw Kikyou's face in Kagome.
He saw Sango's.