.:AN:.

So I've decided Kurama is my hero. Why? I don't have to explain myself to you! It should be obvious (nods head), because he's just brillaint. Just look at his fanbase. It's insane.

So, here's another story, and I hope that you enjoy this as well as read my others! There's more on the way, too!

(Loud groans from readers)

?: Oh, NO! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

Hey! No need for the dramatics!

?: But drama queens get to wear pretty boas!

Oh, God, not you.. my arch nemesis: my Conscience.

Conscience: Yup, it is I—uh…wait...do I even have a name? Is it just 'Conscience'?

Deal, bud. It's the only "family friendly" name I can give you, otherwise I'll probably get in trouble. With the Big Cheese. Up top. If you get my meaning

Conscience: (confused) Dairy products rule Fanfiction?

Uh... Heck yes, man. Now on with the show!

Chapter One: Daydreams Gone Wrong

It's not my fault.

I can't help it—it's just something you can't fight. Like... like wanting to scratch your nose when it itches. Until you scratch it, your nose just keeps itching. No wiggling, or blowing innocent strands of your hair out of your face will really make it stop. So you want to itch it, right? Otherwise, what a pain that'd be, having an itchy nose for the rest of your life.

Okay, that's dramatic. It obviously has to fade sooner or later...

But that's not the point, 'cause I don't have an itchy nose right now.

The point is, while there are many problems that exist solely through the fault of the person suffering from it, this particular problem came uninvited and it's pissing me off. This kind of problem always seems to be associated with an unhealthy amount of rage, something I'm never quite able to wrap my head around.

I bet he knows. It's kind of annoying, and creepy, because he always seems to know. You'd think that a teenager would have better things to do than immerse himself in the fine subtext of the universe, but this guy seems to have missed that particular memo and is calmly wading away. I can't explain it any better than that. Weeks of observation have turned up no overt clues, but there's just something about him that makes me think there's way more behind his words and actions than what are actually said and done.

It's like God gave him superpowers just to get under my skin.

Jerk.

I take a moment to breathe deeply and sink into the rustling hush of our shared classroom, side-eyeing my fellow peers as papers are shuffled and pencils are scratched into desks. Some are focused on the task at hand.

Some are not.

I bet he can feel it. God knows I would. There are times I think someone is staring at me, marking my every move for later speculation. But then again, who would bother? I'm no one important, no one worth spying on. I'm the spy, not the spied.

An enraged spy, but whatever, movies seem to think it's possible.

Just watching the way he looks around the room… how can simply turning your head be so...hypnotizing! It's not right. There should be a law against that. Why isn't there a law against that? Yet again I blame the higher powers. I can curse them for that, right?

I slowly release the tightened grip on my own pencil in order to settle my cheek on the fist instead, and do my best to shift my gaze downward. Yet, seconds later, they rise due to the lack of any form of distraction, and pin themselves to him once more. I already finished my test, I had little to lose.

He sits in front of me.

I'm not someone who fawns over every good-looking guy that just happens to pass by, or say hi, or laugh, or, you know, sit in front of me… I'm really not. There's something else about him, something that never fails to throw me for a loop, and I find myself getting lost in my head trying to translate every minute adjustment he makes in his chair, every tiny brush of his voluminous crimson hair against his back, the hazy gleam he gets in his deep green eyes when he stares without seeing out the classroom window. Those eyes that can reach across the greatest distance with just a glance and grip you where you stand. What kind of teenager possesses those kinds of eyes?

I'm so caught up in my muses that my mind hides away in the depths of my mind.

I can't hear the teacher muttering at his desk.

I can't hear the students scribbling away.

I can't hear…

"Hirotoshi?"

I wonder how soft his hair is. It'd be weird to just touch it, right? Social etiquette, I have that. I think. Maybe I can just ask him what kind of shampoo he uses. Must be something good... I'm thinking flowers. I dunno why, but flowers just kind of suit him. Flowers smell nice. Is it weird for guys to have hair that smells of flowers? Stupid, overly insightful guys are probably allowed.

"Hirotoshi."

I can almost hear him speak my name, his calm voice even and smooth, like water streaming through a riverbank, over rocks and dirt, leveling off any uneven areas… He has a way of speaking that is comforting and gentle, never breaking and never stuttering… it's perfect, just like the whole of him. Perfectly stupid, though.

