Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Ken moves into the busy streets of Tokyo, and finds himself rooming with four super models. They are determined to transform Ken from the plain 'boy-next-door' to the hottie, they are sure is hidden underneath. But who to impress? How about that passionate-looking redhead, who lives in the apartment building next to them?

Author's Notes: Based on the movie, "Head Over Heels" starring Monica Potter and Freddie Prince Jr.

Warnings: Swearing and yaoi; Ran x Ken, and a surprise pairing :)


Head Over Heels:

Chapter Two:

"He's not worth it."

"...I know," I respond, sniffling. My best friend, Yuriko, sighs and hands me another kleenex.

"I bet the kid really isn't as pretty as you made him out to be," she says, rubbing her hand on my shoulder consolingly. On the small television set at the corner of her bedroom, Bridget Jones' Diary plays statically on the screen.

Glaring at the intimate scene between Hugh Grant and Renee Zellweger, I sniffle some more and blow my nose on the fresh kleenex before crumpling it up and throwing it away in the waste basket, adding to my new collection of mangled and gooey tissue. "I didn't say he was pretty, I said he was hot. He came straight out of a fashion magazine!" I clutch Yuriko's flowery comforter to my chest, squeezing my eyes shut as a wave of emotion passes through me.

"Well," Yuriko begins, thoughtfully. "Didn't I say that Kase wasn't the type to think with his brain?"

I send her a sheepish smile. "You mean he'd rather think with his other brain. The one situated in the lower half of his body." At this, she laughs out loud.

"Men are bastards," she states, plainly, giving me a meaningful look.

I arch my brow at her. "Then wouldn't that make me one, too?"

She waves her arm, heedlessly. "You don't count. You're usually the girl in the relationship anyway."

Giving her a disapproving and affronted look, I say, "I prefer the term submissive. I'm no girl."

"Details, details," she responds, giggling into her hand. Jumping out of the bed, she hops towards her dressing table to grab the half-eaten pint of Haagen-Dazs ice cream. "This calls for an excuse to get fat!"

"You mean an excuse for me to get fat," I say, grabbing the ice cream away from her greedy, junk-food loving hands. "I'm the one who got dumped." I take the spoon being offered to me and scoop out a large chunk of vanilla ice cream, stuffing it into my mouth as I watch Yuriko proceed to dig in after me. "If we're such bastards, why do you put up with us?"

Yuriko pauses in her attempt to stuff her mouth with the largest scoop of ice cream known to history, and scratches her head contemplatively. Smiling, she says, "I guess it's 'cause your kind's too cute to give up on. No matter how frustrating you are." Gesturing to the television set, she growls at the screen. "How the hell did someone like Bridget get a man like Mark Darcy anyway?"

"Maybe you need to fatten yourself up, after all," I say, chuckling. "That or you need to start smoking and overindulge yourself with alcohol."

"But I do that anyway," she exclaims, indignantly.

I hand over the carton of ice cream and squeeze her boney arm, pointedly. "Then get fat."


Despite Yuriko's attempts to convince me to live with her, I set out for an apartment-hunt the very next day. After touring about the city's condominiums and turning down several offers for shared apartments, I arrive at a tall complex that appears to have been built only recently. Glancing down at the crumpled flyer I had ripped off a lamp post earlier this morning, I silently wonder why anyone living here would need to rent out a spare room. Studying the perfectly clean, ceiling-high windows, and considering the district the complex is situated in, I begin to wonder if the rent really is only ¥20, 000 a month. Gripping the handle of my duffle bag, tightly, I approach the front steps of the building.

The only person in the lobby is an old security guard, sitting behind a desk with his feet propped up, reading a magazine in a bored and careless fashion. Gripping the flyer, I approach the man cautiously.

"Erm, I'm looking for a Tsukiyono Omi in room 1801," I tell the man, when he looks up inquiringly.

He gives me a suspicious look when he hears the room number. "What are ya here fer?" he asks, studying me from head to toe.

"Uh," I respond intelligently. "I'm responding to a flyer. It says they're looking for a roommate." I hand over the crumpled piece of paper and he takes it.

After skimming the flyer, he turns around and pushes one of the many buttons on the intercom attached to the wall. "Tsukiyono! Someone's here ta rent yer room."

