Disclaimer: I make no claim to the ownership of any Eyeshield 21 characters. Eyeshield 21 and all its facets belong to Riichiro Inagaki, who is awesome. This is not for profit, simply personal entertainment with the intent to improve my writing.

Chapter Four

She fled to the kitchen, not sure what to believe. She turned on the shirt, the innocent lavender shirt with the large red, unrelenting stain. Soaking had not helped. She ate a creampuff, and another, and then another. How could he? She thought she understood him. Apparently, she could not be more wrong. Going out with her just for blackmail, and oh did he have it. She was alone in his apartment. Worse, she had demanded it, to clean his shirt. Worse still, she had sat on his lap, her in this dress and he without any shirt at all. He probably even had a photo for evidence. Slowly, she crumpled to the floor, the box of creampuffs in one hand, the wet shirt in the other. She set the box beside her and pulled out the last dessert. Somehow, the sweet tasted salty.

Hiruma stood silently in the doorway to the kitchen. It seemed, she had really liked him. She did not anymore, that was for sure, but she had. He sighed and turned away. He had a phone call to make.

Mere seconds later, he returned. This time, Mamori noticed, having fallen to her back to stare at the ceiling. She grasped blindly for the empty styrofoam box and haphazardly threw it at her ex-boyfriend. The box fluttered weakly. Hiruma caught it.

"You are a jerk, Hiruma Youichi. A devil in human skin, evil."

"Kekeke, what else did you think I was? You're the one who confessed." He carefully placed the empty box on the counter. He wondered if she was drunk now. She had seemed off earlier from just three or four creampuffs. If she was drunk, the ride he had arranged was useless. She wouldn't be able to stay on a motorbike and he could not allow anyone to find out she was drunk, so a taxi was out of the question. He would just have to wait it out.

She glared up at him from her spot on the floor. She felt funny, but the cool tile was soothing. Her face crinkled with drying tear tracks, and her nose was stuffy. "You're a jerk." She sniffed, and tears welled up once again.

He chuckled and slid down against the doorway to the kitchen. Hiruma sat with his legs splayed out, completely at home on the floor. "I've always been a jerk. You liked me anyway." He murmured, clinging somewhat to something he knew would vanish as soon as she left.

She rolled onto her stomach to look at him better. Her face was fully red. Definitely drunk. He laughed a bit louder, drunk off of creampuffs. Only her. Mamori glared and pointed an unstable finger at him. "Don't laugh at me, you, you... meanie... head."

Hiruma only laughed louder, "Sure, sure, whatever you say, Anezaki."

"Ooh," She banged her fists on the ground, splashing herself with the shirt. Reminded, she shoved it angrily in his face. "You did this on purpose! This stain, it's not coming out and I've tried everything..." Mamori trailed off, feeling defeated. She hiccoughed. Subdued, Hiruma averted his eyes.

He gingerly took the shirt from her and absently felt the cloth. "It's wine," he said, his tone quieter without his usual manic affections. "The stain is sweet, red wine, it won't come out, Anezaki."

"No, it's creampuff filling." She said obstinately, inebriation slowing her typically rapid fire brain. Hiruma waited. "Oh." She laid her head on the floor, touching her cheek to it. It was surprisingly clean, considering the rest of the apartment, but sloppiness is different from actual dirtiness. Still, she would not have expected Hiruma to go to the trouble. She looked up at him, sitting next to her. Tentatively, she stretched out her fingers and caught the edge of his pant leg. She tugged on it. "I can fix a wine stain, maybe," she mumbled. "Why did you call me by name? You only do that when you're praising someone."

He leered, "Kekeke, fuck yeah, it's got to be a world record, getting drunk from so little alcohol."

"Call me Mamori."

"What?"

"Anezaki isn't good enough. Apologize more. Ma-mo-ri." She drew out her name, tauntingly just as he often had when calling her manager. Somehow, she was absolutely confident that was why he was using her name. Hiruma's entire face screwed up in distaste.

"Tch, the hell I will. You're laying in the middle of my kitchen floor, drunk, just be glad I haven't molested you."

Mamori giggled, "It's a very nice floor." She tugged on his pant leg, not at all concerned by his threats. She'd learned long ago what type of person he was.

Hiruma's eye twitched. Failed bluffs were the worst. They lowered your position in every way. He hated to lose. Suddenly, he leaned forward and snatched up her hand. Holding it, he put his face close to hers and grinned wickedly, every pointy tooth visible. Mamori's eyes widened; and she smiled, before bumping her forehead against his, as a cat would to greet an equal. There was not the slightest fear or hesitation. She won. He dropped the grin and leaned back against the wall. He groaned, not sure if he should be pleased with her confidence in him or miserable that she was seeing through his every action.

He did not let go of her hand. It took Mamori a few moments to notice, preening in her clear victory as she had been. Her fingers were held in a delicate, clammy grip. Surely the moisture was from the shirt, which lay forgotten on the ground, but it was the wrong hand. She closed her eyes and tried to focus her addled mind. Really, this was not the time to be teasing and playing games. Hadn't they just broken up? She shook her head, but it made no sense.

