Hello readers, Avoireux here.
Nothing much to say here other than a disclaimer & that I will not be using Japanese honorifics. This Fanfiction is inspired by a book I recently read called 'Out of Control' by Sarah Alderson. I thoroughly enjoyed it & I'd like to recommend it to the rest of my readers out there.
So without further ado, let's begin!
Disclaimer: I do not own Shugo Chara. All copyrights go to the manga author duo Peach-Pit. The only original characters I do own so far are Hiroshi Yuna and Hiroshi Inada.
Chapter 1 - Eyes Like Fire
The spacious room seems to revolve around me while my feet keep my posture in balance. I take control of the ground as it immensely rumbles in unison to both the music and to the thunder hammering in my chest. A large blanket of sweat envelops me as I finally collapse onto the ground with a finishing pose. The bass in the stereos quietly mute, and I listen to nothing but the roaring sound of the blood that pounds between my ears. I look up at the reflection of my panting self, bright round scorching eyes glowering at me. For a moment, it's difficult to tell what's real and not real through the 20-foot wide wall-mounted mirror. It's as if I were watching a horror movie, like the being that revealed my appearance was about to emerge and attack.
Was that really me just now?
I finally come to my senses and briskly hoist myself up. I see a small sweat stain on the floor mat that I recently recover from. My teeth grit in disgust as I quickly wipe the mess with my sock, averting towards the row of chairs that perch themselves near the door. They sit neatly against the wall with a water bottle and a small washcloth on one of the seats. I hastily grab the bottle and begin sucking out of the container, as my other hand reaches for the damp washcloth without guidance and slips it onto my forehead. I allow my eyes to rest and let out a sigh of exhaustion.
This week seems more tiring than usual. I wonder if it involves my father reassigning to this company last month, some company called Easter.
In fact, I'm currently in the building, on the 29th floor. It's quiet and deserted, and I don't mind it one bit, other than the imprisonment. It was supposedly emptied years ago since Easter had no use for the entire floor. Nobody wanted to work under the consistent noises that emitted from the roof vents. Nobody appreciated the wall tears and pipe creaks. I am the one that is trapped in here. Or rather, Easter used whatever they had left as a tower for poor Rapunzel.
But they won't let me go home, to sleep in my own bed or to wake up and attend school, or to even see my father. They don't want me out of their sight.
I don't know what I am doing here or why, but it must concern my father. For someone who is trapped here, I consider myself somewhat lucky. It's not everyday that a prisoner has a whole company floor to themselves, despite the condition. I'm somewhat satisfied with the fact that nobody can disturb me or complain how my music's too loud, but it was one of the only things I was not irked to receive when my father and I moved to Tokyo. Besides having the entire 29th floor to myself, the other benefits were the vacancy of the rooftop and the busy streets, which wait for me directly above this floor. I hope not to get involved with Easter too much, since I've been treated like a lab rat recently, with them asking personal questions, taking blood samples and whatnot. I be careful not to reveal too much.
I wipe a hand across my brow, slicking back some hair that's come loose. God, that session felt good, like I was burning some of the excessive emotions. I feel calmer now, less tense.
Until I hear an unfamiliar voice in the region. "So this is the ruckus that I have to listen to everyday?"
My head jerks towards the doorway, eyes meeting with sharp grey ones. A woman, wearing a yellow business uniform with oval-shaped glasses, raises an eyebrow at me and folds her arms. But as she inspects me for a while, a hand suddenly reaches towards the rim of her glasses, tilting them down the bridge of her nose to get a better look at me.
"Oh? Aren't you Hiroshi's daughter?" Her expression changes as she steps into the room to absorb a few glances. "What are you doing causing a riot in here? It's practical for you to have some common courtesy and not disturb other workers."
The woman has her back towards me with hands on her hips as she examines the peeling corners of the ceiling. I can easily see her reaction through the smudged mirror as her face clearly distorts with remorse.
"Honestly." She shakes her head and massages her temples with a sigh. The woman turns to me. "For a rich kid, you have some low standards. If you want to perform with that type of music up here, at least consult with your father first."
I shrug and carefully bite back my words, "I prefer to be alone."
She gives me a look and lifts an eyebrow.
"Working as an individual... I rather not involve my father," I quickly add, skirting my eyes towards the mirror. "I was assigned to this floor by Director Hoshina."
"Is that so?" She trails her remarking words and scans me up and down.
A glare emits from the rims of her glasses as she tilts her head upwards, still eyeing me. I catch a look of realization in her opaque eyes. She knows something that I don't.
"Well, if that's the case, I'd best leave you alone. I advise that you turn that racket down, just a bit." She hastily reaches for the door, displaying a smirk before making departure. I cringe at the sound of her heels hitting against the mats.
"Or rather, don't play it at all."
I could hear her footsteps trailing through the hallway and the elevator bell ringing at her request. I let out a sigh and sneak a gander out the 20-foot wide window. It resembles the mirror so much that I can clearly see myself approaching me as I cross to the glass.
