Chapter 14: Eirin

Summer break begins and with it, my mother's endless complaints. After coming home for work, she immediately calls me and Masuhiro to the living room, where she'll lecture us on proper decorum and whatnot. Masuhiro will listen dutifully, but I always find it difficult to concentrate.

I don't care that we're a prominent family or whatever that junk is. And she knows that, too. She knows where my attention lies (that is, basically nowhere), which is why she's now put all her focus onto Masuhiro, into making him the main family poster child. I guess I should be grateful, since I now get out of most things. But still. Mom seems to expect nothing of me, especially after what happened in middle school.

"Eirin." Her voice is sharp as usual as she stalks into the dining hall for breakfast. "What are you doing later today?"

"I am not doing anything," I say through bites of toast. I'm never doing anything, really. Because as she so kindly pointed out, I have no friends. Not after that one terrible incident.

"Good. We're going shopping this afternoon after I get off work."

"Huh. Why?"

"There's a grand party coming up soon. We've all been invited."

"I don't go to those things usually, though." Because I usually end up embarrassing our family name.

"I know that, but you should be taking up some responsibility. You're in high school, after all. Besides, some people have been asking about you. I thought this might be a good opportunity to get you out into a social situation."

"But —"

"No arguing. We'll get you something nice to wear today, and go over your etiquette later."

I sigh, and slump back into my chair. Masuhiro, who was late in getting up, stumbles into the room, and finds his seat. Mom immediately begins to tell him about the party, and the kid actually looks excited about it.

Sometimes, I don't know how we're related.

Mom drags me to all the high-grade stores in the city. My taste is starkly different from hers, so we end up arguing at every turn, making it quite hard to pick something out. Honestly, if she just handed me a chunk of money, I could've found something decent (she taught me that much, at least), but she still thinks I'm a kid who can't pick out my own clothes.

We enter another department store, this one filled with a variety of fancy suits and dresses that are way out of my league. Mom fawns over them, talking with the assistant about the latest styles and whatnot, while I just wrinkle my nose at all the sparkles.

I move around the aisles, fingering a few dresses here and there, though I'm hardly interested in them. As I reach the end of the store, I sigh, wondering how long this day will last.

"Ichikawa-san, I never thought I'd find you here."

I whirl around, my hand leaving the smooth texture of a silk dress. Kise Ryouta himself stands before me, a smirk on his face, his hair swept effortlessly over his forehead like usual. (Out of all the people who could've caught me shopping for clothes, why did it have to be a model? And Kise? I swear, my life.)

"What are you doing here?" I challenge him.

"That should be my line."

Oh my goodness. I immediately take a large step away from the rack of dresses. I've been trying to hide the fact that I'm well-off from Kise, with not-so-positive results. He insists tailing me home as far as possible, and I'm forced to come up with increasingly more creative ways to get rid of him. (You'd think he'd be insulted about being constantly abandoned, but he'll just approach me the next day, all smiles, like I hadn't left him stranded in the bookstore while he was fanboying over his own magazine.)

But this is a designer store. Only people with a boatload of money (me) or people with considerable fashion taste and ego (Kise) would dare set foot in here.

Kise's smirk widens as he uncovers this clue. "You know, I've never seen your place before, Ichikawa-san," he says, his eyes glittering innocently.

I'm unable to think of a response.

"I've been wondering why you keep avoiding the topic. But maybe . . ." He waves his hand at the store.

I cringe.

He observes me for a moment, but instead of continuing to make further implications about my family's income, he pointedly changes the subject. "But more importantly, now that we're together, what do you say about getting a bite to eat? Or are you busy?" He glances at the dress I was fingering. "Were you looking for something in particular? I could help you."

I blink in surprise and swallow. Then I suddenly feel bad. While I was here worrying about my own reputation, Kise's still been dealing with his loss against Touou. I haven't seen since the game, so I've been unable to ask him about it. Now, though, any comfort I might offer would seem forced. He seems to have cheered up from the loss, though. Or maybe he's just putting on a front. I can never tell with him.

He, though, seems to be able to read me like a book.

I square my shoulders and stare him in the eyes. "First off, just because you ran into me does not mean that we're 'now together.' Secondly, why would I ever ask for your help?"

"Always so harsh." He sighs and runs a hand through his hair — messing it up in a way that makes it look better, not worse. I'm sure he's been taught how to do that in his modeling classes. Or something like that. Perhaps it's just his natural charm.

Not that he has any.

"I am a model," he says. "I do know the latest fashion."

"So?"

"C'mon, Ichikawa-san." He almost sounds begging.

I turn on my heel then and begin to walk as swiftly as I can to the nearest exit. I'll catch up with Mom later. Right now, I just need to get rid of Kise. As expected, he trails after me, babbling about random things I don't really care about and make the most effort to tune out. As we near an elevator, some people filing off and heading to their own destinations in the store, I slip into the lift before the doors close — I'm kind of hoping that he gets locked out, but with his quick sports reflexes, he manages to dart in with me. Oh, well.

"Say, Ichikawa-san," he continues, oblivious to my scowl, "what's your favorite type of ice cream? Is it chocolate? That's what you got last time. There's this nice place right outside. I could treat you to some, if you like."

How many ice cream stores does he go to?

I roll my eyes slightly, but he doesn't notice.

Just then, there's a grinding noise — the elevator shakes. My hand flies out for purchase and grabs onto —

Oh.

The nearest thing had, of course, been Kise.

He blinks, falling silent for the first time since we'd run into each other. I never initiate contact between us, and even as a last resort, it's . . . strange.

My cheeks flush. I let go of his sleeve and move away from him. He doesn't say a word, but then elevator shakes again, and the lights go out. For a few moments, all I can hear are our quick breaths.

I am frozen.

But he . . . he shifts toward me, closing the distance I'd just put between us. He takes both of my hands in his, and holds them up. In the dark, I can't see — I can't see anything.

I can only feel his skin against mine — hot and warm, soft and gentle.

And that scares me more than anything.

"Please —" My voice is a hoarse whisper. "Please don't touch me. Please . . . let go."

His hands immediately drop from mine. "I — I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. You . . . you don't like that sort of stuff, do you?"

I turn away from him and hunch my shoulders, dearly hoping that I won't be stuck in here with him for forever. The next few minutes pass in silence, and finally, the elevator begins to work again. Somehow, we end up back at the same clothing store. Mom hasn't even noticed that I went missing, still chatting with the assistant and holding up some tiny dress that I am never ever going to wear.

Kise follows me out of the elevator once again, though he's quieter this time. Finally, he says, "Are you looking for a dress?"

I almost ask him how he knows, but realize it must've been obvious (I mean, half of the store is dresses). I say, "I am, actually. Is that surprising?"

He cocks his head at me. Then his hand darts out and pulls a tip of a dress out. "You'd look good in this," he says. With that, he lets the dress fall back amongst all the others, and leaves.

Despite myself, I look at the one he picked out, and bring it to my mom.

A/N: These two are going to kill me. (In truth, they're both a lot of fun to write, and when writing their dialogue, the words just flowed onto the page.) Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

~ J. Dominique