First day.

Amu looked at the imposing building nervously, and wiped sweaty palms on her skirt. What if they don't like me? she thought, biting her lip awkwardly.

Unconsciously, she straightened up as she began to walk forwards. Her expression became aloof and cool, and her legs took longer strides. By the time she walked through the double gates, she was the picture of the idol that she'd been renowned for at her last school. A couple of students hanging around on the lawn looked up as she walked past, and one instantly turned to the other, whispering hurriedly under her breath.

"Amu Hinamori—she's so cool—I heard all the principals are scared of her—she's so pretty!"

And when she looked back, they both turned aside and stared at the floor, one tearing grass up absent mindedly between her fingers. Amu turned away again, sighing quietly under her breath. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It really wasn't. As she opened the door, she let loose another sigh, right into the face of a boy coming the other way.

He smiled earnestly into her face, and she couldn't help being a little starstruck. Wow… he's so… Pretty should be the wrong word, she thought, but it wasn't. He was pretty, in an adorable girlish way. Not that that was bad, she added hastily. He had such nice hair…

"Are you okay?" he asked, and she had to hold back an urge to squee at his voice. All gentle, and flowy, and beautiful—

"Sure," she said shortly, letting her hand fall from the door abruptly.

NO! she cried in her head, trying to stop herself from ruining her chances.

He gave her another distressingly sweet smile, and she melted inside. On the outside, her face twitched and set into a stony mask. "Just checking," he told her easily, "that the new student was okay," and with another sweet smile he breezed past her and began the impressive trek down the avenue.

She was torn between being overjoyed that he knew who she was, or irritated that she was messing up again. He looked like a prince! And he knew her—well, he knew she was new—did he know her name? He was so sweet.

With another sigh, this time decidedly lighter, she slid through the closing door, and marched over to the receptionist, who looked up and smiled kindly at her. She couldn't help comparing her smile to the prince's—was that what she was calling him now? It fit him.

"What can I do for you, dear?" the woman asked, shuffling papers on the chaotic desk space.

Amu resigned herself to boarding school with those words, and raised her head proudly to reply, "Amu Hinamori."

******

The door clicked gently shut behind her, and she jumped at the noise, looking back. It was a really nice place, she thought grudgingly. She should have trusted her parents to that at least; if they were going to ship her off to boarding school, it was going to be a good one.

Apparently, it encompassed everyone from the age of 5 to 18, and it was a really academic school as well as being… luxurious, she summarised, peering down the hall and finding a bedroom with a four poster bed. She explored, gaining a growing sense of excitement discovering nooks and crannies. The whole school couldn't be like this, could it?

There were two bedrooms, the second one bigger than her living room back home was, the first one slightly smaller. The second was obviously already occupied—by someone who wasn't quite messy, or really tidy, but somewhere in between, with a few books littered over the floor, a clock in the shape of a cat on the left bedside table, and the wardrobe hanging open. She looked at it, curious, and blinked at what looked suspiciously like a pair of… a pair of boys' boxers.

No. She had to be wrong. They wouldn't room her with a boy. It just didn't happen.

She took a tentative step into the room, looking around for anyone else carefully, and crept across the floor like she was treading on eggshells. The whole dorm area was quiet, but you never knew… Plus, if it was a boy's room, if she was in a boy's room by herself… ah, mama would be surprised, wouldn't she?

She opened the wardrobe a little further, and her eyes widened. They were boy's clothes—and—oh, oh man… She slammed the door shut, blushing, and turned to leave the room. This had to be a mistake—she couldn't room with a boy, mama wouldn't let her—

A key turned in a lock, and she froze, halfway to the door of the room. It clicked open; someone overshot it, so the door banged against the hall wall. Someone—a boy—murmured something irritably, and she heard feet on the carpet moving forwards—then they stopped, murmuring unintelligible things—had they found her suitcase?

They got closer, and Amu abandoned all rational thought to panic, attempting to hide. She stuffed herself quietly into the wardrobe, trying desperately not to make a noise, or wonder what she was sitting on.

He wandered through the door and she guessed that he'd sat down on the bed now, by the creaking—then it stopped, and the floorboards moaned a little—he was standing right in front of the wardrobe, and she was sure he could hear her heart, beating as furiously as it was…

Someone pulled the doors open, and she looked up, panicking, into a coolly bemused face.

"What," her new roommate asked carefully, "are you doing in my wardrobe?"

Amu searched for an excuse and couldn't find one, blushing fiercely. "…No reason," she managed vaguely. He gave her an odd look, shoving a handful of dark hair out of his face. "I'm your new roommate," she snapped, mainly to fill the awkward silence.

