~ Why not? ~
White hills roll over the bed— the fickle smell of salty and greasy popcorn whisk together with a constant giggle—she couldn't stop. Oh no, god forbid she went silent for the video on the large flat-screen dangling by hooks upon a wall—her silence would only mean rage, in which no one can handle.
"The groupies are going to be so crazy after this," she snickers—hands caked in butter and lips shimmering while she pops another handful of popcorn into her mouth. "I feel bad for you," she sneaks a glance to the form lying beside her.
"It's not that bad," he tries—eyes stuck on the television as music fills the room; the image of a mountain view in black and white, rocky hills in the foreground along with a snaking river in the middle.
The woman snorts before pointing to the male walking up the rocky hill—shirtless—to reveal his perfectly sculpted abs; wearing nothing but jeans.
"Please tell me you're joking, "She slyly chuckles.
"It's not that bad," he repeats.
"You're wearing nothing but jeans," she states.
"Still not that bad."
"Come on! You're walking on rocks without shoes—you can't deny it; it's totally going against logic."
"It's not that bad," he sighs while watching her eyes pace from the video to him. "I'm making a fashion statement—"
"More like: promoting hospitals," she interrupts as she scraps the bottom of the blue-bowl. "As your best-friend, I have to tell you the honest true, and the truth is—this video is complete garbage," she rebuts with pride.
He smiles softly for her ways—bright-ocean blue eyes on her form as she scratches at the bottom of the bowl. "And as your best-friend, I have to tell you—there's no more popcorn, so stop scrapping the old butter off the bottom—it's gross," he sits up from the sheets, making their ruffles seem like desperate cries for his departure.
She smirks for his jab, but it doesn't do much to her spirits—they've known each other for years—since they were little kids (six-years-old, maybe). There wasn't one thing that he could say to bring her down, well, nothing that came to mind.
"As your guest, you should be getting me more popcorn," she chuckles; placing the empty bowl forcefully in his palms, she watches him stand—sun-kissed skin and white as winter hair that sways with his step.
"I shouldn't be feeding you all this crap," he stops—eyes on the bowl and then to the woman. "You are a famous soccer play, Karin," she gawks for his sudden comment and rolls her eyes.
"New flashlight pretty-boy, I'm a professional athlete—one that works-out all of her calories in one day. I think I have the right – no the privilege – to eat as much popcorn as I want," with each word she narrows her eyes on the male.
The young woman knows her schedule like clock-work: wake-up in the morning and go for a jog, eat nothing but healthy foods for breakfast, go to the training center where she'd train for hours on end—by the end of her training she and the team would be shaking like crazy since they didn't have any calories left to burn. Once done with training, she'd go home, shower, ice her aching muscles, watch a little television, eat healthy and wait—wait for her famous best-friend who had all the women in Japan at his feet, drooling over his voice, abs and turquoise eyes.
She hates it—not only because they were strangers who didn't know shit about her best-friend, but for the fact she's been in love with the singer since they were kids—not that sappy love that's in movies, but the best-friend love that old-people have in public or in family gatherings—they knew everything about each other, and where there for everything; she wanted the same thing but with more romance—sadly, she's never had the guts to do it.
So, stuck in her repeated daily-life, she plays the best-friend everyday—even when it kills her to see the groupies he takes home and sleeps with; but she does it.
"Fine, fine, "he sighs in defeat—he knows there was no-way he'd be able to convince her; that's just the way his best-friend is—she been like that since they were kids.
"Remember to put extra-butter again, Toshi!" she shouts—he waves off the request, completely ignoring the annoying name that she's engraved into her vocabulary like the alphabet.
The door closes as the singer heads down to his expensive kitchen—Karin huffs as she lays back on the massive bed—it was one of those days—the one's where he'd call her to come over because he finished a video-shot for his next big-hit – it was like a ritual now: he'd get home, call her and tell the soccer player to come over, she'd arrive, they'd eat pizza or take-out, later they'd find themselves in his bedroom look at the new-video while her body is cladded in either a pair of his boxers and a shirt, or her own pajama's she left at his house.
She turns onto her side—shirt slightly unbuttoned to reveal the heap of her somewhat large chest, long raven locks swimming over the white sheets that purely smell of her love, grey-eyes looking over the familiar room and plush lips greased with butter—this is her life—the same one that aches her heart every time the tabloids would print something with another woman or his girlfriend.
Never ever—not in a million year—would she tell Toshiro though. There were too many things that could go wrong: their friendship (probably not), families getting into fights (most likely not)—okay, there was nothing that could make it all end badly—she was just, just too afraid of rejection to tell him.
Think about it—being rejected by your very own best-friend? It's a terrible thought, not one that she could stomach.
"Histugaya Toshiro, he is one hell of a man," the soccer player sighs for the news reporter's statement—she could only agree with the woman.
"He maybe good-looking, but according to the press, he's quite the player" the male anchor rebuts in his fancy suit with his hair slicked back.
