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Dirty Little Secret
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Summary: To put it lightly, Amu and Ikuto have never seen eye-to-eye. In fact, their rivalry is the most legendary celebrity feud in recent years. But it seems there might be something there beneath all the bickering and animosity... Because, after all, when you're trying to avoid a national scandal, who has to know?
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If looks could have killed, everybody knew that half of the stars up on that stage would have been dead by now. Nobody could have replicated the scowl that tore apart Amu's dainty features as she glared at him with all her might. All of her concentration, it seemed, was on him. Hating him. Loathing him. Despising him!
And yet the man merely smirked at her, casually sat back, resting his chin on his fist and — ugh, God, couldn't he wipe that devious look off of his face? It disgusted her! His eyes twinkled with a sadistic sort of mischief... Or maybe it was just the cameras flashing in every corner that lit up the deep, dark blue of his eyes.
Why she had agreed to this — to attending this damned interview with him — she'd never know! She could have had this all over and done with in just a moment! At least she could have. She could have if the Ikuto Tsukiyomi wasn't so intent on making her life a living hell.
Amu's nails gripped into the arm of the plush sofa she was currently sat on with such strength that it was a wonder the fabric didn't tear. Not that it mattered that much anyway when she was set on giving him the look of death.
"Oh, what's that, Strawberry?" He drawled, smirking still and putting extra emphasis on that particular fruit-related word he knew annoyed her. That God damned sneer widened another inch or so. "What? Nothing to fight back with? Haven't any witty comebacks you'd like to share?" A dry chuckle left his chest that increased her ire tenfold. "Speechless?"
Her patience snapped and in that moment nothing else mattered. Not the presenter, not the audience, not the hundreds upon hundreds of viewers, not even the 'flash, flash, flash!' nor the 'click, click, click!' of the cameras belonging to the plague of reporters that had crammed themselves into the studio. Amu stood, the sofa creaking out a sigh of relief beneath her and faced him, red in the face. She relished in that short moment in which she, for once, towered over him and spat;
"You! As if I'm just gonna take your crap as it comes! Why in hell am I even here if it means I have to be stuck with you? I can barely fit beside your massive ego as it is!"
Another obnoxious camera flash went OF somewhere beside her, blinding her temporarily, but her golden eyes cane back into focus just in time to see her rival rise to his feet.
"Yes, why? WHY are you here?" he yelled back just as fiercely, if not louder, but the woman didn't so much as flinch. She was used to it. Everybody was, but before she could dwell on the thought, a sneer brought her attention back to the present.
"Getting desperate?" Ikuto mocked. "Anything for an extra few followers? You need this — you need to be such a pathetic little drama whore nowadays, don't you? Or else one would ever pay attention to you!"
"You—!"
"And why would they?" Ikuto cut her off, moving towards her, slow and deliberate. "Who would even take a second glance at you?"
Amu practically hissed at him. Oh, her contempt for him reached no bounds.
"We can't all just have our fame handed down to us now, can we, Ikuto?"
A string of expletives left Ikuto's mouth as he stepped yet closer and it was as their full-on verbal war began to kick off that the reporter stepped in front of the image on the screen, headlines scrolling in neon text beneath her pixelated form.
"And so once again, tonight's interview with the cast of the long-awaited 'Clown Drop!' ended in another heated battle between musician Ikuto Tsukiyomi and up-and-coming actress Amu Hinamori! But, of course, when these two step in the spotlight together, what else can anyone really expect?" The reporter laughed lightly to herself, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. Beside her played the now silent video of the night's events, where the two celebrities stood throwing abuse at each other. The picture had zoomed out to capture the entire stage and behind them sat their fellow cast members. A pair of purple-haired twins sat frozen in their seats, stunned still; a short blonde woman calmly sipped a cup of tea as if nothing was wrong; and the host at his desk kept glancing nervously to his right as the interview fell apart, presumably in the general direction of his security guards.
