He stared at her in awe. How could anybody look so attractive draped across the couch while eating a bowl of ramen?
She was wearing one of his t-shirts; a baggy grey thing that hung down to her knees and nothing underneath except for her underwear, presumably. He gulped. Admiring the charm of the messy bun perched atop her head and the way her collarbones stretched like wings across her upper chest, she caught him staring. He stared back at her, unafraid to make eye contact with her nose.
She gave him a simple smile and turned back to the television.
This was not like him. Inuyasha Taisho did not fall for girls like this. He was never afraid to make eye contact with a woman; it was always the other way around. He did not take them to his home after a wild night of drugs and alcohol, unconcerned with the consequences of what they would think the morning after, and he certainly did not sit on a stool drooling over their collarbones. That was just not what he did.
Of course, he had been completely unaware of the click in his brain that night, so you can't really blame him much. It had been a little thing.
He flinched visibly as she pushed herself off the couch. She yawned and to put him in an even more uncomfortable position, emphasized this yawn by stretching her arms up, which in turn brought the grey shirt higher up her thighs then he could manage. With a feline grace she picked up her bowl of ramen and prowled over to him. He watched her movement with uncaring eyes but inside his eyes had just rolled into the back of his head.
"Do you want the rest?"
He looked down. She'd barely eaten any, hardly half of it.
"No. You can just put it by the sink."
Her shoulder brushed his and he shuddered. He was beginning to regret taking her in. This morning was the morning after, and already he could feel his world spinning out of control. His loft was much too small for the both of them, despite the minimalism of his furniture and the massive windows looking out to the busy street. He was a photographer, an artist; it was how he liked to live.
She hadn't even mentioned about going back home yet. In fact, she hadn't mentioned anything about her staying there. She had woken up, puked some in the toilet, accepted the Advil he'd given her and then gone back to sleep. Then she's woken up again, taken a shower and dried off (using HIS towel by the way) and then gone into his closet and pulled out a shirt. Then she'd strolled into his kitchen, put the kettle on the stove and made herself some ramen. Simple as that.
He looked around. She had gone back into his room. She didn't even care if they'd had sex or anything. He blushed. Not that they had. But he thought a girl looking like her would care about that sort of thing. She reappeared in the kitchen wearing the blouse and jeans she'd been wearing yesterday, now fresh out of the wash. He watched as she slipped into her shoes and unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped out. He stayed where he was. What a girl. Suddenly, he jumped. Wait, did she just leave?
Not for the first time that day, Inuyasha sat on his stool shocked out of his mind.
And then her pretty little head peeped out from around the corner.
"Well, are you coming or not?"