"The biggest player out there," Karin chuckles; arm crossed, her eyes and lips holding a sad smile—her best-friend is known for hooking-up with his groupies – not just once (oh no, he has more sex than that), but twice – if he really enjoys that one girl, he may take her number and give her the title: "Groupie" with a side of emoji's that symbolize her for her special talents in bed.
She loves him though—to the press (herself), the groupies and foreseer's, he's nothing but a good-looking guy with a voice, who can't keep it in his pants—but to Karin he is all that, but much more: he's the boy next door who lived with his old-granny, loves watermelon and eats it like he'll die without it, he's one of the smartest, most stubborn, proper and polite guys you'd ever meet, and there's so much more to him—they'll never know that side of Toshiro though.
"True, but there's a good side to him right?" the woman continues—the soccer player groans as she grabs the remote, ready to switch the channel. "I mean, he's best-friends with Kurosaki Karin—one of the best forwards on the female soccer team for this country—also, according to our lucky star, she and Toshiro have never slept together."
"True," Karin mutters; lowering the remote to her lap she stares at the screen—she and Toshiro haven't slept together – well, they've slept in the same bed together but they never did anything sexual—heck, he's never kissed her either.
"But Kurosaki-san has a boyfriend of two-years, remember? Hanakari Jinta—another famous man," the man snickers.
Karin narrows her eyes for the mention of Jinta—they've been together for two-years, but she didn't really have any feelings for the red-head—she only started dating him to get Toshiro out of her heart, he knew that too, but, her efforts failed and she's still deeply in love with her best-friend. To be honest, her "boyfriend" annoyed her, but he could be a good-guy (when he tries).
"What about Histuagaya-kun and his girlfriend?"—the soccer players' lips tighten for the mention. "The angel of a person and actress: Hinamori Momo—he hasn't cheated on her".
Another true fact, but the only reason why he hasn't cheated on the actress is because she's constantly calling him, pushing threats at females who look at the singer too long (even the soccer player), won't allow anyone alone with him, unless she's there as well. The pretend angel was actually a real bitch who needed to be hit hard— with a car—scratch that; a bus is better.
.
.
Why not?
.
.
He stares at the red popcorn-maker as the white pieces of corn jump into the air with a friendly pop. The singer looks over the kitchen to reassure that everything was done.
"Blenders out for Karin in the morning—her clothes are clean and folded in the bathroom upstairs—my pagers, cell-phones, PDA, computer and tablets are charging—I called Momo earlier, so I don't need to call her again, right?—my alarm clock is set for both I and Karin, and I turned on the sprinters for the front and back lawn," he reminds himself. "Yup, everything's done."
Since everything was done, he was left to enjoy the soccer-players presence—he loved when she came over; it gave him a break from being a pop-star with crazy fan-girls, and allowed him to be a normal guy who has flaws—with Karin he can be rude, burp in her face and fart in her presence – disgusting: yes, but when you can't fart with freedom, you'll take anytime you can.
Thankfully, she doesn't mind—actually, the soccer player makes it a competition, which told him: there's no gross boundary with Karin.
'Buzz! Buzz!' he hears from one of his cell-phones; glancing over he notices it's his girlfriend calling.
The singer tries to ignore since she was nothing but a pest—at first he thought Momo was a nice girl (which she is), but after they began having sex she became obsessive. Before the actress would scream at Karin for being around him—once she even yelled at Karin for give him a high-five—now, she goes ape-shit if Karin's within a meter of him.
Tonight is going to be a relaxing night—no crazy girlfriend, no managers ringing his ear off, no press at his throat, definitely no groupies around his house and responsibility is thrown out the window. All he is going to do tonight consists of buttery popcorn, farting, burping, laughing at his and Karin's advertisements failures, cheesy and corky movies, milkshakes, pizza (maybe), childish games like would you rather, and cuddling up with his best-friend after they pass-out.
Simple night. Just what he needs—with his best-friend.
"Toshiro!" his eyes look over to the staircase to see Karin peeking over the railing—breast dangling and raven-lock swaying in the air, while her eyes look over his form.
"What's up?" the singer calmly asks.
"I think the popcorns done," she points to the machine—quickly he scrambles to turn off the maker and place the corn into the blue bowl. "Seems like someone is off in dreamland," he frowns slightly for her witty-remark—he was in dreamland; one that needed to be perfectly executed.
"I was think about something," Toshiro tells her; the soccer player climbs down the staircase.
"This something being?" she trails; elbow resting on the kitchen-island and eyes stuck on his form.
She watches as the singer pours the melted butter into the bowl—placing the lid on top he shakes the popcorn. "I missed you around here for the last week or two, "he admits.
"I've been busy," she plainly answers.
"With what? Jinta?" he growls.
"Such a tone could be preserved as jealousy," she sneers.
"Please? Me jealous of that red-head?"
"Well, he does get all of this," she points to her body.
"Oh yeah? I bet I'm better in bed."
"Momo would kill you for that comment."
"What she doesn't know won't hurt her—"
"Correction. Once she finds out it will kill her—and news-flashes Mr. Emoji, I'm the only girl in your life that hasn't slept with you, you might want to keep that record going before the press starts calling you a man-whore insisted of a sexy play-boy."
