I am so sorry... I know it takes me forever to update, that I've probably lost most of my reviewers by now, and those that remain are on the verge of forgetting this story... cough and the sad thing is, it's not even worth it.

-shrugs- oh well... I'm doing this for me, not for you. This is a test of my own patience. So here goes...

Opposites Attract

Chapter 3: Fled Perfection

Inuyasha grimaced at the sun, squinted through the fierce light to his clock. 10:03am. He was up early.

Grumbling and turning around, the young man found himself staring at the greasy stain on the side of his fold-out sofa.

And grimaced again when his doorbell rang.

He covered his ears with his pillow, hoping whoever it was would go away. But they didn't. The bell rang again and again, until Inuyasha stood at last, scratched his bare chest and pulled on his boxers. Stumbling over to the door, he unlocked it sleepily and turned the knob, pulling it open lazily.

Before him stood a young man, no older than Inuyasha himself, with long black hair that was tied back in a tail. The man's violet eyes glinted with an energy that Inuyasha did not doubt was laden in that man, having known him since early childhood.

It was Miroku, Inuyasha's best and only friend. He was the only one who hadn't rejected Inuyasha after the series of events that ruined the man's life, the only one who still saw some good in him.

But Inuyasha had the crawling feeling that the reason behind this was the fact that Miroku himself had been pulled down the social ladder for his rather perverted nature. Wherever he went, Miroku somehow managed to be followed by the angry shrieks and slaps of vexed girls that did not like being groped. For proof, Miroku had scars all over his face and hands. Save for that one gloved hand... the man winced just thinking about it.

In a knife fight not five years before, Miroku had gotten himself stabbed through the hand by some man on the street. The wound never healed. And so the man wore that glove always. Inuyasha had often asked, joking, if he ever took it off to wash, but Miroku's solemn expression would always stop him from going too far.

Miroku was his consciousness; always preventing Inuyasha from falling into the worst situations. And although Miroku wasn't the best man to trust, Inuyasha trusted him with everything.

Presently, the man grimaced at his friend's appearance and, half shutting the door in Miroku's face, was forced to let his friend in.

Miroku wrinkled his nose at the stench that seemed to come from the very walls, and seated himself on a rusty chair.

Inuyasha threw himself back on the bed and, closing his eyes again, attempted to sleep. But Miroku's gaze was overpowering; he could almost feel those purple eyes staring at him in disappointment and slight amusement. So he cracked open one golden eye, and grumbled to his friend, "What?"

"It's 10am."

"Yeah, so?"

"Shouldn't you be up already?"

Inuyasha growled, stood up slowly and shook off his sleep. Lazily pulling on a shirt and pants, he attempted a grin that ended up as a yawn.

Miroku sighed.

"Brush your teeth and your hair, Inu."

"Feh," came the reply, as Inuyasha crossed his arms.

His friends sighed again, finding it would be no use to force this one to maintain his health and tidiness. He stood and walked over to the door, opening it slowly.

"C'mon," he said to Inuyasha, "We gotta get going..."

Waking up to the bright sunshine, Kagome peeked at her clock. 10:00am. Not as early as she would have liked, but she really didn't have anything to do that day. Ridiculous. She always had something to do. She stood, made her bed slowly, ensuring that every throw pillow was in its precise place, and washed up in the bathroom. After her morning shower, she dressed in her casual jeans and a plain white shirt, deciding not to be too fancy today. After all, the clouds had cleared for a nice, warm Sunday.

Her phone rang when Kagome was in the middle of breakfast: bacon and scrambled eggs with French toast and a nice warm glass of milk. She stood slowly, tucking the chair in after her, and picked up the phone. It was Kouga.

"What'cha doin', Kag?" he asked before she had a chance to utter a word.

"Eating breakfast," she replied.

She could almost see him grinning as new ideas sprouted in his head, placing whatever plan he had for her into action.

"Tonight," he said, "there's a special at the Red Ribbon. They're serving more food for less money, and there's going to be a live band there. Jazz, I believe. You interested?"

The Red Ribbon... it was amazingly hard to get there. But Kagome assumed it would be no problem for Kouga – he could buy the whole place, if he wanted to.

"Sure, Kouga." She said, a slight smile tracing her lips. "What time?"

"Oh, around 8:00... I'll pick you up."

"No problem."

"Well... see you."

"Bye..."

Putting down the phone, Kagome returned to her breakfast. She couldn't wait until tonight... She could almost imagine Kouga in that shining tux, smiling at her as he guided her to his bright and just-washed Ferrari...

