Yeah, so I'm just messing around with this. Hopefully it's enjoyable. Don't mind any typos, please; I probably won't go back to change anything, since I'm not writing this with too much seriousness in mind. Still, responses are very welcome. Also, AU. Definitely AU.

The first week was the hardest. Things sped by in a blur, and she struggled to keep herself balanced and her mind focused. The shock of her first celebrity, a middle-aged woman with short brown hair and a constant, dissatisfied sneer on her face, was almost surreal. But she got used to it.

Kimiko Kamio, her temporary employer – or was it sub-employer? – paid well. Kyouko had money enough now for herself, so she spent it on coffee. The coffee was good, and she had been convinced that the café's bars of chocolate, dark and luscious-looking and unbelievably expensive, would taste like something short of heaven. Kyouko glanced back at the café counter, and the young man with his green café apron, the one who had given her the chocolate for free, waved to her. She smiled and waved back. He's like me, she thought, remembering the fast-food restaurant that had employed her, only a few weeks past.

Kyouko suddenly found herself frowning, an odd feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. The memories that she had pushed back kept resurfacing, and with them the nausea, the shame, the humiliation of that time, when she had learned the truth. I'm just a maid.

When she left the café, she made certain to smile again at the young man with his green apron, thanking him for the chocolate. Discretely, she placed a bit of money in the tip-box, more than enough to cover for the chocolate and for the kindness.

"Was it just short of heaven?" the young man asked. He was tall, very tall, and blonde. Looking at him, she was reminded of Shoutarou – but she couldn't recall Shoutarou ever smiling like this man, like he was genuinely pleased at her presence.

"Better," Kyouko said, and the young man's smile deepened. Later, when she thought of everything, tears burned at her eyes. But the tears were replaced by anger, and she promised herself that she would go back to the café, and have more chocolate. After all, without Shoutarou, she could afford to splurge every once and a while.


The lights were distracting. Kyouko stood on tip-toe, trying to locate her newest employer. She found him, sitting in a chair by the huge double-doors, talking on his cell-phone.

It looks like he's busy. I'd better not bother him yet. Spying movement in the corner of her eye, she quickly ducked out of the way of an on-coming pack of exquisitely dressed women. The smooth fragrances of perfume, and the flashes of silk and chiffon and glittering sequins, were both amazingly glamorous and slightly scary.

She watched the women make a beeline for the runway, trampling anyone stupid enough to stand in their path. Kyouko frowned. What's all the fuss about?

A moment later, she understood. The runway, which had been dark for the past hour, suddenly blazed with gold light. There was a faint strum of music, and the first model – a man dressed in a strikingly pale Armani suit – strode out, graceful and lithe as a leopard. A murmur of excitement rose, and cameras flashed in a brilliant frenzy.

Kyouko slid toward a corner, careful as a rabbit, to watch. The model was quick and efficient with his walk, but somehow everything seemed to slow, and the angles of his face and the sharp folds of his suit branded themselves in her mind. For one stark moment, Kyouko felt wholly out of place – a plain boring girl, in plain boring clothes, breathing the same air as that man.

She shook herself. This wasn't the time to be lingering on frivolous thoughts. She needed to do her job. Quickly, she took out one of her many note-pads, and started jotting down her observations.

Kyouko wrote notes well into the night. Her new employer didn't stir from his spot by the doors until the show was over, and even then he still held his cell phone to his ear. Closing her note-pad, she made her way to the tables on the over side of the runway. There were trays of food, and thin fluted glasses of champagne and sparkling water. She made a plate and took two glasses, one of champagne and one of water, before walking timidly back to her employer.

He accepted the champagne and food with a smile. Kyouko breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps Yukihito Yashiro would be better than her previous employers.

One can only hope, she thought, remembering the days of difficult work, biting insults, and the constant humiliation.

She waited off to the side as Yashiro finally finished with his call. When the man glanced at her and clapped both of his hands together, a sudden feeling of forbidding washed over her.

"Kyouko-san! We meet at last. I've heard many things about you." He offered her his hand, and she took it, hesitantly. "Are you ready?"

Ready for what? She wondered, but nodded anyway. "Yes, Yashiro-san."

