There were only a few words exchanged to explain the situation. Neither said anything as they headed to the empty room next to the Host Club. Kiko coiled her tape measure around he fingers, nervous and shy. She had run to him, but all of her enegey had been drained when he turned towards her. Her heart suddenly beat a thousand miles per hour and she wanted the slip into her brown sweater and hide. She had been waiting to see him, to see his body, to measure him...And that what she was about do, if she could get past her schoolgirl crush.
Her lips were pressed onto a thin line as she unpacked her tapes and notebooks. She flipped to the page that held his measurements from past years and turned back to him. She gulped and forced her voice not to shake.
"Stand against the wall, please."
She watched with hawk like eyes and he did what he was asked. She scrutinized the markings on the wall and frowned. He'd grown four inches since the first time. Hopefully the outfits she made before weren't too tight. She quickly write down his new height.
"Shirt off, please."
Kiko had to fight with herself to keep her voice steady, unwavering. Part of her wanted to just melt into a puddle on the floor. All of her senses were on fire and her hands itches to say 'screw it' and draw him instead of do what she needed. Why couldn't any of her regular models have a body as beautiful as his?
"Relax, please."
Mori breathed in and then let it out. "Like this," he asked, speaking what Kiko assumed to be the first time that afternoon. She wondered if he said more to than a few words to Honey. Most likely. She envied him the privilege to hear Mori's smooth voice more than once.
"Perfect," she answered, her lips curving into a warm smile. She whipped out the tape measure and slowly pulled it around the widest part of his torso, her fingers twitching whenever she came in contact with skin that was far too soft to be human. She wanted to leave her hands on him, to feel him, to-
Kiko shook her head to clear her thoughts and jotted down the size. She crouched down in front of him and hooked her fingers through his belt loops. "Do you mind?" she asked, sounding a million times calmer than she actually was. Her mind was abuzz with thoughts that should not be said out loud.
"No."
Taking a deep breath, she tugged down his pants just below the hem of his boxers. She forced herself to let go and reached for her measuring tape. She quickly measured his waist and pushed away, sliding easily on the frequently polished floor.
"Are we done?"
Kiko shook her head and pulled out a foot measure. "Take your shoes off." She waited patiently as he did. When he was done, she scooted forward and placed the metal measure under his foot. This was the last thing she had to do. And then he could leave…
"Mori."
"Yes?"
"You know that…" She took a deep breath. "That I…About you…"
"Kiko."
She was happy. He said her name. It's been so long since she heard it on his tongue. To sound was heavenly to her. It gave her courage to continue. "No, let me finish."
"Kiko, stop."
"I really like you. You know that. I've always-" She stood, wanting to stand face to face with him.
"Kiko, enough."
"-liked you. Since I first measured your body. And I love that body. And-"
"Maruko!"
She stopped talking. He had only called her by her full name once. That was when she was staring at him and accidently stabbed Honey with her needle. She thought he hated her until the next time she saw him. He apologized for yelling with a curt "sorry" and walked away.
"Mori, I'm…" What was she apologizing for? For trying to tell him her feelings? For trying to be honest to him? Why didn't he listen to her? Why could he let her talk to him?
He tugged on his shirt and shoes in record time. He cast a sad look towards her and exits the room without a word.
Kiko slumped against the white wall and hugged her knees. "Maruko," she muttered, a sob escaping her throat. She covered her mouth with her hands but tears leaked out, flowing over her fingers. She wiped the lipstick and eye shadow from her face and threw the tape measure across the floor. For once in her life, the urge to draw was not consuming her.