And during dinner, they would glance at each other lovingly, sharing innocent kisses under the dim light of midnight candles, the light jazz surrounding them and the soothing aroma of deliciousness calming them into the comfort of each other's arms. And then, after dinner, he would take her home, and...

And... what? Make love to her? Kagome shook her head at that thought as another bumped it out of the way. She didn't love Kouga... so would it really be 'love?' No. He was a dear friend, truly, but she knew his tactics. He was handsome, rich, kind... but something about him just seemed... wrong. He was too possessive over her, too obsessive.

There would be no dinner pleasures... only lustful kisses. And no warm embraces; only driven hugs. No warm words, either. Not with Kouga. And no love. Even if he did take her, it wouldn't be the bliss she was searching for. It would be lust, desire, instinct. It would be sex, not love. And Kagome wanted love.

Sighing slightly as she placed her plate and utensils in the dishwasher, Kagome straightened herself and washed her hands. She needed some fresh air to clear her mind. The park would do nicely.

It was a nice, warm day as Miroku almost dragged Inuyasha through the park. They were meeting Sango there; she was waiting for her husband and his friend on a bench by the statue of some long-forgotten mayor or hero or... someone that no one remembered.

Miroku's wife hadn't wished to see Inuyasha's apartment – and with good reason. Miroku didn't blame Sango at all. He himself would have stayed as well, but someone had to get Inuyasha. He wouldn't remember to come on his own.

There. He saw the statue. And there was Sango. And there was...

Inuyasha stopped. Kagome. He growled under his breath slightly, realizing she was talking to Sango as a friend. As they approached the two women, Miroku greeted Kagome cheerfully, and then hastened with introductions.

"Kagome, meet Inuyasha. Inuyasha – Kagome."

Kagome looked at Inuyasha strangely, then said to Miroku, "I know him already. He's... your friend?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. Of course."

Kagome frowned. Why hadn't she seen him at the couple's wedding?

Strange...

Sango spoke up.

"We were going to the museum... would you like to join us?"

Inuyasha grumbled, evidently disliking the idea. Kagome smiled slightly, suddenly receiving the urge to annoy the lower-class idiot. Wait... lower-class idiot? No! No, no, no, no, no... She didn't call people lower-class idiots! Everyone was equal. Everyone was equal. Everyone was...

But her hate for Inuyasha drove away her old philosophy, the desire to hurt him drowning out all thought. And she grinned inwardly, a devious plan already beginning to form in her mind.

"Sure," she replied to her friend, "I'd... love to."

It was 11:00 by the time they arrived at the museum; but the half-hour walk had been quite enjoyable for all... save a certain grumbling Inuyasha who had spent his time behind the pack, pretending he didn't know them, ignoring the numerous glances of hate Kagome sent his way.

It was a beautiful museum; opening with intricate tapestries from the early 16th century, leading to ancient suits of armor and going through time as the four walked through the winding halls. Sango, gripping her husband's arm, and Miroku whispering to her quietly, his beloved wife replying lovingly in return.

It disgusted her. Kagome watched them kiss gently, that love she had wanted so badly coursing in their gaze. And how she hated that torn, almost homeless-looking Inuyasha that followed her...

There went her perfection... but Kagome held on to shards of her past life. It seemed hate had ruined her somewhat, leaving her to hate and despair, to hope and to dream, and to cry. She felt like crying, felt like throwing herself on her bed, felt like messing up her perfect hairdo and her make-up, and just... just...

Kagome held herself throughout the museum, but not for Sango and Miroku's sake. They wouldn't notice if she jumped off a building or stabbed half a dozen people. They were too much in love. Oh, scornful love...

She held herself for Inuyasha's sake; she couldn't let herself break to pieces where that arrogant jerk could see.

But when she returned home and hung her hat on the hook, and took of her shoes, she didn't bother to check her phone messages. So she didn't hear the worried voice of her mother, or the half-angry tone of a certain acquaintance she did not remember.

No, she did not listen to those yet more worrying thoughts. All order, all perfection was fled as she pounded her hate for Inuyasha into her throw pillows.

Eventually, drained of tears and anger and strength, Kagome let herself fall into an uneasy sleep.

Likes? Hates? The next chapter will be the date with Kouga. Disaster, no?

I was thinking of maybe adding a lemon later on... but I'm not sure. I want your opinions on that.

As always, review!