Our strange kind of love
Rainmusic
a. They are a strange group.
Never in the past would he have guessed that one day he would be wandering through Japan with a miko from the future, an orphaned kitsune cub, a perverted houshi, and a female tajiya. But then again, a lot of things don't work out the way people plan them.
(Kikyou…)
Everywhere they go, stares- some wide eyed, disbelieving; some narrowed, malicious- follow their every move. The stares are like familiar hands, lingering over the same old spots: his ears, Kagome's clothes, Shippou's tail, Miroku's glove, or Sango's hirikotsu.
(Look at that freak's ears….)
But he has always lived with the stares and they are now arrows bouncing off armor too strong to penetrate. They don't rule him, anymore.
(Liar…)
The others are used to it, too. In one way or another, they are all outcasts. But not Kagome. Kagome is sweet and innocent and pure and not fit for the dirty looks shot at her. Almost too sweet and innocent. He wonders sometimes how she can stand to stay with them, this mismatched group, the result of some Kami's cruel joke. But then again, he would not give Naraku the honor of calling him a god.
(Kami abandoned him, a long time ago…)
b. They are strange people.
Such different people, such entirely different people. He's no fool; he knows their differences are far from skin deep. There are so many different layers between them, unspoken, and he can't help but marvel sometimes. He is most intrigued by the deepest layer; the one closest to them; the one they try so hard to hide; the one he can see so well with his demon eyes.
(A monster's eyes…)
But simply seeing doesn't mean he understands.
(Too stupid to understand…)
c. They have a strange kind of love.
Kagome is free love. She gives too easily, and expects nothing in return. She is nothing like him, not shying from affection, unhesitating. Her love is a bird, and eagle or something like that- he is no bird expert-, soaring free and high. He worries sometimes, that she gives too much, that one day love will leave her empty.
(She is loved, so she can love in return…)
Shippou is child's love. Innocent beyond innocent. His love is a child's love, with no doubt or fear or regret or complications. So simple, not even Kagome's love can compare. Not that love is something that is capable of being compared. It is too fragile a thing, too personal to be weighed against other's. He does anyway, because he has nothing left to lose; and even if in doing so, he loses whatever little he had left, at least then he would know he could love.
(Through the horrors, Shippou's innocence is intact…)
Miroku is hidden love. On the outmost layer, he loves anything female that moves. But anyone with eyes can see that there is more to the monk. Miroku's honest love is buried deep inside and no matter how hard he tries to push it away; it clings on. The monk is more loyal than most think.
(Deep inside, he holds a love too…)
Sango is steadfast love; brotherly love; complete love. She confuses him the most of all. Her unending love for her brother is something so close to him, but so different. He has a brother too; but he would never feel that kind of love for Sesshomaru. Just when he thinks understanding is within reach, it slips from his cautious grip.
(He doesn't know what to think…)
d. Is this love? How strange…
He is not sure what kind of love he is. Angry love? No, his anger has sharpened over the past months, no longer the blunt, fumbling thing it once was. Lost love? No, he is not sure he ever had any love to lose. Caged love? It fits, in a way; but in another it does not, and his pride is hisses at the very thought that he might be described with the word caged-as though he were a mere mutt. No, that is not the one.
(Monsters are incapable of love…)
Perhaps he simply doesn't love. No. That is not true either.
(Monsters don't deserve love…)
e. His strange kind of love.
Surprise, then anger, but that quickly turns to sympathy-not that he'd ever admit it. Sympathy becomes respect and friendship and confusion, which ages until it is something different altogether. And that nameless something gradually evolves into love. Love which slips in between the layers of their unspoken relationship.
(You deserve everything, Inuyasha. My boy, my little baby boy...)
He would not have it any other way. Spoken love is too complicated and causes too much hurt and would only destroy the fragile bonds of their strange group. She knows, and he knows, and that is enough.