Schizo: Yes, well, I actually found two pages of this in the bowels of my computer, which wasn't much to work off from, but I got an idea out of my insomnia. Yeah, unfortunately, I'm one of those writers who has insomnia and a love-hate relationship with that insomnia because without it... a lot of my writing would not be here... That isn't to say it's my dependency, just... helps.

Anyways, this story is dedicated to Shadow Vampiress. I've changed my mind on you actually. I'll still make the Poker fic (it's in the works as I type this and starts of juicy), but I like this one better because it's well... funnier. And cuter. And longer. And well, there's not sex (or if there is, it'll be implied), but there's still TakeshixSatoshi goodness.

Oh, yes, in case you haven't noticed. I'm slowly trying to grow the SatoshixTakeshi since well... no one else will due to... what? Fear?

Well, no more! I want my fics damn it. Even if I have to... read... my... own.

God, that's sad.

Anyways, there's profanity in here--some heavy, some not. I've said it once, I'll say it again: You all curse like there's no tomorrow, so don't be surprised it's T.

Read on, folks.

I don't own D N Angel.

Takeshi

“Is being an ice cream man really such a great job?”

“Kid,” There is a threatening tone being directed towards me. “Stick that microphone in my face again and I’ll shove it up your ass.”

Sunday, 4:59 PM

“Right,” I take the microphone back and continue, “Well, uh, I hear that you once threw an ice cream cone at an eight-year-old’s face, causing them to cry. Is this true?”

“What?”

And not a single bit of information worth telling…

“Oh, you didn’t hear me? Sorry,” I clear my throat. “I hear that you once threw—”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Listen,” Haru, who after much struggle I learned that was his name, leans on his left elbow and points his right index finger at me. His brow cocks up as he suspiciously asks me, “Are you going to buy ice cream or what?”

“You still never answered my questions.” I flip the page on my notepad to the beginning, getting nervous that my interview is just going to fail miserably. “Would you like me to repeat them for you?”

“No, what I would like is for you to get out of the line so that the other kids can order.”

I have some kids behind me, some my age and some not, yelling at me to get out of the line so they can order. My pride is slowly being shattered as I continue to ignore the heckling, but I must stay strong. I slap my hands on the small counter attached to the window of the truck.

“This will just be a minute!” I plead.

“I’m hungry!” One girl whines, adding a few extra exaggerated moans of her unneeded starvation. She sighs, she growls, she makes wordless sounds that even I can’t identify—not that I even want to, which is why I don’t turn around.

Haru glares at me as he hisses, “Look at what you’re doing. You’re ruining my business here. Get out of the line and let me do my job.”

“I swear! Just a few questions, please.”

“No.”

It’s time to bring out the blackmail.

“Okay, you fucking bastard, you want to play dirty? I got a tape of that incident of when you threw that ice cream cone at the boy, whose name is Hachiro, and if you don’t answer these questions, guess where this tape is going?”

For dramatic effects, I hold up a tape, which is actually blank… but Haru doesn’t have to know that. I have no idea if Haru actually threw an ice cream cone at Hachiro. I don’t even know who the hell Hachiro is. But I’m desperate. My deadline for the school newspaper is tomorrow and I don’t have a story. The best I can do at such short notice is the ice cream man.

The ice cream man, Haru, is known to be a fairly creepy seventeen-year-old in which he always managed to come to this street at 4:59 PM. There really isn’t a name for this street anymore because a year ago, some kid stole the street sign. Eventually, people forgot what the name of the street was called and the government just never supplied the street with a new sign. Some people tried to make alternative signs in hopes to have the name come back, but it failed miserably when people began to argue on what the original name was. It’s fine though, since well… not many streets in Japan even have names, but who really takes that into consideration?

(To tell you the truth, I looked it up when I was volunteering in my dad’s work—the police station—and there was never a name. It was just a number, but again, who really cares?)

Anyways, apparently the locals just refer to the street as “4:59-er Street” because Haru always comes at 4:59 PM to sell ice cream. Usually it’s a five minute deal since everyone knows when he comes, but I’m… sort of ruining that with this interview. So, as I am still holding the blank tape in my hands, I smile when I see that Haru is falling for the bait.

“Fine. Make it quick.”

“Okay!” I put the tape away. “Question number one: Why is it that you always come at 4:59-er Street at exactly 4:59 PM?”

