AN: Um, why is it that when you're trying to write one fandom, another one seems to take over your brain and force you to write that instead?
I'm trying to write KakaIru and I write this instead…
Haven't written anything for this fandom in so long, btw. Just curious, does anyone still recognize me? Better question: are there people here I would still recognize?
Sanjou Sakurako is one of my favourite bitch characters from HYD. /cackles. She pops up in my fanfiction a lot now, for some reason. I really like her /smiles fondly. Anyways, she belongs to Kamio, not me.
Ultramarine
Kaito and Aoko's first kisses are drastically different.
There's something off about the way Sanjou Sakurako looks. Kaito scrutinizes on what it was, exactly. Sanjou Sakurako is just a little shorter than Kaitou, with the same build, so he uses her face a lot when he needs to run away from someone (like Aoko, who's just insane). It bothers him when he doesn't get it immediately.
Than Sanjou pulls her shirt in class, adjusts it a little too much, and something catches Kaitou's eye, and it all just falls into place.
Oh.
Oh.
It's fascinating, really.
He tells himself it's for his disguises—he's already memorized all the voices of his classmates, knew their quirks and tics enough to always be able to reasonably create a copy. Now—now—suddenly it's all changed. He stares and stares and stares a little more, notices the sudden introduction of skirts, how some of the girls are wearing little hesitant dabs of makeup, innocent and experimental.
And Sanjou—Kaito's always been pretty perceptive, but now other boys are noticing too, which makes all the girls a little bit jealous and Kaito finds himself staring.
Sanjou Sakurako's really pretty. She's always been pretty popular, with her shoulder length hair and large, honey eyes. She's especially pretty now, some boys during physical ed. say, trying to leer nastily although they do not pull it off very well because they're not really used to being disrespectful to a species of girls without cooties, just yet. Kaito laughs with them but he's thinking, yeah, they're right. They're really right.
Sanjou's suddenly become a star—practically overnight. For once, Kaito doesn't know what to do.
(OK, so he's irrationally charming. He wouldn't be worrying so much, except Aoko insists his charm comes off as manipulative, and what if that's how Sanjou sees him?)
One day, he flops down next to Aoko on the grass. She's twirling a piece of paper absentmindedly, trying to look at the sun through squinted eyes. She does not acknowledge his presence—
(Here is the truth; they are together too much to notice each other, unless the other is gone.)
"Hey."
She turns to look at him, than to the sun, than back to him. Her eyes are a shade of cerulean blue that reminds him of travel brochures, the kind that promises lazy relaxation and sandy pleasure. He sucks in a breath—here goes nothing.
"A friend of mine likes this girl… which is nasty," He hastily adds, seeing the disturbing grin starting to stretch Aoko's face (seriously, the boys in the locker room can totally take lessons on leering from this girl). "So—uh. How do you. Y'know."
They stare awkwardly at each other, and then she turns away. Her hair, thin and delicate like angel fleece, reflects gold under the afternoon sun.
"No, I don't know," Aoko says impishly.
"Aw, come on."
She peers coyly at him, lashes tipped down and mouth pouty. The effect is lost when she flashes her teeth again. "What's in it for me?"
It takes Kaito almost everything he has; two super rare Yu-Gi-Yoh cards, which Aoko pants over, a pack of gum, 2000 yen (two weeks allowance), and a promise to show magic for free at her birthday party next week (which he's been planning to do anyways, so that's OK).
"You drive a hard bargain," He grumbles.
Aoko's fingers are too busy gleefully leafing through the cash to answer him properly.
There's something weird in her eyes when she leans over him to correct his wording on the—he chokes even thinking about it—love letter, assuring him that the cheesy sentiments really are effective. He chalks it up to her being bewildered at his efforts. He doesn't blame her, because he's pretty confused himself.
"There," She stabs a finger on the pink perfumed stationary Kaito had written his final copy on, a grinning proudly (he's positive at this point only the Yu-Gi-Yoh cards are stopping the snide remarks from escaping her vicious mouth, to which he's thankful). "That's perfect."
He's a little proud of himself, really. Lifting the paper up, he beams.
He turns to Aoko, only to see her staring at him a little wistfully.
(They are boyfriend and girlfriend for a total of three months. Guys pat him on the back and girls sigh dreamily when they pass his desk. Kaito's always been popular and now he's the school stud, which means everyone sees him in a new light and he's always liked being the centre of attention, obviously.
Aoko is still his best friend, but she doesn't touch him a lot, and when she punches him it really hurts like hell. Whenever he asks, though, she just gives him this look like—you're the genius, you dumb shit, figure it out.)
Their first kiss is in an alcove by the school parking lot. It's not as secretive as they think. Generations of self-conscious puberty ravaged kids have experimented there, but that's not what they think of when their faces clash, all teeth and no finesse. Kaito's twelve, for God's sake, of course he doesn't know his way around this minefield.
