Disclaimer: InuYasha is the property of Rumiko Takahashi and probably somebody else too. Not me.

Colour in His Eyes

She never got to say goodbye

To see the colour in his eyes

--from Peace on Earth, U2

He isn't gone. But he's gone.

I didn't think I cared about him until he wasn't there for me to care about anymore.

I was always selfish, not wanting something until I couldn't have it. And that's the way it was with him.

I hid it from everyone, even myself. But now I can't hide. When it sucked him in, it sucked in all of my invisible walls with him.

I try not to think about it, the night when it happened. It still hurts me, haunts me. He's in my dreams now, the way he never was before, because I didn't want him there. Now the walls are gone, and he's there.

At least it was quick, but that doesn't dull the pain at all. The demon ripped it in half. It was pulled in, but between his fingers and what was left of his palm was still the hole. We could get away, but we couldn't do anything for him, only watch as he was pulled between the halves of his hand.

That isn't what is still with me, though. Because while I watched helplessly, willing myself to find some way to save him, I looked into his eyes. I'd looked at his eyes before, entranced against myself by their beauty. But I'd never looked into them, or beyond them. As his body grew smaller and farther away from me, his eyes bared his soul to me. What colour were they? I couldn't see.

I was sucked into them the way he was sucked into his hand. I could see everything about him. Even though he said he didn't fear his fate, I could see now he did. He was afraid, terrified as he was losing himself to it. I felt his fear. I understood it. But fear was only what was on top. I went deeper.

Beneath the fear was a kind of sadness, the sadness that came from his knowledge that he was never going to see anything he loved again.

And that was what I saw next. Love. He loved all of us, as friends. He cared about what was going to happen to us now that he was gone. But there was something more in his soul for me.


Because he loved me.

And at that moment, when he vanished into a speck of nothing on its way to hell, I knew I loved him.

"Miroku!" I screamed, for all the good it would do either of us. Was it the first time I'd called him by name? I couldn't remember. But it didn't matter.

When it hit me that he was gone forever, never coming back, I was lost. Nothing that I was feeling then could be put into sound. I tried anyway.

I screamed, trying to make my agony less, trying to siphon it off into the endless sky, to give my pain to the stars. I sank to my knees where he'd vanished, pounding the ground, demanding for him to come back so I could see what colour his eyes were.

When he came back, I'd look into his eyes. I'd see the colour in them as well as the beauty and the soul. When he came back, I'd tell him I loved him.

But he wasn't coming back. And I hadn't said goodbye.

What was the last thing I'd said to him? Like so much about that time, I don't remember. I hope that it wasn't something to hurt him, but after he left, I don't hope much.

I can't bring myself to say 'died,' even though that's what happened. I hold onto my last little scrap of hope, that he'll come back, looking for me, his eyes blazing with colour that I can see.

He'll come back.

He has to.

He won't.