“I just happen to drive like that, okay?”

“I see…” I jot that down. “Okay. Now, is being an ice cream man really such a great job?”

“Not now it isn’t.”

“But it usually is?”

“No.”

“What has made this job so—”

“Why are you interviewing me anyway? I’m just some guy who needs to make cash! I’m not—”

“Why do you need to make cash?” I lean in, “For the drugs? Sex? Some lover you rather not share?”

“What? No!”

“Are you gay?”

“Stop this! I’m not gay!”

“Right,” I jot more notes down on my notepad while reading them aloud, “Not… gay…” I look up, “Do you do it for the ladies?”

“…Get out of the line!”

Daisuke

“Didn’t do so well on the interview today, Saehara?”

Takeshi had plopped himself at the booth seat across with me only to drop his head to the table in his arms, while still holding his notepad in his hands. So, it’s safe to assume that the interview wasn’t good, especially when he moaned, “What did I do to deserve this…?”

Poking him, I try to cheer up him.

“Oh come on, it couldn’t have been that bad…”

“No…” He picks his head up slightly, where his chin is now resting on his right arm, and replies further, “I got some things from him, but all I can make a story from my notes is: “ICE CREAM MAN IS LOCAL ASSHOLE.” Otherwise, I got nothing.”

Hoping to get some help, I look over to Satoshi. He’s sitting next to me reading David Copperfield non-translated. Since he went to college in the States, I guess it’s only natural that he knows English very well. I’ve never heard him speak it before, though.

“What do you make out of it, Hiwatari?”

He looks up from his book and uses his index finger to do his signature move: push his glasses up to get a better look at us.

“What’s that, Niwa?”

“Oh, you weren’t paying attention…” I sigh, turning back to Takeshi. “Well… there has to be an interesting story, right?”

/Like me, for instance./

Mom hasn’t made another note yet, and besides… you get enough attention as it is.

/There is no limits to my fame./

“No…” Takeshi finally picks his head up, taking out a menu from its holder and looking through it. We’re in an ice cream parlor, which I probably shouldn’t have picked considering Takeshi’s situation. Takeshi then realizes this after looking at the choices and throws the menu at the glass window next to us.

“Dark hasn’t been stealing lately—and he was my main source! Now I have to go back to my bogus “GIRL TRIPS OVER ROCK” stories.”

“Those were quite amusing though.” I smile.

“But no one took me seriously,” He pouts. “I want to be a reporter, not some comedian. Where’s the action? Where’s the drama? Where’s the romance! There’s nothing in Azumano! Nothing!”

“—but the ice cream man,” Satoshi points out.

“You know how sick and tired I am of reporting the same damn thing?”

Takeshi, grabbing the attention of both Satoshi and I, theatrically mimics his newspaper articles before us in such disdain, it’s almost heartbreaking to see him… basically insult himself. He stops, sighing as he leans his head on his palm, “And the ice cream man is nothing but some self-centered, teenaged asshole, who can’t take some few minutes out of his life to answer some questions.”

Dramatically, he dunks his head.

“What am I going to do…?”

“Oh the tragedy,” Satoshi rolls his eyes. “What ever shall the town citizens of Azumano do without the life of the ice cream man?”

“Well… There are other stories…” I suggest.

“Like what?” Takeshi asks, not really interested since by this point, he’s lost all hope.

“Um… Well… Hey! Isn’t there going to be a new movie scene here?”

“Keiji Saga is back,” Satoshi confirms as he flips another page in his book. “That’s the third time in the past six months.”

“My deadline is tomorrow.” Takeshi runs a hand through his hair as he nervously, yet desperately, confesses, “I need something now.”

“Well…” Unsure of what to say, I scratch the back of my held. I was never really good at coming up with ideas since that was usually Takeshi’s endowment. I’m just the supporting friend—the positive one, you know?

“What information do you have on the friend?” I ask, hoping maybe I could work off those details if any existed.

Takeshi flips a few pages in his notepad and reads aloud to us, “Ice cream man: Hokkaido Haru, age seventeen. Always arrive at 4:59-er Street at exactly 4:59 PM. Works for cash purposes; purposes unknown. Not gay. Once threw an ice cream cone at an eight-year-old at a boy named Hachiro (don’t know last name), reasons unknown. Doesn’t like interviews.”

