Gods, I KNOW, I should be working on Make Me, but I've been having some ideas --- enough for two stories, in fact. Gah! I feel unfaithful to Make Me now!

Anyways, this idea was too good to resist, so voila, Pick 'n' Mix presents:

Lay on my Leather Couch

They say it matches my eyes perfectly.

I've had it for years now, so many I can't count. My most faithful piece ever, warm in winter, and yet cool enough to slip on when there's a slight chill: my brown leather coat.

I'd spotted it in a second hand shop, a lone treasure among junk, calling out to me. A warm, rusty chocolate, which people claim is the exact shade of my eyes.

They never really see me without it.

I shrug it on now, over a simple blouse and skirt, adjusting the lapels correctly, giving myself a brief, yet critical sweep in the full-length mirror. I'm ready. Just as I am, every other day.

I know, I know. I get paid two hundred dollars an hour. And I'm shopping in second hand shops?

The thing is, it's hard to earn any money at all with a practice like ours. We live in a small town, so small they hardly bother to put it on the map. It's my hometown, and I've known everyone from since birth, almost. Everyone is well adjusted, happy, normal. There's no need for a practice like ours.

I'm a therapist.

And my leather couch is always empty.

But strangely enough, the thought of leaving hasn't even crossed my mind. I could find plenty of business elsewhere, particularly in LA. I've heard that many people are under constant strain, under trying to 'make it.' I could make a mint in LA. I even live near it, which is hard to believe, but as I said, if some particularly meticulous person decided to place my hometown on the map, the little dot would be situated just a couple of millimeters away from the huge square block that would be used to mark LA.

But most people don't even see our town. They just head straight for Los Angeles; City of the Angels. Bright movie lights; where all the famous are. Hungry to do some star spotting and perhaps even trying to be one. No one bothers to even stop and try to notice our small little town.

We're completely shadowed by LA. We're invisible. We do not exist.

And that's how it's always been.

Until… he came.

>>>>>>>>>>>

He stormed into my life, literally. New people are so rare in our town; they're practically an extinct species. Mostly, they're a delinquent teenager sent to live with their relatives for a month or two, before slipping out of our lives, under our radar again.

I caught my breath when he walked in --- and not because he was the newcomer. But because he was beautiful.

Beautiful… is hardly a word used to describe a man, is it? Beautiful depicts young, willowy, graceful women --- but there was no other word. Handsome was too… lame, and 'hot' was too brash.

He really was young, willowy, and he moved with the gracefulness of a feline. I only realized how wrong my statement was, until later.

He was lithe, his body taut. His hair flowed down his back like silk. It was a dreamy, soft silver, the colour of clouds when the moon shines through them. His eyes were the exact opposite, golden, hissing and spitting with burnt anger and passion.

Passion. That was the best word to describe him. He was so passionate, following his instincts and wants, reckless about everything and anything --- apart from when it came to love.

He had a blockage to that. He didn't believe in it.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

I'm the first thing he locks his eyes on.

It's hardly surprising, since I'm standing in the middle of the room, holding a bunch of folders, not even having taken off my leather coat yet.

But it was like all the breath had been knocked out of my body, and I felt uncomfortably aware that those golden eyes had dropped down to my body, scrutinizing me, before dragging his gaze up leisurely to my face again.

I hold my breath.

What do I expect? An appreciative smile? A glance of approval? A look full of barely suppressed longing…?

But that was just my imagination speaking.

In reality…

His face hardens and I can feel him take a figurative step back. His body language is cold, wary, and even from this distance I can see him pressing his lips together.

"What's your name, wench?"

His voice is rough, demanding, and I jump a little. "K-kagome Higurashi."

The golden eyes narrow, and he really does take a step back this time. "Oi! Miroku! I don't want this bitch! Find me another!"

I hear myself sucking in a breath sharply. The rudeness…!

I see Sango walking by, and she gives me a sympathetic look from outside the room. Then --- Miroku, I assume, because he's the only other person who I don't know --- steadily approaches my room, and gives a long wolf whistle. His eyes trail up her body (Sango works out three time a week), before passing on, inside. "Inuyasha…"

Inuyasha.

I know that name.

I can't quite place where from, though. I'm sure it'll come to me later.