"Hirotoshi…"

I'm nothing special, as I often remind myself. Don't know why, it's just that every time I arrive at school, I feel nervous, self-conscious…doesn't everyone? Goes double for me, and I tell myself I have a reason. It's a pretty good reason, and when you hear it, you'll agree with me. It's pretty much a fact.

My hair is not smooth and silky-looking. It's frizzy. Poufy. Gross. My face seems to have a permanent blush since I flush so easily…it's so annoying… I'm not all that tall, but I'm not all that short either. I'd say I'm a few inches over five feet, but I'm not always accurate.

I'm not a heavyset girl, I can say that much about myself. I am a bit too thin though. My mom likes to say that if I rub my legs together I'll catch fire. My dad says that my elbows could count as weapons and I'm lucky they let me on school grounds. No matter how much I eat, or exercise, nothing about it seems to change. I suppose I should be grateful, but mostly I'd like to weigh enough so that when the wind is blowing hard, I don't hear jokes about me getting carried away by it.

Beyond all that, the one thing that I feel I would never want to change in my life is my eye color.

They are a dark, dark, dark brown.

So dark, that sometimes you can't even see the pupil…

My mom says that I'm mysterious. That's what my eyes make me, mysterious. She says that they are so… illusory, whatever that may mean, and make me seem like a loner and such. It's true, I guess – since I don't have any friends, I have no choice but to be alone, hence me being a loner.

And right now, those dark, dark, dark, mysterious, illusory eyes are glazed over while my mind reminds me of how enthralling the boy – who seems to be much more than that – in front of me is and how dismal my appearance is in comparison... not to mention my smart-ass attitude. Don't know when it was developed, but it's there now, to stay. I hope. Sometimes, when you're an outcast, the only person you have to entertain you is yourself.

You think you know me at this point? Nice try. While that is a basic summary of my existence, nothing I just told you is why I am truly uncomfortable at school.

What's the kicker, you ask?

"Hirotoshi?"

My name is Mitsuyo Kajima, and everybody thinks I'm a guy.

A gentle yet persistent poke at my shoulder brings me back to the classroom full of students, and I have to force myself not to shriek and jump out of my chair at what's in front of me.

Thick red mane framing piercing emerald eyes and a smooth, angular face.

It's him.

Suichi Minamino.

God have mercy on me.

So let me explain.

It's actually pretty straightforward. When I first submitted my application for Meiou High, one look at the girl's uniform made me want to hurl. It was pink! Normally I don't mind pink. Okay, that's an outright lie—I can't even stand touching pink, let alone wearing it, but this was… despicable. Utterly, horribly… despicable. The skirt was frilly and the top just didn't make me look… normal! Did I mention that I don't like skirts? No? Well, I don't like skirts.

The boy's uniform wasn't much better, with its purple pants and jacket. But at least it didn't have a skirt – and it wasn't pink. Hurray! So I decided the best way to avoid the pinkness was to pretend that I was a boy. Actually, it's not as hard as you'd think it'd be. I go by the name of Hirotoshi Yamamoto, which is very similar to my brother's name, Hiroshi, just in case I need to fib to anyone. "Hirotoshi? Oooh you must mean my brother, Hiroshi!" See what I mean? No one knows, not even my family, because God only knows how that would go down. It's become a certain kind of game, except at this point I'm realizing that it's far more stressful than I really wanted it to be. Still, it's the principle of the matter! I will do what I want, and try to stop me and you'll get an earful. You ever want to go deaf, just piss me off man, and your hearing will be gone in minutes, trust me.

Anyway. Yep. That's why I'm such a weirdo. I have a girl's figure, sometimes I physically act like a girl (for instance, it's really hard not to sway my hips too much. I can't even describe how irritating it is), and I'm always sneaking off when I need to use the bathroom, change for P.E., or whatever situation might jeopardize my "secret."

The fact that I keep staring at Suichi doesn't help that matter.

There's something infuriating about being attracted to one of the most popular guys in school, regardless of the fact that I don't actually like this guy. People probably have already spread a rumor that I'm gay, or something like that. What can I say, I'm a teenage girl. I've got my hormones all over the place. I think I get a little bit of a break. Having everyone think I'm gay, quite honestly, wouldn't be that bad since I'm actually a girl and would rather like not being approached by other girls, but…

It might complicate things a bit.

So, back to the present…

I swallow the cry of surprise that threatened to be released rather roughly, so much so that I hurt my throat. Suddenly I'm more afraid that I'll get hiccups.

That's not something that you want when your object of veneration is staring at you and saying your name repeatedly. Oh, shit. Repeatedly?