Grinning fairly pathetically, I suggest the only thing I could suggest.

“Make a story out of that?”

ICE CREAM MAN: MYSTERY MAN?

Every day at approximately 4:59 PM, Hokkaido Haru, the local ice cream man, drives to 4:59-er Street for his daily route to sell popsicles and ice cream cones to children of all ages. Yet, why exactly does he always arrive at 4:59-er Street at 4:59 PM? Who is the local ice cream man that we’ve come to see day after day?

Dedicated to Hokkaido’s uncanny ability to arrive at said street at the exact same time day after day, 4:59-er Street has come to know Hokkaido as the local ice cream man for an entire year now, when Hokkaido started driving at the age of sixteen. In hopes to make money, Hokkaido took the job offer and has since gained his righteous spot in the town of Azumano.

“He’s kind of creepy, though,” said Harada Risa, a second-year attendee of Azumano Middle. “One time, he glared at me, but I didn’t know why, though.”

Hokkaido has also gained the reputation of being a bit of an anti-socialite, a defying nature to the stereotypical, friendly ice cream man most people would imagine. Neighbors of 4:59-er Street suggest that it’s a “stage” in his life, being seventeen and all, and excuse some of his behavior. However, Hokkaido is still being observed closely by parents due to the incidents when he has expressed his temper.

“He threw some ice cream cone at some kid’s head once,” said 10-year-old, Miyagi Seto. That victim’s name shall be disclosed for privacy reasons.

There is no definite reason as to why the victim was attacked by an ice cream cone, but there also isn’t a definite reason as to why Hokkaido continues to hold the job of an ice cream man. Stating he does it for the money, but not denying that it might be for “the ladies,” Hokkaido definitely confirms that he is Azumano’s average straight, mone-searching kid.

Takeshi

“SAEHARA.”

Committing mental suicide, I shyly turn my head around to face Kanagawa-sensei. Considering Dark hasn’t been stealing anything for a few weeks, my stories have been lacking incredibly. Then again, Kanagawa-sensei only liked my Phantom Thief stories… He never did appreciate the small things that are Azumano.

“Yes, Sensei…?”

“What is this?”

I cringe when I am approached by his tall figure, and almost squeak (almost) when he slams my report on my desk. I’m guessing he didn’t like it…

“It’s my report, Sensei,” I answer.

“Yes, I realize that.” He picks up the report and reads a line from it, “Hokkaido has also gained the reputation of being a bit of an anti-socialite.” And another. “…still being observed closely by parents due to… his temper?” And… another… “…attacked by an ice cream cone? Saehara, what do you take me for?”

“Well, Kanagawa-sensei, I can explain—”

“Then explain.”

Oh shit. I wasn’t expecting that.

“Um, well, I,” I look over to Hadae, the senior editor of the features’ section, for help, but she only shrugs helplessly while wording ‘you’re on your own this time’ at me.

“You what, Saehara?”

“Well… Well he wouldn’t cooperate!” I can’t save myself, can I? “I tried to get a decent interview, but he wouldn’t answer my questions. The guy is a jerk.”

Kanagawa-sensei crosses his arms, pointing to the wall with the Code of Laws for our journalism class. He then points specifically at No. 8, when he then has me mentally read to myself, “No person shall blame the interviewee for a bad article. Bad interviews are at the fault of a bad interviewer.”

Dunking my head in shame, I whisper, “I’m sorry, Kanagawa-sensei…”

“What is with you?” His voice goes soft as the once-furrowed black brows start to ease. “Saehara, you have the potential to write great articles. I’ve seen it in every one of your Phantom Thief reports.”

“I know…”

“Yet, once Dark is gone, I get this.” He slaps my report. “I get crap.”

“I’m trying! There just… isn’t anything good to tell in Azumano.”

“Oh? Then why is it that Miyasaki over there gives me excellent articles every week?”
Miyasaki, that blond narcissist, takes the cue to rush up to Kanagawa-sensei with his fresh article “AZUMANO ORCHESTRA SCORES SUPERIOR.”

…Damn him and his school spirit.

Fucking nerd.

“Excellent work, Miyasaki.” Kanagawa-sensei then sternly stares at me, catching me glaring at Miyasaki. He says, “Now, Saehara, why is it that you can’t report on the school?”