"Good, good. Here's what I need…"


With every new employer, Kyouko experienced something different, but the proceedings were usually the same. Either she was given of list of duties, or her duties were dictated to her, and she was to perform them to perfection. Most of the time, what was expected of her was simple – clean, serve, and make certain things were orderly. It was much like she had done with Shoutarou, except now she was paid for it.

But this was a different situation. She was in a man's apartment, carefully organizing bags of groceries and restocking a woefully bare refrigerator – but the man himself was home. And not just any man, either.

Kyouko looked over into the living room. Like the kitchen, it was vast, and every inch of it spoke of wealth – but a demure, down-to-earth kind of wealth. Yashiro had pulled out a complicated looking master-schedule, and had it spayed over a pale leather couch. The man sitting opposite of him, tall and dark-haired and dark-eyed, regarded the schedule coolly.

"I think everything's done here, Ren," said Yashiro, suddenly folding the schedule map-like, and leaning back. "You should be set until July of next year."

"I'm glad. I wouldn't like to think that you'd be invading my home like this every night, Yashiro."

"It was necessary," Yashiro shot back, though his voice wavered slightly.

There was a deep sigh. "You and I have different ideas of necessary."

"Ah…well…" Yashiro suddenly sucked in a breath. "Kyouko-san! You're finished already?"

Kyouko blinked, and stammered, "Y-yes! Everything's finished." Or almost everything.

"Send the girl home already, Yashiro."

"Not yet. You still haven't had dinner, and Kyouko's an excellent cook, I hear."

She knew that was her cue. Slipping silently back into the depths of the kitchen, she set to work, reaching for a bag of rice.

From the living room, there was a rising sound of Yashiro and Tsuruga Ren having a quiet argument. It was very clear that Kyouko's presence was unwelcome, but Yashiro had given her specific orders – so as much as she wanted to leave, she couldn't.

But dinner came along faster than she'd expected. She spooned clumps of rice onto a pair of white plates, with thin slices of chicken breast and dainty slivers of vegetables. Yashiro raised an eyebrow as she swept in, placing the plates before the two of them, and then giving them both small bowls of miso soup. Afterward, Kyouko retreated back to the kitchen.

Things were quiet for a while, and for a few minutes Kyouko felt almost comfortable. She cleaned the pots and pans she'd dirtied, and swept the nearly pristine kitchen floor. A part of her wanted to do more, to move on from the kitchen to the apartment proper – but she stopped herself, remembering that Yashiro hadn't assigned those duties to her.

Things should be relatively simple for you, Kyouko-san. I'll only require you for the evenings, to make sure Ren eats a suitable meal. It might be a bit tricky some days – Ren's a professional, but his diet is terribly poor, since he skips out on lunch and dinner so often. You'll have to be creative in his meals – but you can do that, can't you? And, is it possible to make him some bento? That guy really is a deviant when it comes to eating.

It was odd working for an employer who expected so little. Her past employers had given her hours upon hours of work, from cleaning bathrooms to tidying dressing-rooms, and everything else besides. And Yashiro didn't even want her for the full day.

I might even have time to go to that acting school more often. She felt giddy at the very thought. Things were beginning to work out, just as the President had promised.

Even if Tsuruga Ren didn't like her, this job was far, far better than her previous ones.

"Kyouko-san!" came Yashiro's voice, "may we have seconds?"


Several days after starting her new job, Kyouko created a small schedule of her own. Two hours every evening were promised to Tsuruga Ren; the rest of her day would be spent at LME's acting school, and whatever time was left over would be used to seek out acting opportunities.

It seemed almost like a dream come true. She had more time to sleep at night, and ideas came more freely to her, now that the pressure of work had lessened. But good things had a way of making themselves scarce around her.

"I don't think I've seen you before. Are you sure you're a student?"

The teacher's incredulous tone was accompanied by a series of twittering snickers. Kyouko knew she should have expected this – she'd rarely had a chance to come to the acting school, and when she did, it had only been for a few minutes. It was no surprise that each of the acting school's teachers had called her out to question her.

This particular teacher looked almost apologetic – which made things worse. "My name is on the roster, Sensei."

"So it is. But I've never seen you. Have you been sick?"

"Yes," Kyouko lied, thinking that was as good an excuse as any. The teacher nodded.