I guess the music complaints are crossed off the Things Not To Worry About list.
It's sweltering hot, the air in the room is torpid and thick as a quilt. I'm wearing only cotton shorts and a loose tank top that I was given. My fist clenches against the glass as I lean my forehead and visualize the diversity of lights that paint the streets like a canvas. It is so beautiful that I can't remember why I'm disturbed. I let out a robust exhale and descend myself onto the blue mat. My arm covers my eyes and I allow the weight of it to put me to sleep.
When can I finally escape from this prison?
I find myself lying on the cold hard ground of the building's rooftop. The night turns chilly as the goosebumps that prickle my arms surge through my entire body, and I'm left with nothing but a ruthless shiver. The building seems to be breathing. There's a slight ticking noise coming from the clock downstairs, the hum of the AC ventilation, the trickling tink of the plumbing, and the occasional sound of a car sweeping past on the isolated street below. I lift my chest up, gathering my knees and glance past the edge of the roof to capture the captivating scenery of Tokyo. I scramble to a stand as I swing my legs over the bar and help myself to the front seat view of the world. I glance down and approximate the height of the building, scaling the length to see if it would be critical to jump off.
I raise my legs to a stand, grabbing onto the bar behind me. The face-to-face meeting with possible death is enthralling, and I feel almost tempted to do so. It would be worth it if I could explore the streets in one piece.
And I almost consider it.
"You're not going to jump, are you?"
Without even pivoting to see who it is, I already recognize the voice. I could just feel him approaching me, despite how quiet his movements are. I refuse to acknowledge him and continue to face my back at him, silently bidding farewell to the beautiful lights.
"I wasn't." I partially fib. "Not like it would have mattered. I wouldn't die from this height. That flagpole would break my fall."
The boy wounds up next to me, and as I expect, murky cobalt colored hair emerges from the corner of my eye. He briefly admires the view before following my gaze towards the empty lot below.
"I don't know," he murmurs with hands in his pockets and his back in a slouched position. "I'd picture you in an ambulance by now if I didn't say anything."
"I just wanted to see the view," I say, hoisting my legs back on the bar. I leave out the part about the rush I felt from standing so high above the city, the real reason why I have the urge to jump. I can't explain to him the sense of victory I had standing on the lip of the roof, my arms and legs burning with the sensation of freedom. Or the way my blood flowed like quicksilver through my veins, as fast as when I finish dancing.
"What's it to you anyways, don't you have somewhere else to be?"
I sneak a look at his indigo eyes, which are almost as colorless as mine, except his are filled with stars and wonder, the same emotions I feel when I catch a glimpse of Tokyo. I only visualize envy, as I'm envious of the prepossessing city. Or maybe I'm just imagining things and all I'm seeing is the reflection of the city lights in the center of his iris. Shortly, his eyes turn dark as he peers at me. He doesn't answer. He just fixes me with a stare. He holds my gaze for just a second and then looks away, down at the gloaming houses in the vicinity.
"I have no business with you, other than to make sure you stay put." His crisp words interrupt my conscious and I feel my gut being punched, hard.
I go quiet, knowing I shouldn't have inquired him like that. My lips purse together in an edged line as I take a sharp inhale through my nose.
"Is that what Director Hoshina asked you to do, be my bodyguard so that I don't run away?"
Once more, I receive no response. He gives me a stare that I assume is something he learned from Easter or however they train these businessmen, a look that's designed to intimidate me into rolling over and complying, but I don't give a care in the world. I don't give a damn what he thinks. I just want to escape.
From the corner of my eye, I can catch him smirking mischievously, and for some odd reason it causes me to mimic that smile. The rest of our conversation goes silent, as neither of us choose to do anything but to gander at the lights dimming after midnight.
I'm amazed that I manage to speak. "I never got your name."
The boy shoots an expressionless look at me before returning his mindless gaze at a sparkling object in his hand. He opens his hand like a blossoming flower, revealing a white key that is shaped like a four-leaf clover. Before I can sneak an inspection upon it, he notices me staring, since he snatches it away and stashes it in his front pocket.
"Ikuto," he says and leans closer to the bar. "Tsukiyomi Ikuto."
"Hiroshi Yuna."
Ikuto reveals a small smile and lifts the corners of his eyes towards the concealed moon. You can see it in his face, how badly he yearns its embrace.
"I know," he tells me, and I don't question how.
Despite only having silent and unintentional meetings with him for a couple of weeks, I feel as if I've known Ikuto longer, just by reading the emotions in his eyes. It seems silly too, that I just learn his name, and with a mysterious individual like him, it'd normally be frustrating to communicate. Instead, I allow his presence to enfold me, with nobody else to occupy me, and I accept the company of his silence.
But as we stay like this for the rest of the night, a couple of feet away from each other, legs stiff, eyes that gleam and brim with curiosity, I stupidly smile at the thought. Suddenly it wasn't cold anymore.
We wait until dawn arrives.