“Miyasaki reports the school. I’m the investigative reporter of the town, remember? I have to do… local news.”

“Well, let’s take a recap of your articles. Before this, there was…”

MOCHI MOCHI BAKERY: LARGEST COOKIE

Well, ladies and gentlemen, Oita Hiroshi and Komiko have finally done it. They’ve managed to bake an 8 ft. 3 in. cookie, the largest cookie to the record, at Mochi Mochi Bakery on Tuesday, March 23, 2004.

OLD WOMAN ATTACKED BY PIGEONS

On Saturday, March 12, 2004, Yamanashi Keiko, an elderly woman, was viciously attacked by pigeons when she attempted to eat her popcorn herself. She currently has a few cuts on her arm, but no major injuries.

LEAP FROGS FOR LEAP YEAR

Due to actions of Animal Rights activist, Saitama Yusuke, 19 leap frogs were escaped from the PetSmart on February 29, 2004, creating a local uproar. Saitama is in custody, waiting for charges.

BROKEN HEARTS ON V-DAY

Azumano: 25 heart-shaped vases fell off the shelves of Walgreens due to a freak mop accident.

SEXU—

“Okay. I get it. My articles suck.”

“Listen, maybe I should assign you a new position. Perhaps investigative reporting isn’t your—”

“No!” I grab Kanagawa-sensei’s shirt, pleading. “No, I’ll try harder! I’ll try to find better stories! I promise!”

“Why don’t you try out the weather—?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Looking over at Gunma, the weather guy, I notice he’s sleeping soundly next to the monitor he’s supposed to be watching for updates. Hadae taps his shoulder to get the weather for this week’s newspaper, making Gunma jump and shout, “Sunny! It’s gonna be sunny!”

“There is no way I’m doing the weather.”

“Perhaps a column?”

“Columns are never about the news,” I whine. “Sensei, please… Give me another chance.”

“I’ve given you plenty of chances. You know what happens when I give you chances?” He points at my report, “I get reports bashing the ice cream man.”

“He was a jerk…”

“You don’t bash the ice cream man, Saehara!”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“I expect a column topic. You can chose an investigative column topic if you wish, but a column topic nonetheless. It has to be worth ten weeks.”

“But—”

“You may do side stories of news and if I like them, I’ll print them. For now, if you don’t make up a column, you’re going to fail this class, Saehara.”

Sighing, I nod my head.

“Yes, Kanagawa-sensei…”

What the hell was I going to write about for ten weeks?

Daisuke

“A column, huh?”

Takeshi groans, clearly unhappy that for the second night in a row, he has to brainstorm for an article idea. I don’t really see what the grand benefits of being a reporter are. Every time I see Takeshi or hear him talk about his journalism class, he’s always worried about deadlines or rushing things because he has to write his report in two hours or less. He’s so hectic. I don’t know how he can handle it.

“I can’t do a political article because Hadae has one.”

“What about a local news column—like, quirky story of the week?”

“I asked about that, but Kanagawa-sensei says it has to be a serious article.”

“A serious one?”

“Well, not like drama-serious, but more of something that I know I can do for ten weeks. I have to have a stable column.”

“Those are hard to come up with.”

“Yeah… Everyone took the good ideas. There aren’t many options I can choose from.”

Satoshi arrives, sitting down at our bench and joining us for lunch while Takeshi continues to sulk out his miseries. Takeshi always had the tendency to eat fast when he grew nervous or anxious, so I had to keep a look out for any sudden choking considering Takeshi had made himself plenty of onigiri.

“I’m going to fail that class,” Takeshi shoves another rice ball into his mouth, “Anhf,” He swallows. “And I love that class.”

“Another journalistic crisis?” Satoshi opens his lunchbox, which doesn’t really contain much. I assume Takeshi took notice of this because he dumped two of his rice balls in Satoshi’s lunch box.

“Yeah.” He also doesn’t leave room for Satoshi to say a ‘thank you.’

Just then, two girls approach us. One of them is blushing while the other, the one reaching out to tap Satoshi’s shoulder, is slightly giggling.

“Um, H-Hiwatari?”

“Hmm?” Satoshi faces them, lifting one of Takeshi’s rice balls to his mouth. (I noticed him whisper “thank you” just before he turned around, but I don’t think Takeshi did.)

