Hello. I am a writer, though it has been years since I've written a fan-fiction. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, reader. I lead a busy life with a normal job, and as I don't have time to work on the writing I'd like to, I decided to write the sort of fiction that will not rest until it has left my head. This is one such story. I hope you enjoy. Take it for what it's worth, a fleeting thought I had while listening to some music one day. Thank you for reading.


Chapter One: Just Be Friends

Pink hair grazed across a pile of turquoise satin covered pillows, dangling off the edge of the bed with the sort of elegance one associated with Rapunzel. The owner of such fine, interestingly and uniquely colored hair slumbered luxuriously, eyelashes lightly caressing against a face of creamy porcelain. Limbs akimbo, sheets tucked beneath and around her mid-section, her toes brushed the foot of the bed as she stirred. A light breath followed, full of the relief at having a good night's rest, as the rosy haired maiden slowly pushed herself up onto her elbows, brushing layered strands out of her face.

An elegant and manicured hand lazily reached across to the bedside table, seeking an object. It bumped around mindlessly, until the female, realizing she needed to look for the object before she could lay hold of it, rolled to her side to get a better view of the table. Her light blue eyes lit on the white cell phone lying on the table top.

It was in her hands within seconds, and she rolled to her back, already scrolling through the one hundred and fifty three messages that had blown up her phone through the night. She silently thanked herself for remembering to put the device on silent.

Switching to her twitter page, her face paled from a morning blush that had begun to spread from her wakening, draining of any color. What she had dreaded had come to pass. She had known better than to access social media so soon after her decision.

Ignoring the urge to drown the phone in the toilet, she instead laid it back on the spot on the bedside table and drug herself out of bed, making her quick way to the restroom. After relieving herself and brushing her teeth, she slid back into the bedroom and went for her walk-in closet. It was time to face the day, brave or not.

An hour later she was dressed (black mini skirt and draping, off the shoulder black glitter blouse, black heeled boots, short) and seated at the tiny kitchen table in the corner of the kitchen she liked to call the nook. She did everything in the nook. The nook was where she edited her song lyrics, filed her taxes, read a book or two, and made out with Teruo for the first time…

Her thoughts drifted off from that dangerous statement as she rolled her eyes, landing her gaze on a calendar hanging on the fridge. Grateful for the change of things to resent, she glowered at the image of herself, posed like an Arabian princess, gems dropping like dew from her gold chain headpiece, folds of gold and scarlet fabric cascading purposefully from specific curves on her body to appeal to the masses. The caption beneath read "Luka Megurine comes to Dubai! Get your tickets now!".

The woman, Luka Megurine, more than famous pop singer, scowled into her bowl of cereal. She was tired of the photo shoots, the endless desire of her manager and those capitalizing on her beauty and talent forcing her into an image she didn't fit. She was almost tired enough to take a break and get away…

Her thoughts of a vacationing escape were interrupted by the alarm warning bell dinging at the front of her apartment. Someone beeped in the necessary code and shut it off, footsteps echoing an arrival as the owner of said steps marched down the hard-wood floored hallway, making his or her way to the kitchen.

Luka shifted the sleeve of her shirt a little higher to cover her bra strap, fighting a losing battle with modesty. She wasn't even sure why she bothered anymore. Soon her manager would be scheduling her nudes. No one even understood why it mattered to her, not even her manager, nor, if she was being honest, herself.

The face of her manager, Todd Bulinsky, surfaced from the hallway. He didn't bother making eye contact. He went straight to the fridge and helped himself to some orange juice, next heading for the small cabinet above the stove where he knew she stashed her favorite vodka. Capturing a glass from the cupboard, he mixed up a mimosa with the grace and style of a college bartender, then presented it with much bravado to the pop diva he spent 90% of his time with.

"I figured you'd need this."

Luka raised one finely shaped brow, hesitating before reaching to accept the glass. She nursed it slowly, aware that she wanted to keep a level head for the conversation that was to come.

Todd leaned a hip against the tiny table in the nook, running his hands along the plush backing of the Victorian era sitting room chairs she insisted belonged at the nook. As long as she continued to make him billions a year, she could do whatever she wanted. But he'd come to her home that morning to negotiate, and he wasn't going to leave until he got what he wanted instead.

Silence swelled between them. The air was pregnant with it, straining in the pain of it. Luka broke it first with a tiny clearing of her throat. Todd jumped on the opportunity.

"How could you do that? I told you it would be career suicide. Do you even care about your image?" He waved his hands as he spoke, like the world's most self-important conductor. Luka always hated how he waved his hands.

Straightening in her seat before she spoke, Luka rested the mimosa on the table and reached for the spoon in her cereal bowl.

"You cannot own my whole life, Todd. It was over already, so I ended it."