He gave her another look, making her more uncomfortable, and leaned back casually onto one foot, still holding onto the door. His free hand swung around randomly in mid air, to some rhythm she couldn't hear, and he gave the room a quick look around before returning to her.

"Right. So what are you doing in my wardrobe?" he repeated, sounding a little amused, a small smile playing mockingly over his lips. It was nothing like the Prince's, or even the receptionist's. He was making fun of her! If she looked at him, it was there, lurking in his dark blue eyes, mocking her.

"No reason," she muttered, clambering out of the wardrobe, trying to maintain her dignity even at this stage and stalking out into the hallway.

He followed her, hovering at her footsteps, annoyingly taller than her—how tall was he? "So," he began, almost pleasantly, "you must be Amu Hinamori then."

She didn't bother to turn around. "How do you know my name?"

He laughed, a low, rich sound that had the hair on her scalp standing on end. "Everyone knows who you are." When she didn't deign to reply, he carried on. "But why are you my roommate?"

"I don't know," she replied shortly. "I'm gonna go ask."

She turned to him in time to see him shrug, hands carelessly jammed in the pockets of his extraordinarily tight trousers, that mischievous smile still there. He moved lightly on his feet, stopping just as she wheeled around. Something about him was catlike, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"I don't mind," he said teasingly, leaning in and down until he was uncomfortably close. She leaned out again, frowning, and he just leaned in further, grinning irrepressibly. One of his hands reached around, tightening around her waist and drawing her in. She squeaked, trying to pry his hands off, but they remained firmly there. "I think," he began, lowering his head and taking a deep sniff of her hair, "that this would be… interesting."

She could hear the smirk in his voice.

"He- hey! This is—let go!"

"Don't wanna," he muttered into her hair, drawing her closer. "You smell nice."

"Hey! I mean it!"

His tone went reproachful instantly—but still playful, still teasing—and he said, "Fine," and released her. She stumbled away, trying to hide her pink face, and glared at him.

"I'm going to sort this out," she snapped. "I can't room with you."

He pouted—she felt a smile tug ridiculously at her lips, and stuffed it down to where she couldn't find. Instead, she frowned balefully at him, and crossed her arms defensively. "Why not?" he asked easily, leaning against the wall casually.

She spluttered, dismayed. "Because—because you're a boy!"

He grinned, sliding along the wall in a slinky way that had her uncomfortably aware of her own body. "So—oh?" he asked, waving his head smoothly too close to her again. She shoved at him half heartedly, and when he slunk even closer, she squeaked and ran past him, shaking her head desperately.

She yanked at the door, forgetting how to turn it for a moment—just pulling manically. The hand sneaked around her waist again, and she pulled the door open, ducking underneath the arm to run out into the corridor and down the stairs. Part way, she turned back and looked, not having heard the door shut yet.

He was just standing, silhouetted in the door, leaning lazily against the doorframe with his hands jammed in his pockets.

She was sure he was smirking.

******

Amu slammed her hands down onto the desk, breathing hard, sure she looked absolutely mad. "You—you've made a mistake," she panted.

The woman behind the desk looked suitably surprised, her fingers pausing mid-type. She pulled her glasses down her nose nervously and began to wipe them on her jumper, going through the rhythmic motions of someone outside of their comfort zone. "Are you sure, dear?" she asked nicely, sliding her glasses smoothly back onto her nose. "Where have we made a mistake?"

"You've—you've roomed me with—a boy," she forced out, trying to stop herself from blushing. She was acting ridiculously.

Amu straightened up consciously, retreating back into her shell, and looked at the woman coolly. Her hands seemed to slide into the pockets of her skirt automatically, nestling there comfortably where no-one could see them sweat. Some of part of her was meanly glad to see the woman recoil at her quick transformation. Was that her character?

The receptionist shook her head, smiling weakly. "No, I'm afraid we can't have possibly roomed you with a boy—this is a very select school, Miss Hinamori, we don't just make mistakes like that—"

She trailed off slowly, grinding to a halt looking at somebody who was lurking just behind her, looking up to somebody taller than Amu. A familiar hand snaked around her waist and pulled her back gently to a warm chest, and somebody's bony chin settled on top of her head and sniffed deeply into her hair.

"Great," Amu muttered under her breath, trying to cross her arms over the hand lynched around her torso.

"I—I—Ikuto!" the receptionist stuttered, desperately attempting to settle a charming smile into place onto her face.

Amu felt him smile into her hair, and then he stepped away a little, still holding onto her firmly. This had to be assault or something, she thought darkly. "There has been a mistake made," he said smoothly, ruffling her hair affectionately with his free hand. She scowled up at him, trying to throw it off. "But I don't think it's serious," he added, smiling earnestly.