"Well, it might be a bit tough for you, then. There's test in two weeks, so you'll have to study quite hard to catch up."

"Yes, Sensei."

Upon leaving the acting school, she really did feel sick. Only two weeks to study for months of material she'd missed – what was she going to do?

The bike ride to Tsuruga Ren's gated complex was longer than it should have been. Her feet slowed as her mind raced, and by the time she realized that the elderly man beside her, inching slowly forward with his walker, was moving faster than she was, it was already half past six.

She was going to be late – and she absolutely couldn't afford to be late. Tsuruga Ren was so strictly professional that she had no doubt that any lateness on her part would be a mark against her. Time to put the petal to the metal.

The edges of the sky were just beginning to darken by the time she entered into the complex, sweating and completely out of breath. But she had time. It was only two more minutes to seven, and if she hurried, she would make it to the door right on the hour.

She didn't take into account the elevators. There was a rather long line waiting patiently at the one working elevator, while the others somehow, inexplicably, stood out of order. Kyouko gaped for a full second, hardly able to comprehend how three elevators – three! – could have possibly stopped functioning, all at the same time. Then she shook her head. Stairs. I can take the stairs.

When the door loomed before her, Kyouko's vision was somewhat blurry, and her legs burned with pain and weakness. But she'd made it.

Before she could tap her knuckles to the door to knock, though, the door opened for her. The tall figure of Tsuruga Ren smiled at her – a blindingly brilliant smile so terrifying that Kyoko's already weak knees nearly gave way.

"It's good to see you, Mogami-san," he said with that awful smile, and Kyouko had to fight to keep herself from calling him liar to his face. She swallowed the word, just barely, as he beckoned her with an elegant hand into his apartment. "I was wondering when you would finally decide to show."

She was late. Really late. If the clock on the wall was correct – and it was – then it had taken her a full twenty minutes to surmount the stairs.

A flash of cold fear swept over her spine, and she immediately apologized. He barely glanced at her, idly waving away her words. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

But she knew better. He had yet to stop smiling; the man was definitely angry.

Kyouko heard the soft murmur of the television as she checked the reserves of the refrigerator. Removing the last packet of meat, she sighed. Perhaps it had been too much to hope that he would restock his refrigerator like a normal person – she would have to ask Yashiro-san if there would be time to go on a shopping trip tomorrow.

She made stirfry. It took a while, what with the pieces of steak that were over long in cooking, but it allowed her a moment to think. Tsuruga Ren's presence in the living room made her vaguely anxious (was he still angry? What would he say to her, once she left the kitchen?), but it was really the test that had her mind churning, and her stomach churning with it. Tonight, once she was finished here, she would begin studying – maybe even pull an all-nighter – and tomorrow she would look for someone among the acting students for help. The second she thought of the idea, though, she immediately dismissed it. Her situation hadn't gotten so desperate that she would ask someone for help; people didn't give help for free, and all of her years attending school with Shoutarou had taught her that she certainly didn't have the ability to make allies. Kyouko doubted that the students of the acting school would be any better than the girls of her old school, who had fawned constantly over Shoutarou, and tormented her when they weren't falling over him.

But there was one girl, in particular, that Kyouko might have a chance of approaching. From what she had noticed, the girl was something of a loner, always off to the side of everyone else – cold in manner, brisk in tone, but from what Kyoko had seen of her, the girl was genius when it came to acting. She would have to be careful, but if she played her cards right, perhaps asking Kotonami Kanae for help wouldn't be a waste of time.

The stirfry finished cooking, and, feeling a little bit better about things, Kyoko decided to try something different. Since it was difficult enough to get Tsuruga Ren to eat a full meal, she rarely made desert – but tonight, despite everything, she was feeling a little adventurous.

Kyouko thought about it as she walked to the living room, and carefully laid out Tsuruga Ren's dinner before him. He might like it. It's delicate, light, and it should go well after the stirfry.

Fully intending to go back and hide out in the kitchen to wait on the desert, Kyouko was surprised when Tsuruga Ren pointed to the end of the couch, and told her to "sit."

She froze. He gazed at her and smiled politely. His polite smile was only slightly less frightening than his gentlemen's smile, and she immediately put all thoughts of refusing him out of her mind.

