Months pass. Then one October night, she smiles back at him in his dreams, and Sesshoumaru wakes, gasping for air.

Kagome.

Beads of sweat run in rivulets over his skin. His sheets are sticky, plastered to his body like glue, and he pulls them away, disgust on his face as he falls back onto the mattress.

He can still see her. Feel her gentle touch. Smell the faint aroma of lavender that is as much her as she is herself. Calming, reassuring, comforting…

His hand covers his eyes, and he chokes on air.

He is a cruel, pathetic, unmitigated, ass.