She admitted grudgingly to herself that he was kinda cute.

But nowhere near the Prince, she added righteously in her head, nothing like him.

Tsukiyomi—if that was his name—swung back and forth in midair and smiled attractively at the receptionist. "Make an exception to the rules, this time," he suggested, squeezing Amu's waist. "See, see, we're already getting attached."

"Aren't," Amu muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. He grinned at her for a second, and then went back to smiling at the receptionist.

The door opened, loud enough in the awkward silence that had donned for Amu to jump nervously, and whirl around. The Prince, she thought excitedly, almost jumping up. Ah, but he probably doesn't like me after earlier, she thought painfully, biting her lip.

The boy looked from her to the door, frowning, and retrieved his arm to cross them over his own chest. The new entrant walked over, stopped, joining the club of frowners, and then carried on to stand by them, looking around with slight bafflement at what must have looked rather odd.

"Ikuto Tsukiyomi," he acknowledged gruffly. Amu blinked at the name. She'd heard it before somewhere.

"Hey, little Tadase," he replied, bowing mockingly. "Not on parade?"

She could hear the humour in his voice, but the Prince—Tadase, Tadase—seemed to take it as an insult with barely restrained anger. Poor Prince. It just made her like him more. With a deep sigh, Tadase released his curled fists and turned to Amu, putting on an obviously strained smile. His eyes kept flicking towards Ikuto.

"How are you, Hinamori?" he asked, and she almost melted at the sound of his voice. Shut up, shut up! she told herself. Don't act stupid!

"Fine," she said coolly, shrugging. Arrrrgh. Amuu, you're so stupid! She shrugged again, ignoring her ongoing inner monologue. "I'm just sorting something out," she added, with an attempt at a nice smile.

She was sure he didn't mean to recoil, and neither did the receptionist—and she was definitely sure that Ikuto hadn't laughed—but he recovered quickly, and looked between the two of them. "Oh?" he asked, tilting his head to one side adorably. "What are you sorting out?"

Ikuto pulled her close again, ignoring her muffled protests, and flashed a quick grin at Tadase. "Amu," he said, putting emphasis on her first name, "just wanted to check… that she was rooming with me."

Tadase spluttered, giving the woman at the desk an incredulous look. "Miss—is that—you can't let a girl room with Ikuto Tsukiyomi," he said heavily, getting himself together.

"Says who?" Ikuto inquired airily, a mischievous smile playing about his lips but not quite making it.

"I—every—you can't," Tadase snapped, flexing his fingers, then turning to Amu, with a considerable effort at politeness. "Hinamori, do you want to room with Tsukiyomi?"

"Eh… not really," she admitted, looking at the floor. "I was on my way to ask for a change…"

He smiled brightly at her—ahh, so dazzling, she thought happily—and turned back to the receptionist, who was looking distinctly flustered. "So, it's settled," he told her.

Ikuto made an odd disappointed clucking noise in the back of his throat, and settled his arms around Amu's head. "Hey…," she hissed up at him, "leggo!"

"Aww, Amu, don't be so cold," he murmured, pouting. When he looked up, he was grinning in a way that made her nervous. It seemed to make the receptionist even more nervous—if that was possible by this point, she thought dryly—and to just infuriate Tadase. "Since," he began carefully, "my… father"—what did he have against his father, Amu wondered, hearing the distaste in his voice—"likes to see me happy… Ah, I don't know," he finished, shrugging expressively and elbowing Amu quite painfully in the head.

The suggestion hung in the air. Amu remembered the name now. Director Hoshina, some really influential businessman, had two children, one who was a famous singer—Utau, Ami loved her—and the other, who was a famous… troublemaker, who never took his father's name. She remembered wondering why. She glanced up at Ikuto. Why wouldn't he take the name Hoshina? Why wouldn't he use his father's name?

Tadase was glaring at Ikuto—if looks could kill—but relaxed slowly, unstiffening. He turned to Amu apologetically. "Sorry, Hinamori—do you mind rooming for a while—with Tsukiyomi?"

Her heart went pathetically out to him, and she had to restrain herself from blurting YES happily. "Sure," she said, making another attempt at a smile. She guessed it came out more naturally that time, since nobody screamed or recoiled.

Tadase gave Ikuto an unfriendly look, but nodded his head civilly. In response, Ikuto grinned, tipping an imaginary hat and latching onto Amu's wrist to tow her away. She followed him grumpily, twisting around one last time, picking up the courage to wave to Tadase shyly.

He waved back, smiling, and she melted again.

And she thought she'd had problems before.