Finally, a new story! Wow, it's been a while. But I wanted to post something, since it's been so long...

So, I decided to post this. It's just a little "fluff", and I know it's definitely not my best writing, but oh well. I just don't really know what else to do with this...

It was going to be a one-shot, but then it got too long, so now it's a two-shot. However I'm uploading both chapters right away because I don't know when I'm going to have time to write anything else. So just let me know what you guys think!

Disclaimer: I don't own Shugo Chara! or any of the characters mentioned. I also don't own the song, which belongs to Jim Croce.

The Princess and the Traitor

Part I: I'll have to Say I Love You in a Song

Wind lightly whips my hair against my cheeks as I soar through the sky. My body feels so light, as if I'm being carried by the wind. The sun warms my bare back and legs. I can't remember a time when I've felt so free.

Suddenly, I begin to descend. The ground draws near almost instantly, but there is no sensation of falling. Rather, my descent is being controlled, but not by me. I'm placed carefully on my bare feet. I squeeze my toes together against the grass tickling the soles of my feet. Behind me, a voice says, "Ah, here's my beautiful princess!"

I turn slowly to see Tadase's red lips smiling happily at me. His blond hair is slightly mussed from the wind and his ruby eyes are bright as he begins to hand me a bouquet of red roses.

I smile back and reach out my hand to take them, but before I can, a familiar haunting melody floats to me on the wind. I blink in surprise and then gasp. In the millisecond I'd had my eyes closed, Tadase's usually tidy blond hair has thickened and elongated to a shoulder-length, black mop. His eyes have darkened to an enveloping midnight blue. His nose, usually pointed up adorably, is now perfectly straight and his mouth, red and quick to smile, now has full lips and a confidant smirk. His arms and legs and torso have stretched until he's now at least a head taller than me and the bouquet is replaced with a familiar violin tucked under a strong chin and a bow, held with long, musically elegant fingers, gliding across the strings.

My eyes flutter open to reveal the darkness of my pink, girly room and I realize I had been asleep. I sit up in bed and stretch my stiff limbs a bit before I notice that the violin melody has followed me out of my dream and into the real world. I just barely hear it through my closed balcony door.

Almost as if I'm hypnotized I get out of bed, slide open my balcony door and go outside. The darkness is deep – it's the early hours of the morning – but streetlamps break into that darkness, casting long shadows that mingle with the night.

The streetlamp near my balcony is broken; it flickers on and off, but more often than not provides little to no light. I squint through the darkness until I see a tall figure standing in the middle of the street. Though I can't see his face I recognize the posture and height from my dream. It's Ikuto: he's the only person I know who can play the violin with such pure emotion. Actually he's the only person I know who can play the violin at all.

I lean against my balcony ledge and close my eyes. A small smile flits across my lips as I let the music flow into me. A stillness seems to pour over me as I listen; I'm not even sure I'm listening anymore.

Then, much too soon, the music stops. I wait, hoping Ikuto will start playing again, but there's only silence. I open my mouth to speak when I hear a very soft breath break into the quiet.

Finally, the music begins again, but this melody is different. It has a moderate tempo, faster than the song Ikuto had been playing moments before. It takes me a minute to figure out that I know the song – in fact, it's one of my favorite old American love songs. I begin to blush as the translation runs through my mind:

Well, I know it's kind of late.

I hope I didn't wake you,

But what I got to say can't wait.

I know you'd understand.

Every time I tried to tell you

The words just came out wrong,

So I'll have to say I love you in a song.

Yeah, I know it's kind of strange,

But every time I'm near you

I just run out of things to say.

I know you'd understand.

Every time I tried to tell you

The words just came out wrong,

So I'll have to say I love you in a song.

Every time the time was right

All the words just came out wrong,

So I'll have to say I love you in a song.

The last notes of the song ring out in the black of night. They seem perpetual, hanging on desperately so the blaring silence doesn't return. It does, even against those notes' most desperate fight.

I feel a rush of air and a voice behind me whispers, "'Every time I tried to tell you the words just came out wrong.'"

I feel his shrug as it stirs the air around me and I whirl around, my heart pounding. "Wh-what do you mean?" I stammer. There's no way that Ikuto can't hear my heart thumping against my ribs and I thank God that it's dark; my cheeks feel like they're on fire.

Ikuto's face is hidden by shadows. He's silent for so long that the broken streetlamp flickers on and off three times, allowing me a glimpse of his carefully guarded face. His mask is constructed so skillfully if I didn't know him so well, I wouldn't know how uncertain he is.

Finally, Ikuto answers, "I mean, I want you to be mine, and only mine." Even behind Ikuto's mask, even through the darkness, I see the possessive glitter in his eyes. He reaches up and brushes a lock of my messy, bed head hair behind my ear. I shiver involuntarily.

I take a step back and bump into the balcony ledge. "Y-yours?" I say, my voice high and timid and shaky. I grip the ledge tightly behind me.

"Mine," he confirms calmly. "The games, though fun, are getting exhausting. I'm done playing. I want you."

Ikuto takes a step towards me. Though we aren't touching, his proximity is intoxicating. My mind is steadily going blank and my nerves are tingling, my fingers longing to reach out to caress his cheek, to tangle in his hair, to trace his mesmerizing lips.

"I'm tired of you pretending that every touch is accidental, that every kiss didn't happen." He reaches out and molds his hand to the nape of my neck, pulling my face closer to his. "I need you to leave the Kiddy King's little fantasy world and join me in the real one. I need you with me."

At the mention of Tadase, though, I seem to snap out of a trance. I turn my face away from his, barely hearing the rest of his declaration, concentrating on calming myself so I don't start crying. I can feel it building in my throat, the familiar dryness before bursting into tears, the burning in my eyes, the quiver in my bottom lip.

"No," I whisper, my voice shaking. I feel Ikuto's fingers stiffen against the back of my neck. I look back up. "No," I say again, this time with more strength. "I can't." I spread my fingers across his wide, muscular chest and heave with all my might, but he doesn't budge.

Rather, he grabs the tops of my arms lightly, pulling them off his chest and down by our sides, but never letting go. My skin burns where his hands grasp it.

"What?" Ikuto asks sharply.

"I can't join your world." My throat, still dry, is closing up, making it difficult to talk.

"You don't love him!" Though he's angry – it's apparent in his voice – he manages to keep his grips on my arms loose. I can't help but admire his self-control.

"I know I don't."

"Then why?"

I shake my head. "There's a reason I pretend, Ikuto." A breeze begins to whisper between us, blowing my hair lightly around. "You started hitting on me while I was in elementary school. You were in high school. You're a player." I shrug, not apologetically. In my mind it's as simple as that. "I know you'll hurt me."

At that moment, the streetlamp behind me flickers on and for the first time all night I can see Ikuto's face clearly. His carefully constructed blank mask has completely crumbled. I can see volumes of hurt and vulnerability on his face and it shocks me to my very core.

I suddenly feel hot streaks pool down my face and I realize that the tears I had been so desperately holding back had finally broken free, spilling down my cheeks and leaving dry tracks of salt.

"I'm sorry," I say, both to Ikuto and myself, and I truly mean it. "So sorry."