"As we've seen over the past three years, these two have frequently had their disputes and so, as you'd expect, critics are now asking — what will become of this summer's most anticipated comedy? Should we be afraid for this production's success? With these troubling thoughts on our minds, we asked for the opinion of Miss Hinamori's manager who has this to say,"
The image changed briefly to that of a man in his thirties, looking like a deer in the reporter's headlights, his ginger hair sticking out in all directions and his green tie askew.
"W-Well," the man fiddled with his collar as at least seven microphones were shoved under his nose. "Ah, well, let's see, this-this is only the beginning after all! I feel that with time the two will be able to set aside their differences. It's only right, you know?" He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat, apparently finding his confidence. "No, I can assure you, there'll be no further problems here."
The little section with Amu's manager ended, but instead of going back to the female reporter, the clip of that fateful TV interview resumed. Ikuto waved a hand to dismiss whatever insult Amu had thrown at him and silently left the set, taking the exit to the left. Meanwhile Amu huffed, threw her arms up in the air and marched off to the right, barging past her skittish manager who had clumsily clambered up onto the stage. The cameras cut off as swarms of paparazzi and journalists pushed past security and leapt up to chase after them. Amateur footage followed as they pursued the fuming stars backstage.
"HINAMORI!"
"TSUKIYOMI!"
"IKUTO, SIR! How can you be expected to work with—"
"—if you can't get along with them?"
"Has this experience at all changed your attitude towards—"
"—or would you say there's no hope of reconciliation?"
"Are you just trying to avoid working together?"
Ikuto turned on the speaker with a growl. "Let me tell you something!"
"You want my answer?" Amu whirled around, pink locks flying.
"I would never—"
"I couldn't even dream of ever working—"
"—with that attention-seeking Strawberry!"
"—conceited bastard!"
"Hinamori!"
"Tsukiyomi! You never explained exactly—"
"—never shared with us—"
"—what caused this rift in the first place?"
"I won't—"
"—can't say—"
The two came to a stop outside their respective dressing rooms and opened the door, giving the reporters one last glance.
"But what's the point?"
"Does it really matter? All that needs to be said is that me and Ikuto—"
"—Hinamori and I—"
"—can't work together!"
And both interviews were cut off with the deafening slams of not one, but two doors as they both disappeared out of sight.
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Hours later, the corridors had become deserted. The studios lay empty, the rows upon rows of seats vacant and not a single journalist in sight. The producers and film crew and even the flabbergasted host of the night's show had all packed up the last of their equipment, checked off their schedules and left the building. All that remained were a few cleaners on the lower floors and the faint echo of traffic outside, filtering in through an open window somewhere below. Other than that, there were almost no signs of life in the usually crowded and hectic building.
Almost.
A shrill creak rent the still air, splitting through the silence as Amu slowly, carefully, eased open her dressing room door. She winced, closing her eyes, and took a deep breath. It was okay, she reminded herself, no one was here. Everyone was gone...
She closed the door quietly behind her and made a mental note to get someone to oil the hinges tomorrow morning when she arrived for work. She let out a long sigh of relief. Thank God no one was here now though. Now out of her glamorous attire and her face free and clean of makeup, sporting only a loose shirt and jeans, Amu was completely deflated and more than ready to get home and collapse straight into her warm, comfy bed after the ridiculous events of the evening. She just wanted to relax. Her interview had been disastrous, her image once again tainted and to top it all off her manager had nearly had a panic attack once they'd gotten back to her dressing room.
Yes, it would be bed, takeaway and crappy TV tonight, she thought. Adjusting her handbag over her shoulder, Amu turned and headed back past the studio they'd been using earlier that day. It was a longer route towards the exit, but it would take her straight to the back and into the staff car park where (hopefully) no one would be around to intercept her. It was just past the studio, past the producer's offices, past most of the other dressing rooms...
Past his dressing room.
Amu swallowed thickly. A shiver ran through her. No, no one would be there anymore, she told herself firmly. It only took a few minutes to get there, but those few minutes felt like an eternity. Every small sound, every echo had her on edge. What if someone was still there? What if they were someone who shouldn't be here? More than once a paparazzi had been found lurking in a storage cupboard or something, ready to leap out and take pictures of some unsuspecting star.
Or maybe it was him.