"You should rest for a while. I know you're tired." He patted the couch cushion beside him. "Come on. Sit."

Kyouko obeyed, though reluctantly. A part of her – a very large part – worried that this was a trap. None of her past employers had ever offered her any niceties, and most of them had barely even tolerated her presence, much less allowed her to sit by them. Tsuruga Ren was different, of course. The man was gentle and kind to nearly every person he came across, and he seemed to make it a point of setting people at ease around him.

She was very aware of how well he treated other people, but that didn't change the fact that he disliked her, and had disliked her from the first day they'd met. Kyouko didn't know why he disliked her, but this wasn't the first time that someone had hated her without an apparent reason.

They sat in silence. A talk show, one she was unfamiliar with, flashed upon the television screen. Kyouko was really only half interested, but she placed her entire focus upon it – anything to avoid looking over at Tsuruga Ren.

She immediately regretted it.

There were three different hosts and a person in a white-feathered chicken suit who they called Bo. The hosts were a good natured bunch, their jokes tasteful, and Kyouko slowly found herself liking them.

Then a blonde, smug-looking rocker took to the stage, and whatever good feelings Kyoko possessed at the moment completely withered into ash.

Shou…Shoutarou?

Vaguely, she felt Tsuruga Ren shift beside her on the couch. "Interesting. I don't think I've ever seen a visual kei on this show before."

Kyouko could hardly breathe. For the life of her, she couldn't turn her eyes away from the screen.

"So, Fuwa-san. You've come such a long way in a short time. Who would you say has been the most influential person in your career so far? The one who supported you along the way?"

Sho grinned. "Ah, that's a bit tough. I would say…my manager, of course. The wonderful Shouko."

Kyouko felt the urge to vomit.

The shortest of the hosts, the leader, raised his hand. "Question, question! Fuwa-san, we know your fanbase mainly consists of women – so there's no denying that you're popular with the ladies. Is there anyone special in your life, then? Maybe someone who you would want to see by your side, as you continue to rise to the top?"

"No, unfortunately," Shoutarou said slowly. "I've never been in love before. But if I had to choose the person I would want most, the person I would give my heart to…she would be talented and intelligent. Someone I could match wits with, who could stand on equal footing with me. Someone who would blow my mind every time our eyes meet."

"Someone beautiful, then?" asked one of the hosts.

"Yes. Someone beautiful."

The channel suddenly switched to the next – to some drama, with two people, a young, yellow haired man and dark haired woman, sitting under the stars. After what felt like an eternity, Kyouko was able to draw a breath.

I've never been in love before.

Hearing the truth again, after months of hiding from it, stilled something inside of her. Shoutarou had never loved her – she really had just been a maid, a servant of convenience, a person of absolutely no consequence.

"Are you a fan of his?"

She looked at Tsuruga Ren. He was gazing back at her, a shadow of something darkening his already dark eyes. If Kyouko had been smarter, she would have recognized that something immediately, and chosen her words with more care.

As it was, in the heat of the emotion that was rapidly building inside of her chest, Kyouko said the first thing that came to her lips.

"I hate him."

Tsuruga Ren continued to stare at her, smiling slightly. The smile was dark, so very dark, that Kyoko instantly realized she'd made a mistake. "How strange. The way you were looking at the screen, I would have thought you were in love with him. Did your love vanish, now that he is no longer your fiancée?"

Kyouko sat stock-still, unable to think. Her blood froze in her veins. How does he know?

That dark, ominous smile deepened. "It's very obvious, Mogami-san," he said, leaning in, "that you're working for LME for a reason. Anyone with two eyes can see. You, running around doing whatever menial task you're assigned, all for the slight chance that if you impress the right person, the President will make you a talento. Has it happened yet, Mogami-san?"

She opened her mouth to speak, to deny him, but nothing came out.

"No? Do you know why, Mogami-san?" He reached out, and one of his long fingers slid down the side of her cheek. It was the most intimate thing anyone had ever done to her, and Kyouko had to fight back a scream of terror and utter despair. Shoutarou, in the entire year they had been engaged, had never touched her the way this man – who absolutely hated her – did. "It is because no self-respecting person, much less anyone from LME, would ever promote someone like you. An actor, no matter who they are, must always possess the drive to perfect their talent. And that drive can never come from a desire for vengeance. That's why you're still here, a slave to LME, and not a talento. Because of your abhorrent crusade for revenge."

