Disclaimer: I do not own Tokyo Mew Mew. Blah, blah, blah.
~ Chapter One ~
Breathe.
The light was brilliant, the hush rising to a crescendo. She could feel their eyes on her. Beneath the radiance, the swell of heat, they were all watching her. She could barely think.
Breathe, she repeated to herself.
A beautiful madness fell over the auditorium as the first beat of sound reverberated through the air. The reaction was instantaneous as the audience realized that this was the beginning. The music was starting. Their voices rose, elevating into a chant.
"Ichigo!"
That was her name. They were saying her name.
Breathe.
She lifted her hand, trying to block out the light. It flooded over her, encasing her form in the serene halo.
"Ichigo! Ichigo!"
Sweat beaded on her neck, her breath coming out shallow and uneven. Just as abruptly, the light disappeared. This was it. It was only her – Ichigo, surrounded by hundreds. Their eyes were on her, their voices catching as one as they waited in strained suspense for that first, uttered line.
She lifted the microphone, her eyes sweeping closed as her heart thrummed restlessly inside her chest, twisting and fluttering like a caged bird. Her lips brushed the cool metal of mic, parting hesitantly.
"Ichigo!"
She started, sitting upright in her bed. A pair of cool blue eyes assessed the girl's disheveled hair, the wide, sleep-glazed eyes.
"You are late for rehearsal!"
Ichigo blinked owlishly at her manager. Ryou circled her bed, opening and closing drawers as he continued to talk. His movements were sluggish and blurred to her, and she lifted her hands, rubbing at her eyes.
"You were supposed to be there four minutes ago. Do you have any idea how crucial showing up for rehearsals is?"
"What?" She mumbled.
Ryou paused, casting a long, irritable look at her over his shoulder.
"I go through a lot of trouble to get these things scheduled, you ungrateful, stupid girl. I suggest you drag yourself out of that bed before I do it for you."
She glowered at him through her fingers.
Ichigo had known Ryou for several years now. He was only a year older than her, but he acted as though he was her senior by a distance. His parents had died when he was only a child, leaving him the star management company – Mew Project. He was, on record, the youngest heir in the music industry to such a vast fortune. Mew Project was known internationally, and many legendary names had started out as no more than a signature on one of their contracts.
Ichigo had been fortunate to meet Ryou, considering that – according to him – she was a hopeless, lazy, ungrateful girl that always demanded more money. However, the man took his job as her manager quite seriously, and since she was starting to get more gig offers lately, Ryou's presence in her everyday life was expanding.
The girl crawled out of the bed, kicking back the blankets. She sat on the edge, glaring at Ryou with the hope that it'd burn a hole through his head. What kind of guy barged into a sleeping female's room and started pulling out clothes for her to wear? He wasn't her big brother.
"I'll choose my own outfit." She huffed.
The blond glanced at her briefly, his eyes sliding over her body in an once-over.
"If you want to have your own say in things, I suggest you start acting like you actually care about this line of work."
He tossed the choices he had already selected onto her bed and strode out of the room. Her door bounced harmlessly off the wall from his exit, and the scent of pancakes wafted through. Ichigo frowned.
Becoming a singer had always been her dream since she was little. She loved it more than anything, and that was quite a stretch of interest for her. She had never been particularly good at anything, nor had she ever wanted to really try hard at something.
She hadn't actually expected to do anything with singing, not until that day. Two years before, on that little TV in her room.
"Don't make me come in there and dress you!" Ryou hollered from the foot of the stairs.
Ichigo groaned, rising to her feet. She pulled the oversized T-shirt over her head and began to dress.
She had been right to assume that pancakes had been made. There was a warm, fresh stack on the table, melted butter drizzling down, pooling at the bottom of the plate. Ichigo sat down across from it, her stomach already growling eagerly. As she began to pick one off the top, Ryou lightly smacked her hand away.
"Ryou! What the heck?"
"If you had woken up on time, then you would be eating them. But since you wanted to be lazy, you're stuck with a poptart."
A pair of shades rested over his azure eyes, a sleeveless jacket hanging off his lean, muscled frame. He dropped a poptart packet in front of her, grabbing his bag off the table.
"Let's go."
"You jerk! You made them just to torture me."
She couldn't be sure, but she thought she glimpsed his lips twitch toward a smile. A taller, older man entered the dining room from the kitchen.