Amu huffed. If it really was him, he'd pay. She'd told him before not to sneak up on her.
But, suddenly drawing her out of her thoughts, she saw it. Not the exit; not some poorly hidden paparazzi or anything. She had stopped outside of it — Ikuto Tsukiyomi's private dressing room. His name glittered in gold upon it, stark in contrast against the dark wood. She stared timidly up at the door, fighting with herself for a moment. And then she knocked. She could feel her pulse pounding like mad. Suppose someone saw her here? Suppose he'd already left and there were cleaners in there or something? They'd open the door and see her and that'd be it for sure!
Taking a breath to calm herself, the woman knocked again, firmer this time. A few seconds ticked by... and still no response. He must have already gotten changed and left the building.
Amu was about to turn and leave herself when all of a sudden she found herself enveloped by two strong arms that snaked around her wait from behind — out of nowhere! She gasped in surprise, her shoulders hitting a hard chest and a deep rumble vibrating throughout her back;
"Looking for me, Strawberry?"
Amu tilted her head back. Golden eyes found darkest blue. Her breath hitched in her throat.
Usually Amu would snap. Usually she'd grumble in disgust and flush bright red with anger. But instead, she rolled her eyes, her cheeks tinted a soft shade of pink at the nickname.
"Who else, idiot?" She said, but this time there was no bite... And Ikuto chuckled with amusement — no mockery or scorn, but pure, genuine amusement that reached his eyes. He reluctantly let her go and was quickly filled by emptiness the moment her warmth separated from him.
"So," he began, "think we had them all fooled?"
Amu failed to hide a mischievous grin. "Oh, I think so."
The smirk returned, but this time it wasn't harsh. This time Amu didn't hate it. "I think we should be very satisfied with ourselves tonight, Amu."
"You can say that again!" She laughed brightly. "Give me a chance to think up a good comeback though next time! I can't let you have the smart tongue all the time!"
Another chuckle. Ikuto leaned in closer, so close that they were touching again. Before she could prepare herself, Ikuto had slung an arm back around her waist, dragging her closer still. He cupped her cheek in one hand, eyes locked with hers, entrancing her...
"Amu..." Ikuto purred. The sound made her heart leap in her chest. Her cheeks were flushed, she could feel them burning! How did he do this to her? And their lips; oh their lips were so close, "If there's one thing you know about me by now... it's that I have a very smart tongue..."
"Ikuto..."
He closed the gap between them and pulled her in for a deep, yet sweet, loving kiss. Amu gripped at his jacket, moaning softly as Ikuto ran a hand through her pink hair. She was sure he could feel her heartbeat skipping as she pressed herself against him, melting into him, falling into his enchantment...
They parted audibly, breathless, lips flushed. Amu almost frowned in disappointment, but one look at her surroundings brought her that bitter reminder — this was not the place.
Ikuto brought his hands to her shoulders and placed one last, tender peck on her forehead before stepping back.
"Well, Strawberry," he said softly, "I expect I'll have to go speak with my dear manager after what happened tonight, so I guess I'll see you on set tomorrow morning."
Amu nodded, still slightly dazed and brushed her hair back into place. "Mm I guess."
"Hey, Amu, back to earth,"
She rolled her eyes, "Yeah, yeah," and she turned to leave. "Bye, Ikuto,"
"What was that, Amu?"
"Goodbye, Ikuto."
"Amu..."
A sigh.
"Love you, Ikuto."
"Ah, that's what I thought you said," the man smirked, "my bad — must've misheard."
"Oh yeah, you must have."
His quiet laughter reached her ears as she turned a corner.
"Love you, Amu."
And, as his footsteps faded away, Amu giggled to herself, still trying to shake away that shade of pink from her cheeks. She couldn't quite work out how it had come to be like this...
But with that joyous beat of her heart and those butterflies dancing in her stomach, she wasn't sure she minded.
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A/N: I'd almost completely forgotten about this idea. It's been years since I last planned this story, but thanks to rediscovering some old documents and listening to some old playlists (All-American Rejects have a lot to answer for), it's back and I'm pretty happy that I've at least gotten to finishing the first chapter.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy ^^