They kind of do some sort of snuggling thing, where her arms are draped around him and his fingers are exploring—the light rose cotton of her shirt, the small of her back, the underside of an under developed breast. He doesn't exactly have the full set of hormones needed to do this horndog act properly, but what he watches on TV fill in the blanks, and soon she's letting out little gasps and he thinks he's doing alright; he's really doing all right.
They're all out of breath when they leave their private area, and he goes immediately to the front of the school. Aoko's there, waiting, a finger curled lightly around her bag strap, leaning against the railing and smiling to ghosts he cannot see. When she sees him, she knows, she stares at him speechless for a full minute—and then her face cracks wide open and brightens like the sun rippling in the sea, her body beckoning him, and he cannot comprehend why he feels like he's failed some test.
Hakuba does not stop asking her out, even when she repeatedly says no. He asks her out to normal places, like the movies, or the park. She says no. He also asks her out to places that remind her this is Hakuba Saguru, and he is not a normal guy—like his latest crime scene, or to the teahouse, where a newspaper reporter enamored with the charming blond just happened to be at (Hakuba kind of wants to introduce her to the world as his girlfriend, except she doesn't give him the chance.)
It's not like she's purposely snubbing the guy for fun. OK—so she's really flattered—but there's reasoning in her madness (and of course it's madness—Hakuba's a total hottie.)
And then all of a sudden she says yes.
(This has nothing to do with seeing Kaito draped in white silk and sharp words. It has nothing to do with him falling into her bed at 2AM in the morning, sticky with blood and delirious, asking her to fix him, begging her to stay by his side please, Aoko, I need you.)
They go to the amusement park.
They go to the movies.
They go to the coffee shop by the corner of the school, the one with the damask napkins folded in permanent creases; he pays for her tea and the little sliver of chocolate cake too.
Before she even consciously acknowledges it, they are dating.
Kaito's not touching her, but this position is so intimate he might as well be. His hair is wild, longer than she remembered, flipped perfectly careless like he didn't care (he never cares, she thinks bitterly). The twilight sun hangs behind him, clear panes of orange light through the liquid glass—but she is in his shadow, dark and mysterious and photo-shopped atmosphere. His eyes flicker between ultramarine and jaded blue, and for a second her heart isn't hers anymore.
Then she pulls it back, forcefully, madly. This is mine, she thinks desperately, staring up at his eyes which are a little bit hurt but she does not care and when had he gotten so tall? This is the one thing you haven't stolen from me, give it back, give it back to me.
The arms that are trapping her fall to his side, and she doesn't bother looking as him before she dashes away, heart beating safely in her chest.
Aoko's first kiss is in Hakuba's bed.
She's not that kind of girl—what possessed her to agree to going to his house—mansion—she does not know. Only that one second, she was admiring the sheer size of his room; the lush carpet, the expensive cuts of mahogany polished to perfection, the pretty, fluttering curtains (lacey and gentile—just like Hakuba) and the next she is on her back, the goose down pillows propping her up, and he looms over her with some kind of hunger in his eyes.
She breaths.
There are a lot of reasons why she finds Hakuba handsome. It's the way his eyes gleam solidly, a single shade of rich goldenrod. It's the way he pulls her towards him, sure in his movements, of his strength. It's the way his hands touches hers—long and slim, strong, tapered at the ends.
This boy; this man loved her. Desired her.
He leans down, and she wants to push him away.
"Relax," He murmurs deeply into her ear, hot breath fanning something sensitive by her throat.
It turns out not so much as a first kiss as a first (hot) make out session, and Aoko could feel herself slipping her heart down his throat, forcing it to comply.
She breaths.
Kaito is waiting for her on her bed. The moon cuts sharp little paths along his body. He looks at her, then at the clock. It's 1AM, it says, and Aoko feels herself blushing—it's 1AM.
"Did you have fun?"
His voice is inquisitive, low, dangerous.
She just gives him an amused, irritated look, shrugging off her jacket. Look, Kaito, you're not the only one with masks!
"Yes," She answers.
When they break up, it's like the whole class mourns.
He almost feels guilty about it, and he can tell that Sakurako-chan feels the same. They stare at each other, awkwardly, and agree to be just friends, the way they've seen it done in the dramas on TV late at night. The teacher is beside herself, she's laughing that much; Kaito sends the hysterical woman a dirty look that belies his relief.
Kaito is glad his short dance with romance is over; Aoko has stopped looking at him like a lost lamb, and he battles down whatever this thing in his chest in. She's my best friend, he thinks, and in that thought is a kind of fierce tenderness that he cannot pinpoint.
He wears his jealousy like a pendant, packed down and cut to size. It glitters maliciously, and he has never been more thankful in his life.
A/N: How do I describe this story, exactly? I don't know. For some reason, I think of Kaiao as a kind of tragic romance. The kind where the two could be together, would be perfect together—but that's not how the world works, sometimes.
I hope the characters are not OOC, but they probably are. Aoko ended up a little sharper, a little stronger, I think.
Review, please. C: It's the best way to motivate me to write more xD
BTW I went to Macdonalds to upload this thing LOL… I have no internet access.