"Oh, sorry, Suichi, my mind was, uh, elsewhere. What was it that you wanted?" I ask with a little squeak. Did I hear him call my "name" for the… fourth time?

Shit, man!

"Don't concern yourself over it, Hirotoshi. I was simply wondering if you could lend me a pencil?" Suichi murmurs, taking the conversation in stride.

Immediately, I start nodding stupidly. "Okay, sure…" As I reach down to my satchel, I stop, my brain finally kicking in a bit. "Wait, hold up—what happened to yours?"

That came out a bit rude, but I was confused, not to mention a little hopeful. Maybe he was using this "pencil" business as an excuse to talk to me? No, that can't be right, he's too… I dunno, he's just not the type that would use such a pathetic excuse for something so trivial. Still, it was a nice thought, him being interested in me. Not too much so, actually, because if he was interested in me, and he didn't know I was a girl in disguise, then that meant that he was gay! But, then again, he might not be attracted to me because I'm a "guy," but because of my personality and he might be freaked out because he's scared that he may be gay and…

My head hurts.

Maybe he just needs a pencil.

"It's nothing, really," he says softly, looking just slightly sheepish. "I just broke my pencil while finishing up our homework, but everyone else is still testing. I couldn't help but notice that you were done as well, so, instead of sharpening my pencil and disrupting the class, I was hoping you could assist me?"

See, that is SO much simpler than that "attraction" junk.

"Oh, right," I reply hastily, blushing slightly as my voice rises a little. Now I feel stupid for making him explain himself. "Just give me a moment to get it out of my bag."

Here's another thing you ought to know about me—when I'm rushed, I become extremely clumsy. And even if I'm not rushing, I'm even clumsier when someone is either waiting for me or watching me.

Since Suichi is doing both, and I'm rushing, I have no choice but to be extremely clumsy.

My hand disappears in my briefcase-looking bag, thrashing around as I search frantically for another pencil before Suichi decides to borrow a pencil from someone else…

I can't find one.

Typical.

Stupid things stab me every time I reach in there, and the one time…

My hand jerks around, praying to a number of Gods in many different languages that I could for once do something right and feel the smooth wood of the pencil somewhere in the bottom of my bag.

They obviously weren't listening, and I didn't know that many Gods, or languages, to begin with.

Maybe they heard me earlier contemplating if I should curse them?

Sighing exasperatedly, I rise from my hunched position, and give my bag a healthy glare. It never failed, did it? Anytime you desperately want something that you have every other moment you don't need it, it's not there. Screw you, bag. We're not friends anymore.

I grab my own pencil and hold it out in front of me. "Sorry, I can't find my extra at the moment. Here, you can use mine," I tell Suichi without really looking at his face, but then I almost stop breathing when I catch sight of him.

He's staring at me.

Like, actually. And not in a weird, "dear-God-what-is-wrong-with-this-person" way either. It's almost appraising?

Talk about a turn of the table.

I don't exactly know why. It's not like there's anything worth staring at. Just thinking about how unworthy I am of this attention causes my face to flush, which automatically makes me want to duck my head.

But then he smiles, and slowly took the pencil from my hand. Our fingers brushed against each other, and shivers run down my spine like water droplets and I'm honestly paralyzed. I know that my hands are shaking and my face burns even brighter. I try to smile, but it's trembling at best.

His hands were soooo smooth… great, now I'm gushing too.

His smile grows wider, though for what reason, I am not sure. It has to be my blush. The git, laughing at my glowing cheeks. I can't help it! God! "Thank you very much, Hirotoshi, I assure you that I will return it as soon as this class is dismissed." Then he turns around to continue whatever he was doing before he broke his pencil tip.

I'm staring again, damn it.

And I know that this time, it's my fault.

So maybe I do have a teeny…crush…on Suichi Minamino.

And I know that it may not go away for a while.

...So neither will my blush.

.:AN:.

I also wanted to say that the whole fic isn't going to be about a gaga girl that has absolutely no life, okay? She does have some importance, one that will be briefly touched on in the next chapter. Before being molested for the rest of the story. I think that came out wrong. Also, Suichi Hatanaka, Kurama's stepbrother, will probably have his own chapters included as well. IT WILL BE GOOD! PROMISE!

So, please Read and Review—TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! I hope you liked it, and I'd like to have at least one review before I start another chapter, just so that I know whether or not my story is being read or I'm writing for absolutely no one…