"I told you not to make decisions you can't make money off of."

"Well, not everything is about money!"

The silence returned, appalled and full of righteous indignation. Even Luka was surprised at herself, eyes wide and doe-like in the wake of the raising of her own voice. Her lower lip trembled. She wasn't usually this consternating where her manager was concerned. Her mind wandered back to that vacation. Perhaps she needed it after all.

It was Todd's turn to clear his throat. He placed his hands carefully on the back of the sitting room chair, leaning in and lowering his voice to a hush.

"Kurokana Industries is at the top of Wall Street right now. He's worth billions. He made you look good. He's King Midas… he turned you to GOLD."

Todd kept using his hands. Luka had to look away. She felt like she was going to slap them out of her face.

"Teruo Kurosawa is…" She couldn't bring herself to finish that statement. The words lodged themselves in her throat. She reached for the mimosa and took a long sip.

"What's wrong with him? He's Japanese," Todd sounded like he was trying to reason with a toddler who was refusing to color inside the lines. "Doesn't that give you comfort? Doesn't he feel like home? He was voted world's sexiest man-,"

"World's second sexiest," Luka interrupted, putting emphasis on 'second' with a roll of her eyes.

Todd waved his hands again, dismissing her words. "He's successful, he's famous, and he loves you."

All of those things are true, except for the last part. Luka thought to herself. She wondered if the room was getting cold, or if the goosebumps were pimpling along her arms for a very different reason. She wished her manager would leave. He never understood nor would understand her true feelings, and today was a day she wasn't sure she could pretend anymore to humor him.

He heaved a large sigh, smart enough to realize she wasn't too happy about the situation, then pulled the chair out with the intent to sit down. Luka stood up right away. She knew if he sat down he would never leave, and then she wouldn't have the peace and privacy she really wanted.

"What do you want me to do?" She asked, steeling her voice against the burn in her throat that always came before the flood of tears.

Todd froze where he was, contemplating the fact that he actually heard those words come out of her mouth, then pushed the chair back under the table.

"I want you to make up with him-,"

"Not happening." Luka uttered firmly, carrying her bowl to the sink and dropping it so that the ceramic rattled against the vibrating metal, the spoon chattering around before resting still.

"OR," Todd continued, pretending he didn't hear her obviously irritated reply. "at the very least you could write a song about it."

Luka felt a shudder make its way from the top of her scalp to the very tip-toe of her spine. She pressed her palms against the edge of the counter and straightened out her elbows, leaning far over to press the tip of her nose against the cool glass of the window. Forty floors below her, New York City bustled by with the urgency of an anthill, tiny figures swarming to fulfill their tiny, near meaningless lives.

She never wrote songs about personal experiences. The one time she did, and tried to sing it in the recording studio, with a private audience, just to put it on an album, the amount of emotion it brought out of her left her unable to sing. The tears had been numerous, her throat had swollen shut, and she'd almost died of the embarrassment. It was the one time Todd had ever let her off the hook easily, and let her go home early. She doubted he even remembered that time; it was so close to the time that he scouted her. She had only been sixteen. Now she was twenty-five. Time sure did fly.

Even though she knew she couldn't do it, even though she knew it would take everything out of her, she knew it was the only way to get her manager out of the way to have some time to mourn the ending of a wonderful relationship in peace.

"Fine. I'll write the song."

"That's my girl!" Todd exclaimed in that self-assured way of his, then made his way over to touch her, his hands massaging her shoulders. She endured it for a second only, then shrugged out of his way and quickly stepped toward her living room, waving a hand over her shoulder at him.

"Now. Get lost. I have work to do."

The only time Todd ever listened to her was when she went total diva and bossed him around like a dominatrix in a tight leather suit. It was part of her charm, she could only guess, the power she had over men. He obeyed at the tone in her voice, making ridiculous comments about how much money they were going to make as he ushered himself out of the apartment, locking the door securely behind him.

Once she was sure he was gone, Luka sank into the mint green loveseat without so much as a sigh, her light blue eyes boring empty holes into the carpet before her. She wasn't sure how to even begin to write such a song, and in a way that it wouldn't be impossibly difficult for her to record it, let alone perform it live.

As she searched her thoughts for inspiration, tears began to roll slowly, one right after another, down her cheeks. The last words Teruo spoke to her rang in her mind, endlessly again and again, making her feel cheapened and unworthy.

And finally, after torturing herself with his voice in her head, she remembered the last words she spoke to him, and inspiration struck. She rose immediately to her feet and marched to her piano, slamming upward on the lid and grabbing the nearest sheet of blank staff paper. Rolling one of the pencils on the top of the piano toward herself, she quickly scribbled the title of the piece at the top, then slid the paper into the holder, placing her fingers on the keys.

"Just be friends…"