DISCLAIMER: I do not own Paradise Kiss.

The Fame


"Sumire! Look at this, come. Come and see this," Naito Ryuu shouted at his favorite screenplay writer with eyes alight in such enthusiasm one could never expect from a man of age 63.

From the end of the room, a door was ajar and from there peeked a blonde woman with dark blue eyes flashing with irritation- she had been working on her latest project. Scratch that. Actually, she was trying to salvage the piece of crap her original story had turned into when it had been given to the hands of some other screenplay writers. But when she saw that seemingly magical glint in his eyes, she instinctively knew that this story was bound to be a hit in ways more than one.

However, she was dismayed when she caught sight of an old and not to mention odd-looking piece of pink notebook tightly clutched in the man's left hand as his cane was held with his right.

"Naito-san, we are in the year 2018. And if we are going to recycle a story from a piece of trash such as the one you have there, we might as well pack up our cardboard boxes and clean up our offices," she said as she returned her eyes to her story, completely aware from the sound of footsteps and the cane which hinted that the director/producer was walking to her office.

"Sumire-chan, I know a good story when I see one. And this one's not good. It is excellent! Surely it was considered cliché thirty years ago but now it's bound to be a big thing! Well... it's not actually a story yet but I know you could make it into one, something that will actually be known. Famed!" He said, voice almost pleading and eyes wrinkled to make sure that he looked a lot older and more pitiful than he really looked.

"Naito-san…" she started as she turned her chair to face him but lost her resolve when she saw his face.

A long silence befell them. But something seemed to attract Sumire and move her hands toward what seemed now to be a notebook with very odd designs and trimmings – pink frills and laces to be exact.

"Okay, then. Let me have it. But I am not promising anything to you," she finally signed in resignation as her right hand was held out towards the scroll.

Night had already fallen and the dark sky outside was inviting to Sumire especially with the full moon prominently hung from it. And so, with the scroll in her hand, she made her way out to her garden and found the bench where she usually sat.

It was an antique (the bench, that is) so there was no surprise when it squeaked under her weight. Now, with the moon giving light to the diary and her feet tucked close to her chest and the blonde writer began to read.

The first part of the notebook was well... a narrative of how life was in a certain academy named Yaza School for the Arts.

Okay. Maybe Sumire wasn't a genius when it came to history but she knew enough to tell herself that no such school ever existed.

"That man is a mental case," she grumbled as she read the ridiculously… pink (!) notebook. "Really, was there a point in reading this any further?" she mumbled under her breathe as she read more words like Happy Berry, Paradise Kiss and George.

"George…" she breathed and tested the name. It sounded good to her and based on what she had been reading for the past twenty-three minutes this particular male was one endowed with good looks. But aside from the occasional thrill the scroll, which by now Naruko had surmised as a diary of some sort, the owner of the scroll had it was boring.

But slowly, as Sumire progressed, the diary wove a colorful fabric of interlaced adventure and romance, of comedies and tragedies, of ups and downs.

It was more than just a life story sprinkled with love, she decided. It was a love story with some bits of life.


I hate how you could make me so self-conscious with just one glance.

I hate your almost-perfect cool.

I hate how I always spare you a glance only for it to become a non-reciprocated one.

I hate how every fiber of my being aches for the approval I'll never receive from you.

And I hate this loathing I feel for you. I must not spare you incognito glances but every chance I get, I give you one. I must not be bothered by what you think me as (or better yet, what I think you think of me) but I always strive to please you – to have you say something nice and true about me.

I must not care about you. And I don't. That is, whenever we are not in the same room. But the moment, I lay my eyes on you, I cannot help but feel something – something I do not even know much less understand – for you.

And heaven knows how much I want to look away, not care, and, even, forget about you – think about anything but you and your newborn eyes.

But I cannot. You are unique – the way I do not understand you, the way every single thing about you fascinates me and the way everything about you seems to be a big puzzle waiting to be solved.

As for me, I am made to discover. I am made to gravitate towards mysteries and understand them. And so, I am trapped in your ambiguity, looking at it, observing it from a distance with wide, curious eyes.

Yes, that is exactly what I am trying to say: I am attracted to you.

And more than anything, I hate this attraction especially when I know that we are two north poles in a magnet or maybe two south poles. I could never be so sure, all I can be sure of is the fact that we will never be. And the relationship that had been thrown away is more than enough to prove my point. We share fame but not for the same things and that fame kept us apart. And I know that in the future it will only continue to break us.

And so, I must keep my distance from you hoping all the while that you and I would share an eternity together.

Tomorrow, I will be married to Hiro. I know that you are well aware of this. I do hope too that you know how much I really love you. George, I will love you forever. George, I will love you for all eternity because I know that your fame and mine will not last that long, I will wait for you at the brink of eternity and we will meet their to share the rest of forever.

Goodbye,George.

-Caroline


It was captivating, the sad, love this Caroline shared with someone by the name Koizumi George. It was so pure and true and beautiful but turned into ugliness because of the limelight's sparkle.

Her boss had been right. This was a good start for a story. A love, that seemed to her, blossomed from the search for fame and ended because of it. It was a love that may have been sweet and wonderful had fate not interfered.

The night was deep now, almost too deep but Sumire knew she had a mission to join their fates together and tie it with a knot called fame. Sumire would do this with the use of her pen and paper.

After all, Caroline promised him that she would wait for him to the brink of eternity. And now, the brink of forever is here.