"There are some fine women here!" And then his eyes stop on me, and he falters. "Oh…!"

"See what I mean? Now get me another bitch. That one you eyed up earlier, she'll do."

Miroku visibly gathers himself, and smiles gentlemanly at me. "Excuse us." He draws Inuyasha to a corner and whispers frantically. I only hear snatches of: "…I'll bet she's nothing like her…" and "…I saw her first!"

It's apparent when Inuyasha gives in, because he slumps, arms crossing, and plumping himself onto the leather couch with a heavy huff.

It's been years since someone sat there.

And I can't quite describe the rush I feel, but it's something akin to excitement and relief. I'm finally going to earn my two hundred dollars an hour. And I'm going to learn about this beautiful man.

Miroku excuses himself quickly, after introducing himself and leaving Inuyasha in my 'capable hands.' Sango seems quite flustered as he strides out, but I only catch a glimpse of her whirling around, her back to him, face slightly pink.

Ah well. I'll question her later.

I can feel his eyes drilling into me. It's unnerving, but I finish what I was doing before perching myself into the chair near the couch. I smile at him, ready to begin my introductory spiel ---

And he opens his mouth. "You're young. Are you properly qualified?" he asks bluntly.

…I strain to keep my cool. "Yes, I'm young. I graduated when I was 19, youngest ever. I have to certificate to prove it. Do you want to see?"

He flicks me a suspicious glance, before grumbling out a, "Nah."

Right. "I deal mostly in confrontational therapy. You talk yourself through your problems, and come to your own conclusion. About 80 it works fine, but if there's something you are seriously wrong about, like denying you have a problem if you take drugs, I may have to correct you on it. It's all your opinion, all your way other then that, but I'm here to guide."

Oh, I've longed to say these words for ages. I haven't said them since university, and I can remember how I loved my job, seeing patients gradually improve, and under my watchfulness, become better people. I'm not saying they're perfect after my help, but I certainly like to think I've managed to aid them, in some small way.

"Guide?" His tone is disbelieving. "I don't need a fucking guide!"

My eyes bore into his. "You came here. That's part of admitting you need help."

Inuyasha's eyebrows lower fiercely. "I didn't come here because I wanted to. Miroku made me."

Ah… this would be a problem.

He carried on. "He says I have anger management problems. Keh! If I have anger management problems, they he definitely has a keeping-his-hands-to-himself problem. The sleaze."

Oh dear. And Sango looked quite taken with him, too. I'd have to warn her about that.

He talks, growing less aware that I'm even there. "…I don't need this. Feh! That letch was wrong. I don't have problems." He shoots a disgusted glance around the room, his gaze landing on the leather couch. The ultimate representive of what this room is. His face twists. "I'm out of here."

Inuyasha rises, footsteps easy and graceful. This could be the last time I ever see him. I have no right to keep him here. I haven't even been paid yet. I'm under no obligation to keep him here, apart from Miroku, but he didn't seem overly concerned.

Except ---

My voice stops him in the doorway. It's lilting, and soft, as I stare at his back.

"…Do you want it to change?"

It seems to take forever for him to turn around. His golden eyes meet my own brown ones. "What?"

He looks like a lost little boy there, wanting reassurance from his mother. And all of a sudden, I see past that exterior of his, past that gruffness he uses to hide the little boy inside. That's really who he is. Merely a little boy, playing a game, trying to be an adult. Made to participate, or be left behind.

It nearly breaks my heart.

"Your life. The way people perceive you. Your troubles, your problems, your fears. Do you want to change that?"

Inuyasha's eyes are bleak as he stares at me. He stares at me for a few long minutes, before moving slowly, ever so slowly back to the leather couch.

We're both silent in our agreement to accept each other.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It's started! Woo hoo! Huzzah! Yay!

Sorry, I just had sugar. :)

I'm really in love with this story plot, because I can already tell it's going to be a truly moving one. You don't talk about people's emotional landscapes and expect it to be dull. There's going to be good times, and bad times, and everything that life is about. I know this is going to be great, because I've already put so much of myself in the characters. Kagome is going to be trusting, free, naive, and so enthusiastic about life and love, while Inuyasha is going to be all cynical, and 'life's a bitch and then we die' kinda thing.

It's going to clash, and with some amazing results, I hope. ;)

Review, onegai!