She had a point there—Momo is probably the first girl he hasn't cheated on, which could explain her craziness—that and the tabloids had every tale of his cheating ways on a magazine cover.
"I respect you for that," he points to the soccer-star as he pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth. "We should totally celebrate that on-going record," the singer moves to the cabinet and pulls out an old bottle of rum before grabbing his home-phone.
"Nice try," Karin chuckles. "It's not the first time you tried to get in my pants with aged-liquor and greasy pizza."
Toshiro raises a brow, leans over the counter—staring into her onyx-eyes, her breath on his cheek for their closeness. "When did I ever use that move on you?"
"My sixteenth birthday—my dad and brother ended-up getting drunk, you and I snuck over to your house, you took out your granny's oldest bottle of scotch and a phone-book," she lines out the details—when his face twists into confusion she grins. "You then say, and I quote: 'Now that we're closer to adulthood, how about we have some adult fun and have some greasy-intoxicated-hot sex, while my granny is out of town'."
"That was a sarcastic joke," he bashfully chuckles for her memory. "I'm surprised you even remember that, that was—pfft— ages ago."
"I'm a woman," she chirps. "We don't forget."
"Please, you forgot to wear panties two-weeks ago!" he scoffs.
She grimaces for the reminder. "Well that's why I have you," she caresses his cheek "You're my little pantie-bitch."
"You know how ironic that is since I've never been in those panties?" Toshiro snickers before putting the rum away.
"I thought you wanted to know why I was so busy this week," Karin decided to change the topic for both their benefit.
"Riight! Riight!" he repeats—throwing popcorn into her mouth, the singer smirks. "Please, great ol' mighty Karin, tell me what you were busy with for the last week"—the mockery in his voice usually occurred when he believed she ignored his calls and text-messages, even the sudden visits to her house.
"Somehow," she stops to chew the popcorn. "Rukia—my brothers thing—got a hold of my manager."
"Thing? What the hell is that?" Toshiro snaps.
"Easy—best-friend, fuck-buddy, co-worker, house-mate and therapist," Karin says casually—he looks at her with confusion. "Basically, a thing, is my brothers way of saying: he's too much of a pussy to make her a girlfriend – okay, they've been at it for a few years – so, forget the girlfriend-title. He's too afraid to make her a fiancée," she corrects.
"Seems like your brother," Toshiro sighs "Anyways, what did she want from your manager?"
"She directing this music video for some big-time American pop-star, and she wants me to be in the music-video"—his jaw nearly drops to the floor for the news. "It's nothing big—"
"Nothing big?!" he shouts. "Karin! You're finally entering the big-leagues!"
"Soccer is a big league," she growls. "Some of those players from other countries are double my size."
He sighs in frustration. "That's not what I meant—by being in a music-video it will showcase your career and others will want you."
"Jinta isn't good enough?" she raises a brow.
"Not that kind of want, idiot" he flicks her forehead. "I mean: rappers, singers, shows, and play-boy—"
"Actually they contacted me this week too," she interrupts.
"That's my jig," his sudden excitement ends. "What the hell do they want with you?"
"It's just an interview," she waves off the issue. "It's not like I'm going to become the next super-model of play-boy. They're probably writing some piece on you –again—and need information from me."
"What more information can they want? They know everything about me," the singer groans; Karin shrugs before grabbing the popcorn and heading towards the stairs.
"Don't know and don't care!" she exclaims. "Now, hurry up before we miss the beginning of the cheesy romance marathon on Movie Time!" Karin snaps.
"Please, you just can't wait for 'Pretty Woman' to come on," he snickers as he runs up the stairs behind her.
"You and I are such similar creatures Vivian. We both screw people for money," (A/N: an actual quote from Pretty Woman—trust me, it is), she mocks with a grin.
"Are you trying to state: one of us is a prostitute?" he questions as they enter his room once again.
"If one of us were, it'd definitely be you," she flops onto his bed and switches the channel. "You've definitely have had more sex than me, and with countless people—I'm surprised you still have a penis."
"Just shut-up and watch the cheesy movie" he nudges her slightly as their eyes watch Titanic on the large screen—later on, they both knew Pretty Woman would be playing and Karin would say the lines with Julia Roberts.
Both the soccer-player and singer, didn't know this would be (most likely) the last time they could have one of these nights together—things were about to change.
.
.
.
Image of this chapter: a Mountain View in the background, river in the middle-ground and rocky-hill in the foreground.
Basically to those who read (Pug's love and the Deep end) know this style of fic for me—but for those who haven't read it, I'll explain.
So, everyday I use a random picture generator—I have three tries (only); if I change the picture more than three times (which happens), I have to restart my browser and restart my three tries. Anyways, with that picture, I incorporate it into the chapter and at the end reveal the image. This story should be updated everyday (hopefully). The gif to this style—it's basically my first idea, worked, edited and continued after a ten-minute free-write. That's basically it!
Until next chapter!
R&R