Chapter 1
~x~
Wind whisked through the trees, threading through the branches and making the leaves rustle with a whisper. Koshiro Miya stood outside the Salon de Marie, waiting for a certain blond to make his appearance.
She checked her watch. She'd waited exactly two hours and twenty-seven minutes for him to arrive. Now, she caught sight of him, finally exiting the building after hours of practice.
She raced up to him. "Makoto-kun!" She gushed, as sweetly as she could possibly muster. "I've been waiting for you–"
"I'm busy at the moment." He interrupted quickly, changing his path so that he would walk in the other direction. Away from her.
She tried not to let her disappointment surface. "But Makoto-kuuun," she pleaded, dragging out the honorific to sound sweeter. "I wanted to–"
"I told you, I'm busy!" He snapped, then broke off into a run in the opposite direction. She considered running after him, but he had made it clear that he didn't want to talk to her right now.
He'd dismissed her so quickly. As if she meant nothing to him at all.
A soft, dragging sigh escaped Miya's lips. Two hours and twenty-seven minutes of patiently waiting for him, of allowing him to finish with his practice when she could have easily entered the baking room to disturb him at any moment. One hundred forty seven minutes. Gone.
For this?
No, she convinced herself. For him.
~x~
She watched him exit out of the corner of her eye. Watched him walking with Amano Ichigo, hands intertwined, in such close proximity it was almost suffocating. Kashino flashed Ichigo a soft smile, sweet as chocolate, so sugary sweet that Miya had to try hard not to acknowledge it.
He'd never smiled like that to her.
Koshiro Miya was rich, glamorous, talented. Why wasn't it enough? What exactly made Ichigo better than her?
~x~
She'd waited years to be with him.
Longer than Ichigo had. Much, much longer.
She'd always been taught to have patience. Her interest in sweets was only sustained by Kashino; if it wasn't for him, she would've quit a long time ago. Yet, she hadn't.
What was the use of making sweets at all? When she had enough money to commission enough desserts to satisfy her for a lifetime?
The answer was evident: She made sweets to be with him. It was the only reason.
Yet, why wasn't it working yet? Why couldn't he accept her, appreciate her for everything she'd done? She'd been there from the very beginning. She had tried everything.
Just a little longer, she tried to convince herself. Still, she felt like she was slowly shattering, disintegrating, melting in water. Dangling from a rope with its strings unraveling. Falling away. Discarded by him like something meaningless.
Maybe that was what she was.
~x~
April 24th: Kashino's birthday.
She'd spent nights preparing a cake for him. Cake after cake; prototype after prototype; until she finally found a recipe that was perfect.
She hoped he would like it.
On the night of his birthday, she stood outside his house, holding a small box in her hands. Inside it was a chocolate cake, baked and decorated professionally, made just for him.
Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and knocked on the door.
Moments later, the door swung open. Kashino stood by the doorway, his expression visibly dropping when he realized it was her. "Oh... it's you." he said, disgust adulterating his words. "What do you want?"
She held out the box for him. "Happy birthday, Makoto-kun!" she said in her usual cheerful manner.
He stared at the container in her hands. "What's this?"
"A cake. I made it."
He eyed her with evident suspicion. "Are you trying to poison me?"
Miya blinked, taken aback. "No! Of course not... why would I do that?"
"I don't want it," he said abruptly, hurrying to close the door.
In desperation, she pried it open again. "WAIT! I spent hours on that cake! Can't you at least try one bite?"
"I told you, I don't want it!" He yelled in response. "Is that so hard to understand?" His words hurt her, perhaps a bit more than they should have.
"T-Then... can I at least spend the night with you?" She pleaded, in one last attempt to do something for him. Anything. Just to see him smile. "Just one special night?"
"I can't, sorry." he didn't sound very sorry at all. "I'm on a date with Ichigo."
"But–"
"Can you please get out of here?"
She felt tears prickling at the edges of her vision. "I–"
Before she could finish her sentence, he slammed the door in her face. For a minute, she simply stared at the painted door in front of her.
Suddenly, she was angry. Her cheerful facade dropping, she gave the door a long, hard kick in frustration.
What did Ichigo have that she did not? She was glamorous; Ichigo was average. She was rich; Ichigo was not. They were both immensely talented, yet Kashino had never once complimented Miya on her sweets making.
Was her talent really that easy to overlook?
Being from a wealthy family meant that she could always have everything that she wanted. That didn't mean she didn't try hard, though. It had taken her many years to get good at sweets - years of bitter work and failure and experimentation, years of staying up all night to try to refine the taste of her sweets to perfection.
Other people had easily dismissed her efforts. She'd only pretended not to hear the words that were spoken behind her back: 'She's rich. She's privileged. Of course she's good at making sweets.'
Their words stung. They hurt her. Did they not see that she, too, had spent years trying to aim for success? That she, too, had lost hours of sleep, practiced for hours which she could have instead spent in luxury, tried so hard to master something that she had previously been a failure at?
They dismissed her efforts, always.
He was no different from them.
"Makoto-kun…" she murmured.
She didn't understand. Why was she never good enough? She'd tried everything, so why...
Stars hung over the atmosphere, as if dangling from invisible threads in the night sky. Moonlight dripped onto the surroundings, lighting the pathway before her with a strange and alien glow. The trees looked bare and skeletal.
Why…
She began to run, her footsteps pounding the ground beneath her. Her breath rose in shallow gasps. She knew she could easily call one of her servants, Satou or Shitani, to pick her up. But she didn't have the energy to speak to them right now.
Why...
She sprinted across a street, loosened gravel crackling beneath her feet, tears obscuring her vision. The box remained in her shaking hands; the cake inside was still untouched. The world around her was a blur; a disgusting, nauseating blur that she could never get out of.
She heard the screeching of brakes. She turned to see a car in front of her, inches away, the spotlights shining onto her skeletal frame, illuminating her body for one final time. In the fraction of a second, her glance wandered to the driver's seat, and her eyes widened with recognition...
HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO WHOEVER IS READING THIS! Or if the holidays are over by the time you read this... have a nice day :)
In the anime, Miya is always portrayed as an annoying rival... her motives are always sort of shallow. I tried to give a different take on her.
Comments? Critiques? THROW YOUR CRITICISM AT ME, PLEASE, I reallllllly want to improve ;_; If I get 3+ reviews I'll write more! /slapped
Digital cookies to those who took the time to read this chapter! :D