After a moment of silence, a cheerful voice responds with an "ok!" and the security guard turns back towards me, and gestures towards the elevators straight ahead. "On the 18th floor, can't miss it. S'the only room on that floor."

The only room? I nod my head and mutter a "thanks" before heading towards the elevators, but not before I overhear the security guard grumble, "Those pansies rentin' out a room fer Christ's sakes." As I wait for the lift, I wonder what sort of people they might be if they're able to afford an apartment that takes up a whole floor.

The elevator gives a soft 'ping' and the doors open. However, before I have the chance to take a step inside the lift, I find myself sprawling on the newly polished floors of the lobby. I realize a second later, with my head throbbing from the impact with the solid floor, that a large... thing is slobbering its digusting saliva all over the front of my face. Faintly, I hear the panicked voice of the owner of this monster.

"Doug! Bad dog! Bad dog," he exclaims, reproachfully. I feel the pressure on my body lift when the man tugs the manic canine away forcefully. "I'm really sorry about that! Are you okay?"

Blinking several times to clear my head, my eyes slowly focus on the figure looking down at me with a worried gaze. "Hey, you okay?" he asks again.

"I-I'm okay," I answer, reassuringly, lifting myself up with the man's offered assistance. "You should really train that dog of yours," I say, glancing up at the man's face and widening my eyes in disbelief.

He shakes his head and smiles warmly at me. "He's not mine. I'm just walking him as a favour for a friend." I can only nod, stupidly, in response as I stare at the bright, red hair framing his beautifully pale complexion and amethyst-coloured eyes. I attempt to give the man's body a discreet and casual once-over, barely managing to keep a gasp from escaping my mouth from what I see. The man's choice of attire for the day differs greatly from my own. I gulp nervously as I think about how uncool it is wearing a T-shirt and jeans while standing beside a perfectly groomed man, wearing an impeccable black suit over a deep, red, button-down shirt.

Raising my eyes to his once more, I feel the heat rise to my cheeks at the intense, but sincere, look he gives me. Looking into the deep purple of his eyes, I lose the strength in my legs and collapse onto the polished floors again.

"Whoa," he exclaims, picking me up off the floor for the second time. "I hope Doug didn't do any damage to your legs," he says, frowning at the doberman, currently yipping at the security guard.

Spread my lips in a tentative smile, I say, "N-no, no damage done. T-Thanks for helping me." The redheaded beauty turns back to me with a soft expression on his face and I attempt to swallow down my agitation. Glancing down, I realize that his large, perfectly-manicured hands are still clutching my wrists protectively. Seeing the blush creep across my cheeks again, the stranger glances down and releases his hold immediately, averting his eyes to the security guard currently using his magazine to swat Doug away with little success.

He turns back to me with a hint of a smile on his beautiful lips. "Guess I'll see you around, then," he says, nodding his head and turning around to free the red-faced security guard of the doberman's deadly slobber.

For a moment, I forget the reason why I entered the building in the first place, but the 'ping' of the elevator jolts me back to reality.


"The living room and kitchen will be shared among the five of us, and it's been decided that the laundry room would be given to you since none of us need to do laundry anyway," Omi, my potential roommate, says as he begins to lead me down the narrow hallway, filled with eight doors on either side. Curiously, I wonder how anybody would need so many rooms in an apartment. Omi proceeds to walk all the way down to the end of the hallway and unlocks the last door on the right, swinging it open to reveal a very bleak but well-kept room.

"We figured it wouldn't hurt to make some extra cash out of this clos-- er, room," Omi continues, quick to correct his little slip. "I hope it isn't too small for you." Indeed, the room is much smaller and less impressive than the other rooms I've seen in the loft. However, I think, the room could be easily spruced up with a few of my favourite J-League soccer posters.

With that in thought, I toss my duffle bag carelessly onto the squeeky mattress situated at the corner of the room in a slightly rusty bed frame. "S'good enough for me," I say, turning to the small blond with a wide grin.

The boy's blue eyes widen and and he smiles in return. "Excellent," he exclaims. "Rent will be collected on the first Sunday of every month, so you still have a few days before you hand me the first payment. Remember, the price includes everything from internet access to electricity. None of us actually eat together during meals because of our work schedules but you're welcome to take anything from the kitchen if you're hungry. Don't worry about the groceries. We've hired a maid to do that for us."

"You guys have a maid?" I ask in surprise, thinking that my new roommates must be pretty well off to afford one.

