"Five hundred years," he thought. "What happens if she doesn't come back?"
He hated it when she was on the other side of the well. It felt to his youki not like she had just moved out of range, but like she didn't exist - the connection between them, the bond between their souls was severed. Something inside of him shriveled up each and every time they were separated, pressed down by the separation of the gulf of years, like half of his soul was gone.
InuYasha paced off the distance between the well and the spot he knew her house stood in the future. It really wasn't very far. Sitting down, he visualized her bedroom, pink and light and filled with her scent, and knew that 500 years in the future she'd be sitting down at her desk about now, working through her math problems. Looking straight up, he knew that he was sitting just below her, and if he were at her house, he'd have no trouble sensing her aura or her scent. "So close," he whispered, "and yet impossible to touch. Be safe tonight, Kagome, and come home soon."
Many days in the future, a girl bent over a math book. A wave of emptiness suddenly touched her heart, and she looked up from her studies. She closed her eyes, and in her mind, she could see the silver-haired boy, lying in the grass looking up at the sky, and she sighed. Somehow, she never felt complete when they were apart. "Be safe tonight, InuYasha. I'll be home tomorrow."
Five hundred years earlier, a silver haired boy felt his triangular ear tickle, and a warm touch caress his cheek. For a moment, the weight of years didn't feel so distant, and he smiled.