I catch him, sometimes, in his doggy habits.
I'd never call them that to his face, of course. He's far too sensitive about his heritage to take it as anything other than an insult. Even so, his father's canine blood makes itself known in more ways than fangs and fuzzy ears.
The way his tongue rolls when he yawns, or how he cocks his head to the side when something catches his interest.
The way he smells me.
He's very subtle about it, of course. I suppose I wouldn't even notice it at all if I didn't watch him as much as I do.
All right, I'll say it...
If I didn't love him as much as I do.
Sometimes it's short little puffs of air, like when he's tracking some demon down. Only much, much quieter. It's as if he's looking for a secret but at the same time doesn't want anyone else to know if he's found it.
Other times he takes a few deep, slow breaths, even holding them on occasion. He seems to be tasting, even savoring the air around him.
But why does he only do this to me? I've never seen him subject Sango or Miroku to the same levels of scrutiny, excluding first meetings of course. But then again, he could just be doing it when I'm not looking, right? I mean, it's not like I constantly watch him out of the corner of my eye or anything.
I'm such a liar.
So why me?
Sometimes I wonder if he's just curious. After all, my world is probably a buffet of scents that can't be found here. Then there's my shampoo, my body lotion, my deodorant...
Myself?
Oh, how I wish that were true.
But then there times when I'm feeling rather self-destructive, and I think it's because of Kikyo. After all, didn't Inuyasha mistake my scent for hers when we first met? And I know it sounds odd, but right now I probably smell more like Kikyo than Kikyo does.
The Kikyo of his past, I mean. When she was alive and untainted by the scents of death, of ash and grave.
The Kikyo he loved.
Loves.
So where does that leave me?
At times I can't stand not knowing why he's doing what he's doing. I can imagine myself in a fit of immaturity storming up to him and demanding to know what's going on, and sitting him until he answers. Then I'd know.
But I'm afraid to know.
Because what if...
......
He's smelling me again.
He thinks I don't know.
......
I suppose I really don't.
I'd never call them that to his face, of course. He's far too sensitive about his heritage to take it as anything other than an insult. Even so, his father's canine blood makes itself known in more ways than fangs and fuzzy ears.
The way his tongue rolls when he yawns, or how he cocks his head to the side when something catches his interest.
The way he smells me.
He's very subtle about it, of course. I suppose I wouldn't even notice it at all if I didn't watch him as much as I do.
All right, I'll say it...
If I didn't love him as much as I do.
Sometimes it's short little puffs of air, like when he's tracking some demon down. Only much, much quieter. It's as if he's looking for a secret but at the same time doesn't want anyone else to know if he's found it.
Other times he takes a few deep, slow breaths, even holding them on occasion. He seems to be tasting, even savoring the air around him.
But why does he only do this to me? I've never seen him subject Sango or Miroku to the same levels of scrutiny, excluding first meetings of course. But then again, he could just be doing it when I'm not looking, right? I mean, it's not like I constantly watch him out of the corner of my eye or anything.
I'm such a liar.
So why me?
Sometimes I wonder if he's just curious. After all, my world is probably a buffet of scents that can't be found here. Then there's my shampoo, my body lotion, my deodorant...
Myself?
Oh, how I wish that were true.
But then there times when I'm feeling rather self-destructive, and I think it's because of Kikyo. After all, didn't Inuyasha mistake my scent for hers when we first met? And I know it sounds odd, but right now I probably smell more like Kikyo than Kikyo does.
The Kikyo of his past, I mean. When she was alive and untainted by the scents of death, of ash and grave.
The Kikyo he loved.
Loves.
So where does that leave me?
At times I can't stand not knowing why he's doing what he's doing. I can imagine myself in a fit of immaturity storming up to him and demanding to know what's going on, and sitting him until he answers. Then I'd know.
But I'm afraid to know.
Because what if...
......
He's smelling me again.
He thinks I don't know.
......
I suppose I really don't.