Omi nods his head. "Of course! None of us are ever around long enough to take care of this place, much less shop for groceries. Although now that I think about it, it has been a long time since I last saw Isabella," he trails off, distractedly. "You probably won't see her much, either. She usually comes while everyone's gone so we won't get in her way when she cleans."

I nod my head in response, wondering if I'll ever be able to adapt to such luxury. Omi's eyes brighten up again and he immediately scurries out of the room, insisting he make some tea. Smiling at his enthusiasm, I follow the blond out of the room at a slower pace, taking my time to admire the abstract paintings decorating the hallway.

When I reach the living room, my eyes immediately fall on a young boy sitting calmly on one of the leather couches. His brown eyes rest on me at the same time, studying me with a calculating gaze. "Hello," he says, with a hint of curiosity in his voice. "Who are you?"

"Nagi," Omi greets with a wide grin as he walks out of the kitchen with a tray filled with four tea cups, a tea pot, and a small platter of biscuits. "Meet our new roommate, Ken! Ken, this is Nagi. He lives here, too." Gracefully, he sets the tray down on the coffee table and proceeds to fill three cups with tea.

"Hi," I greet a bit nervously, stepping a few feet closer and extending my hand. Hesitantly, he grasps my hand lightly and nods his head in acknowledgement.

"Where are the others?" Omi inquires, sipping at his tea. Eagerly, I make for the biscuits.

Nagi takes a sip from his own cup. "They should be here soon," he says, with a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"Ken," Omi exclaims, quickly changing the subject. "So what do you for a living? Is your work place nearby?"

I scratch the back of my head, sheepishly, as I seat myself on the leather sofa adjacent to the couch, suddenly feeling a little self-concious. "I work full-time as a sports instructor for a few middle schools and high schools in the area, but I specialize in soccer so I have a part-time job coaching a little-league team as well."

Omi's blue eyes widen in amazement. "So you're an athlete? Wow, that's fantastic! I'm not supposed to take part in vigorous activities, but I'd love to see you play some time."

"Why aren't you supposed to play?" I ask, curiously. I realize now that Omi and Nagi are not only small in structure, but somewhat delicate as well. The tones of their skins are very pale, unlike my sun-bronzed skin, and their bodies are scrawny and effeminate.

"It comes with the job, I guess," Omi explains, forming his lips into a little pout. Nagi doesn't respond and continues to sip at his tea, silently. I am about to ask Omi what he meant when the entrance door swings open with a resounding 'bang'! The three of us jump at the sudden intrusion and stare at the lanky, yet somewhat muscular, newcomer.

"I'm home," he calls out with a lazy drawl, to no one in particular. Before I can catch a glimpse of the man's face, he swishes his body around and heads for the kitchen.

"Welcome back, Yoji," Omi responds, cheerfully. "Our new roommate's here!"

"Already?" the man named Yoji exclaims in disbelief. At the same time a second man strides through the door with a confident air about him, his long flaming-red hair swishing behind him as he went.

"Omi," he commands, authoritatively. "Get me snack. I'm tired." With that, he flops himself onto the leather sofa, opposite me.

Scowling, Omi says, "Get yourself a snack! I'm not your maid!"

But Omi's reprimands go unnoticed, as the long-haired man stares at me with a suspicious look. "Who've we got here?" he asks, jutting his chin in my direction with a friendly smirk.

"Hey," I smile back, waving my hand in greeting. "I'm Ken. I'll be living here for the next little while." Something in the back of my mind tells me that I've seen this man somewhere before, but I can't seem to pinpoint exactly where...

"I'm Schuldich," he says, grinning wider and baring his perfectly white teeth.

"I'm Yoji," the man from before says loudly, waltzing into the living room in a similar fashion as Schuldich. My eyes take in his familiar appearance immediately. The man has shoulder-length, wavy, brown hair and green eyes, and his body is clothed in a completely out-of-my-budget ensemble, much like the outfit he was wearing in that fashion advertisement I saw the other day, hidden in one of Yuriko's not-so-secret picture album of guys that fit her dream description.

Realizing a little too late that I'm staring at Yoji with my mouth open, I clamp it shut and cough into my hand, conspicuously.

"S-So," I begin, blushing furiously. "You're all... models?"

...To Be Continued.


Author's Notes:

Thank you very much to everyone who left a review for the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed this one as well.