Slowly, he leaned away from her, as though she were some disgusting creature. "Thank you for the dinner, Mogami-san. Don't let me keep you."

It was a clear dismissal. She rose from the couch, carefully collected his plate, and went back to the kitchen. With a steady hand, she cleaned the dishes, wiped the counter, and swept the white and green tiled floor. When she was done, she took out the bread pudding from the oven. It had cooked well, the edges slightly brown, and the bit of caramel she drizzled over it was quickly absorbed – so it was spongy and light enough for Tsuruga Ren's tastes. She placed it into the refrigerator. Then she left.

As soon as she stepped out of his apartment, it felt as though her heart had lodged itself into her throat. Her breath came in shallow little gasps, and she had difficulty locating the one working elevator. The single person boarding the elevator looked at her, and asked in a worried voice, "Are you okay, Miss?"

"I'm okay." She was perfectly fine. She had been fine when Shoutarou had cast her out, and she was fine now. Better than fine, even. Tsuruga Ren had spoken the truth to her, a truth that no one, including the President, had bothered to mention.

Outside, the air was cool. She mounted her bike, and rode out of the complex, her eyes dry. A year ago, she would have cried, long and hard, until there were no more tears left to her. Things were different now. Just as Shotarou had told her what he'd really thought of her, Tsuruga Ren had done the same. And it helped.

The emotions seething in her heart felt good. She hated Shoutarou with a hatred so fiery and exquisite that she smiled for the first time in what seemed like ages. And she hated Tsuruga Ren, but that hate wasn't the same. It was…softer, calmer, and beneath it she felt a surge of gratitude. If it hadn't been for him, she would have worked and worked, struggling to please every person that she met until she became an actress. She would have worked, probably for years, until the President decided she was good enough – and now, she knew that would have been in vain. Shoutarou had never thought she was good enough, and when she'd outlived her usefulness, he'd thrown her away – it had been stupid of her to think that anyone else, including the President, would do any differently.

Well. She was done being a maid, both to Shoutarou and to LME. It was time to take matters into her own hands.

Kyouko petaled down a steep hill, the wind combing through her hair, and she started laughing. Hard. She laughed so hard that the windows of the passing apartment buildings lit up in alarm, and several people poked their heads outside in terror.

Thank you, Tsuruga Ren, for being honest.


The girl was average-looking. The hair was cut short, perhaps in some attempt to emphasize her wide amber eyes, and the auburn color of it had been expertly executed by a professional hand. And it was all wrong. Perhaps if the hair had been dyed something close to a deep red, and a bit more length had been left to it, the girl wouldn't look quite so plain. Unfortunately, the pool of applicants was very large, and nearly every one of them naturally possessed striking, lovely features…except this girl. She was an utter paradox. Her face was nothing to write home about, but she was tall and long-legged, and she walked with the grace of an old-time princess.

He held out a hand. "A pleasure to meet you, my dear. May I have your name?"

"Mogami Kyouko," she said, slowly placing her fingers in his.

Mogami Kyouko. Yes, he liked the sound of it. Her hand was warm, and her skin was smooth and flawless. Her eyes, up close, were ravishing – they reminded him of topazes. Hot, fiery topazes.

He was sold. She would take a tremendous amount of work to perfect, but he had never been one to back down from a challenge.

And besides that, he liked the raw, searing hatred that gleamed in those topaz eyes.

"Mogami Kyouko," he said, "I would like to see more of you. Would you be interested in signing a contract? If you would, we would be able to start you off on a modeling career – right this moment, in fact."

She smiled, and it was absolutely devastating. "Do you have a pen?"

And he thought, Ah, old boy, I think you've out done yourself this time. He handed her a black pen from his shirt pocket, thinking of LME's president. Lory can eat his heart out. I can't believe he let this one get away.

But then, little brothers did have the tendency to be idiots.


Huh. That was fun. Perhaps I'll continue...

And yes, there's a reason Kyouko refers to Ren throughout by his full name. A good reason.

Ciao.