The dreams continued, and the days and nights seemed endless, dragging along excrutiatingly slow.
It got a bit better once Miroku and he started to travel around to exterminate youkai. After the word of Naraku's death got around, hundreds of small youkai had been creeping out of their hiding places, so there was a lot to do.
It was a good distraction from everything familiar. The fights, even though they were just with minor, weak youkai were good for his mood. And, even if it was hard to believe at first, the monk was mostly good company. They didn't talk much, and he was grateful for the peace and quiet.
Sometimes Miroku would talk about religion, how everything in life had a meaning and was intertwined. Inu Yasha would just look at him, hoping his eyes would convey the message. The monk was his friend, he wouldn't go and be disrespectful about his belief.
But where was the meaning in meeting the perfect woman, her healing his wounds, making his dead heart beat again, just to have her ripped out of his life, leaving an enormous hole where life and love should have been? What was he to do with this big, pulsing lump in his chest now? He could not silence it again, of that he was sure.
Once, he had even voiced exactly these thoughts, in a very weak moment. They had just sat up camp and had a small fire burning, when Miroku started again with the everything-has-a-meaning-crap. Inu Yasha had all but spit the words into the monk's surprised face. For once, Miroku didn't know what to say. He had opened and closed his mouth a few times, and after a few moments he settled with "Okay. I understand."
And, after a very long time, as Inu Yasha thought Miroku was already asleep: "I am very sorry. Please do not think that I do not know of your sorrow. I am your friend."
After a long silence Inu Yasha sighed. "I know."
And he did.
In the beginning, Miroku was also very careful that he didn't talk much about his life with Sango. Inu Yasha knew that it was hard for the monk. It's not like he didn't see how happy they were together. Of course, he was glad for his friends. They both deserved the quiet life they had made for each other in the village. With their small house and their garden full of vegetables and their laundry fluttering in the wind - the image of pure peace. Oh, how he longed for this kind of boredom...