"Why are you being nice to me, Hiruma?"

The quarterback slowly disentangled his fingers from hers and tucked his hand behind his head. He stared at the ceiling as he spoke, only glancing down occasionally to see if she was buying it. He had to convince her. It was better than letting her know, now that they had no chance. There was no point in revealing it. "Blackmail is a game of give and take, how much you're willing to give in exchange for what I'm willing to take. You, Mamori, are a person who finds it difficult to truly hate someone, however, if you did, it wouldn't matter what blackmail I had on you. You wouldn't be willing to give anything, even if I took everything."

"So... you're saying you don't want me to hate you." She grinned, abandoning all attempts to clear her mind. She leaned in toward Hiruma with an almost devilish expression of her own.

The faintest pink tinge coated the tips of Hiruma's pointy ears. He continued to face away, hiding his expression as well as he could with her approach. "Exactly, you are most useful if you don't quit your spot as manager."

Mamori frowned, a cute pursing of her lips, at Hiruma's sudden switch in topic. That was not what he had meant, she was certain. She was missing something. There was a lie she had not caught. "I wouldn't have quit if you turned me down. I expected it."

"Tch, why the hell would you confess if you thought I wouldn't accept?" Now, he was looking straight at her, startled into turning by the absurdity of her statement.

"And you're apologizing, using my name, as if you did something wrong," She continued, the pieces finally clicking together. "But you never feel guilt for blackmailing people, so it's something else. Hiruma-kun... did you not mean what you said earlier?"

He scowled and turned away. He did not know how to respond. Was it at all possible she'd forgive him? Did they have even one thousandth of a chance? But, she was drunk. It didn't matter what she said now. Tomorrow, tomorrow he'd know.

But for the time being, she needed to leave, he needed her to leave. Abruptly, he stood up. "Of course I meant what I fucking said, creampuff monster. There's no point in continuing this date, get the fuck out."

Mamori pursed her lips angrily at him but ignored the rudeness. Really, she shouldn't be there in the first place. "Oh, fine, I need a hand up." She raised her hand in the air toward Hiruma. She probably could get up on her own; however, she was still somewhat unsteady from the alcohol.

"Can't lift yourself anymore, fucking manager? One too many creampuffs, kekeke," Hiruma cackled at her. Angry, Mamori started to stand on her own just as Hiruma grabbed her hand to pull her up. She slammed against him, surprising him and knocking them both over. Mamori groaned, why did this have to keep happening tonight.

She was sprawled on top of him. Her forehead had crashed into his chin and was smarting terribly, but at least they had fallen on to the carpet in the living room rather than the tile. Hiruma pulled back his head to test his jaw. His chin hurt, but he'd just managed to keep himself from biting his tongue. "Hell of a tackle," he muttered, torn between pleasure at their current position and distaste at the accident which caused it. Hesitantly, while she was regaining her bearings, he snaked an arm around her waist, holding her against him. He doubted he would get another chance to touch her for a long time. The situation was just too tempting.

Her dress moved so easily against her skin. If he shifted just a little... He didn't. Instead, he slid his hand across her back until it hooked her waist, a perfect fit. He looked at her face, inches from his own. She was sitting up as best as she could while held down, but she hadn't noticed yet. Her bright blue eyes were still disoriented and there was a pink spot in the middle of her forehead. He laid back his head and smiled, trying not to let his physical attraction show.

She placed two steadying hands on his chest, and suddenly remembered he still was not wearing a shirt. Her entire face turned red once more. Hiruma glanced down her dress, which was hanging low, revealing quite a bit more than she probably expected. He grinned, all teeth, as the flush went down and down her skin.

Catching his eyes and wicked grin but not knowing the exact cause, Mamori averted her gaze and stumbled out an apology. "Hiruma-kun, I, ah.., I slipped..."

"Obviously."

Reminded of her earlier irritation, she immediately began trying to move away from her former boyfriend. Just as before, he would not release her. She frowned at him, stilling. "You do, don't you?" She said suddenly, "You do like me. I didn't know."

"Tch, you still don't."

"Then why are you holding me?"

Hiruma's eyebrow twitched. Angrily, he flipped the two of them over, pinning Mamori beneath him. Breathless, she stared up at him, saw the fury contorting his face, fury at himself, she knew, fury for his fear. Why couldn't she have understood faster. She had foolishly thought their relationship would be normal, as if anything regarding him was normal.

"Because I'm a man and you're a woman," he insisted in stubborn pride and denial, then fiercely kissed her. She returned the kiss. He drew back in shock, jumping away from her as if she were made of fire. "What are you doing?"

"Kissing you, obviously," she giggled at getting to return his earlier drawl. His eyes narrowed, misinterpreting her humor.

"Get out," he said, finally, "Leave."