There were few things Inuyasha trusted more than his own senses. There were the five usual senses, and then there was his gut. They’d failed him before, sure, but those instances were few and far between. They’d saved his skin much more often than not.
He also trusted Kagome’s word. She wasn’t always right, but he found following it generally led them somewhere. Sometimes she was too damn trusting, but he wouldn’t even call her naive. Her hunches, much as he used to be loathe to admit it, were generally right or at least pointed them in the right direction. Even in a world that wasn’t her own, she’d made it by. That was more than he could say for a lot of humans and even demons born in his time.
So when she says she’s fine, he takes her at her word. She probably is fine. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to see it for himself, though. It’s an excuse to touch her, to look at her, to remind himself what was there. Inuyasha was a man well known for being full to the brim of contradictions, and for some reason she’d always tolerated that.
There’s a noticeable grimace when it comes to light. Inuyasha kneels to get eye level with it, tracing the scar gently without ever actually touching it. Back then, he couldn’t have cared less who this girl was or if she died so long as it got him what he wanted. Back then and even long after, he’d felt no guilt at all. This wasn’t even his fault--not really--but it still makes him brood looking at it.
“...I don’t think I could forget this one. I was surprised you didn’t die after she took this chunk outta you.” Old lady Kaede was a decent healer, he’d give her that. “It’s a miracle you didn’t die a hundred times over with how reckless you were all the god damned time.” it’s a weak and even tonally soft reproach, meant more so to fill the silence between them than to actually scold her. That was all in the past, anyway, and the same gutsy stubbornness that got her into so much trouble ended up being one of her most endearing traits.
Kagome takes his hand and makes that face; the frustrating face which caused him to wanna melt and hide and explode all at the same time. But he doesn’t hide, because he’d pictured it in his mind so much at this point that it doesn’t have the same effect that it used to. He didn’t feel like a shadow running from the light anymore--at least, not completely. So Inuyasha squeezes her hand back, diverts his eyes, and sits. He drags her down with him, pressing her back to his chest and gathering her close with their hands still linked in her lap.
“Nothin’ to write home about.” it’s not normally something he wanted to talk on, not something that felt necessary. But she wanted to know, she’d asked, and he can’t help but oblige her.
“Sango’s got another kid on the way. Miroku goes around doing his shady monk act, so I’m there to help out when there’s actually a demon to get rid of.” he wasn’t totally useless without his wind tunnel, but Inuyasha still didn’t trust half of his so-called “blessings”. He wasn’t nearly as bad as he used to be, but he was still far from calling himself virtuous.
“Been stayin’ near the village. Near the well.” he’s too embarrassed to say much more than that, and hopes that’ll imply what it needs to. “I’m sure you can guess how eventful that was.” he’s got his chin on her shoulder, their temples close together. “I built a house.” he pauses, waiting for some retort of surprise. It hadn’t been easy--he’s no carpenter--but Sango had suggested it. “ Keeps the rain out, I guess.”
