A/N This is early in manga history.
Dreams were for fools; if she only knew the dreams he had, she would not want to stay. Hers no doubt were all pretty and pink; in bubbles of innocent laughter, romantic and childish. What did she truly know of the life he knew she thought she wanted with him? His own nightmares were black and blue like the bruises he still carried in his heart, which mimicked the injuries that his body suffered at the hand of those who hated his kind.
What future did she think she could possibly have with him, and did she really believe that he would be so selfish as to sire life that would be as loathed as he was? One of the reasons he'd considered turning human was so that he could have some semblance of a normal life...and a normal death; he certainly wasn't going to change for Kikyou alone, no matter how much he loved her. He laughed to himself; they would have tainted the wish with such a selfish hope.
But Inuyasha hated being human, he loathed his humanity as much as his brother Sesshoumaru did; but he admitted there had been times when the thought of a shortened lifespan was attractive. Endless running and fighting were not circumstances that anyone sane would attempt to bring a family up in, and he would know. His own mother had always had to be aware of who was around her; she was no stranger to assassination attacks, not so much for herself, but certainly for the small hanyou.
No, Inuyasha didn't have the nice snugly dreams that made anyone go 'Ahhhh' and too often his nightmares found their way into his everyday life, so that his reality was distorted. He had to admit though that envy of Kagome's dreams made him angry, he would love to be able to escape the inescapable; a hanyou was not entitled to a pleasant life let alone a peaceful sleep. All she did was make him realise even more how different he was, and how much he didn't fit in anywhere.
But then she did have that smile and the twinkle in her eyes that he knew was just for him and sometimes, she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking and her gaze would be more intense. And the swift anger that made pink sparks when someone was rude or unkind to him could match his own volatile manner in a way he'd not seen before. She was not even afraid of his brother if she was defending him.
In his dreams no one cared about his life or showed him respect or love; yet she did. She treated him as a friend, as if he had a right to live and she was unafraid of his fangs and claws, holding his hand as if it couldn't rend her muscle and sinew from her bones. She was a fool, but she had become his without his assent, and he didn't want to let her go. Perhaps dreams could change; perhaps they didn't always portend, perhaps he could have a different reality one day.
First Tweak Community: prompt, Dream; 301 words min.