"Actually, I made them Ichigo-san. I'm sorry, but Ryou told me I couldn't give you any since you slept in."
Akasaka offered her an apologetic look. He had known Ryou's parents before they died, and he had been with the boy since he was an infant. He acted as sort of a live-in nanny, though he was much more than that to the blond. They were friends, and the closest thing Ryou had to family.
"And now you know better. Get an alarm clock."
He caught her wrist, yanking her out of the chair. Ichigo wretched it out of his grip, scowling angrily as she turned to pick up her things. She hated when he treated her like this. Like he was her boss, and she was only his pawn – even though it was accurate in a sense.
"I packed your lunch, Ichigo-san." Akasaka said gently.
She accepted the bento box, managing a grateful smile through her aggravation. At least some men knew how to treat a lady!
Working through rehearsal was a pain. Even though she got there, received a lecture over her tardiness, and there was only half an hour left, they still hadn't called her up yet! The lead act wasn't using the precious, allotted time to rehearse with the band, and every five minutes or so she called for a water break.
"I can't believe this," Ichigo whined to Ryou, "What is the use of coming to a rehearsal that I'm not rehearsing in?"
The blond sighed, "It's all about face, Ichigo. You just have to make sure you show up for stuff. That's half of what this industry is all about."
The girl's eyes wandered back to the stage as he spoke. It was so smooth and spacious, perfect for swallowing a lone figure. Even now her stomach knotted as her gaze swept over the seats in the auditorium.
"Don't go anywhere unless they call you. I'll be right back," Ryou uttered suddenly, touching her shoulder briefly before walking away.
She watched him leave, her eyes following his confident stride. Ichigo hadn't been alone behind a stage like this before. Being left standing backstage wasn't the best possible position. The staff bustled hurriedly around her, stopping to make sound checks, assess light and sound panels. She pressed tightly into the wall, deciding that Ryou's advice would be safest.
Her mind was quickly changed as she spotted a refreshment table. Plates of square sandwiches and thickly slice cheese, ripened fruit and chilled drinks, beckoned from across the room. The poptart hadn't been satisfying at all, and to top it off, a thin layer of whipped, cream cheese crested what appeared to be a strawberry cake. White chocolate curls budded around a fresh strawberry on the crown, and Ichigo drifted toward the display, her stomach churning with delight.
It had already been evenly portioned, and small disposable plates sat idly next to it. Ichigo worried her bottom lip, staring hesitantly at the sweet delicacy. It was just waiting for an innocent, stupid girl like her. That was probably why it had been placed here, perfectly intact without a single piece missing. The crew had probably been expecting a naïve girl to not understand that it was meant to be resisted, and the moment she ate some, she'd be thrown out. Ryou would have a tantrum and kick her out of his company, telling her parents all about how she'd ruined his image and his business would fail. He'd eventually fall bankrupt and be put in jail, and all of his parents' dreams would have been a lifetime wasted.
Just because of one stupid cake.
As she was musing over this, a pale, clever finger dipped into the surface, scooping off a creamy glob. It lifted, inserting the sweet icing into a mouth. Ichigo's eyes trailed up slowly, taking in the face, the hair, and the expression.
The lips curved into a devilish smile, and she felt her chest constrict.
"Delicious." He said.
Forest green hair escaped in playful strands from his low ponytail, framing his sharp, handsome features. Thick lashes shaded a pair of deep, honey-gold eyes that watched her through lowered lids. His skin was smooth ivory, perhaps the palest she had ever seen on a boy. Yet, though he was striking and unusual in appearance, it somehow managed to fit on him.
"I was wondering whether I should have some." Ichigo mumbled.
There was amusement in his voice.
"Don't wait too long. If you do, somebody else could come up and eat it before you do."
As he was saying this, he plucked the strawberry off the top, lifting it in offering.
"Try it."
His gaze was smoldering, and Ichigo flushed under it, her eyes falling to the fruit. The red was a striking contrast against his snowy skin, and she carefully took it from his outstretched hand, delicately biting into it. The juice was a lingering sweetness on her tongue, and she chewed slowly, relishing in something other than Ryou's idea of breakfast.
"Now, aren't you glad you had a taste?"
Ichigo smiled sheepishly, "Yeah, I guess so."
The boy grinned in response. From across the room, a crew member yelled something, effectively catching his attention.
"See you later, honey."
He pulled the half-eaten strawberry out of her hands, popping it into his mouth as he stepped away. He threw her a look over his shoulder, winking slyly before turning his interest to the crew member. Just like Ryou, there was a confidence in his gait.
Heat pooled in her cheeks as she registered what had just occurred. She would've normally been angry that he had offered her food, only to take it and share an indirect kiss with her. But somehow something told her that he wasn't bothered by stolen kisses.
"Ichigo!"
The girl started, turning to see Ryou stride toward her. His sunny hair was in disarray, the unblemished complexion reddened with irritation.
"I told you to stay still."
Ichigo fixed him with a scowl, "Maybe I would have if you had fed me better. There's free food here!"
"Learn to restrain yourself." He retorted.
A crew member moved into the conversation, his face wet with perspiration.
"Ichigo Momomiya – you're up."
Anxiety fluttered in her stomach. A shudder traveled through Ichigo's body as Ryou guided her toward the curtains. She could hardly comprehend his touch, let alone that she was about to go on stage. She mentally assured herself that the auditorium was empty.
"Don't be nervous," Ryou uttered, "I'll be right here."
The stage consumed her steps, and Ichigo felt her insides spiral as she stepped in front of the microphone. A loud, echoing 'click' sounded as the spotlight came on, flooding over her. She lifted a hand, blocking it out as she peered into the seats. A hollow feeling settled in her chest as the emptiness answered her.
Everyone was behind her, and all she could do now was look ahead. She focused on a spot in the rafters, running her tongue over her lips.
"Are you ready?" A band member whispered to her.
Ichigo blushed, nodding. A murmur trailed through the band, and then the guitarist counted off. The first note sidled through the air, a familiar mark in her memory. The following chords began to settle in a place lower, knotting with the rest of her apprehension.
She breathed into the mic, allowing the first, rehearsed words to unravel.
Ryou was waiting for her backstage with a warm water bottle when she finished. He said cold water was bad for her voice, and he always carried around a little bottle of honey, too. She accepted it appreciatively, gulping down at least half of it before she allowed herself time to breathe.
"We have to move to a photo-shoot after this."
Ichigo nearly sputtered a mouthful of water, "A photo-shoot?"
Ryou looked pleased with himself, and he smiled smugly at her surprise.
"You'll be filling-in, since the girl who was supposed to do it got sick."
She paused for a moment, and then narrowed her eyes at him.
"You didn't even praise me. Some manager, you are."
"What?"
"I just got done with a rehearsal, and you didn't even tell me if I did a good job or not."
Ryou rolled his eyes, "My job is to organize your career. Not to pat you on the back every time you finish something on the schedule. Besides, I just booked something major for you, you ungrateful girl, and you didn't even thank me."
Ichigo was about to yell at him, but the words died on her tongue as a familiar figure passed through the curtains and onto the stage.
"Ryou," She said softly, "Who is that?"
The blond was caught by the abrupt change in her tone – and the conversation. He followed her gaze, his brow furrowing.
"Cyniclon."
"Cyniclon?" She echoed.
He folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall.
"It's a new band. They're signed on with 'Deep Blue Records'."
Ichigo grimaced, "That's one of our biggest rival companies."
Ryou nodded in agreement, and she worried her lip.
"What is that guy's name?"
She pointed at the boy from earlier. His pale skin looked iridescent under the spotlight. He pulled the mic off the stand, tapping it idly to test the sound, as though he'd done it a hundred times. As though he was comfortable standing onstage – as though he owned it.
Ryou frowned, a gesture she was recognizing he did often.
"His name is Kisshu, and he's the lead singer. That guy…"
Ryou's expression darkened, and something about it stirred unease inside of Ichigo. He didn't finish his sentence, and she almost questioned him. Before she could, his expression lightened, and he said,
"Let's eat lunch."
Thoughts of food easily obscured anything else that had been on her mind previously. Her entire day brightened when she found a little note under her packed sandwich that said,
"There is a plate of tiramisu on the bottom shelf of the fridge, waiting for your return, Ichigo-san. :) "
At least some men knew how to treat a lady.
Hello, everyone! I'm here with another addition to the TMM section. I'm excited for this one. If you get bored waiting for my updates, feel free to read my other TMM writings.
Whitewolfffy~