“Well, my friend, uh… my friend, Rei, was wondering if you… if you were single.”

/And another victim of Commander’s cold heart meets her doom…/

“Yes, I am.” Satoshi then adds, “But I am not looking, sorry.”

“Oh. Well, um, thank you anyways.”

The two girls walk away, one of which has sniffles.

“Man, Hiwatari,” Takeshi elbows Satoshi, “Be a bit colder next time, why don’t you? Didn’t even give the girl a chance.”

Satoshi simply eats the second rice ball he received and shrugs.

“Bastard…” Takeshi playfully nudges Satoshi, who simply replies, “What harm does it do to me?”

“What if she was your soul mate?”

“She wasn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

Giving up the argument, Takeshi brings up another topic, “Why don’t you date girls, anyway?” He smirks right after and adds, “Like boys instead?”

“Saehara!” I blush, nervously eyeing Takeshi for his absurd remark.

/I wouldn’t be surprised if Creepy Boy was gay./

Don’t call him gay! He just isn’t into dating.

/Ah, Daisuke, it’s nice to know there are naïve little boys like you still left to soil./

…That was uncalled for.

“Come on, Hiwatari,” With a cocky tone, Takeshi maneuvers his hands as if to present Satoshi with an imaginary balancing beam. “Do you dig the holes or the poles?”

Silence.

“Was that necessary?” Satoshi glares.

Now laughing, Takeshi waves off Satoshi’s annoyance and says, “Sorry—couldn’t resist!”

“Yes, well, my sexuality isn’t of your concern.”

“Oh, what’s this? A vague sentence? Hmm… What is going on in the genius’s head?”

“My utter hatred for you.”

No longer laughing, Takeshi takes Satoshi’s lunchbox away from him.

“I want my rice balls back.”

“I ate them.”

“You bastard! Why did you eat my food?!”

“You gave them to me.”

“That’s besides the point and you know it.”

/They bicker often, don’t they?./

Yeah, generally. They’re kind of funny together, though.

/Together?./

Not like that.

“Fine,” Takeshi pouts. “Rice-ball-eater.”

“Again, you gave them—”

“Don’t bring up evidence that can support you,” Takeshi hisses. “Have you even been on a date?”

“What does that have to do with the rice balls?”

“Absolutely nothing. Now, answer the question.”

“No.”

“You haven’t?”

“No, ‘no’ as in I won’t answer the question.”

“Oh.”

/How long do they usually do this?./

Until the bell rings. I take it as a show for my lunch.

“So,” But all things must come to an end. “Saehara, your column?”

“Oh snap!” Takeshi goes back to groaning. “I completely forgot about that…”

“I take it you still have no idea what you’re going to write?”

He nods.

“I’m screwed, aren’t I?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” I smile. “You always come up with something. Just come up with some crazy idea that everyone will read.”

Takeshi

Tuesday, 3:29 AM

Like being shot from a canon ball, I sit upright on my bed.

“I GOT IT!”

Tuesday, 10:31 AM

“…What?”

Eagerly, I nod at Kanagawa-sensei and proceed to explain my idea, “Yeah! I can pull it off!”

“Since when were you gay?”

I blink.

“What?”

“You can’t seriously tell me you completely disregarded the fact that you are a guy.”

“Oh,” I did… “Well, uh, it’s the article that counts—and, and, if I have to be gay for ten weeks, I’ll do it.”

“You can’t just ‘be gay’ like it’s some sort of on and off switch, Saehara.”

“Why not?”

“You’re involving another person, Saehara. Ever consider that?”

“It’s Hiwatari.”

“What if he falls for you?”

“Pfft. Like that would happen,” I say. “Listen, Sensei, I’ll make it clear to him this is for an article. An article to show what it’s like to date the infamous Hiwatari Satoshi! Girls will read in hopes to woo the school genius!”

“—and gay boys will think they actually have a chance at Hiwatari. I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

“Sensei, it’s a great idea. Who has ever seen the robot date? No one. But that changes now! I, Saehara Takeshi, will become Hiwatari’s boyfriend for ten weeks and show all the true nature of who he is—show the human side of the genius.”

“Wait,” Hadae walked over to Kanagawa-sensei and me, “You’re going to date Hiwatari?”

“Yeah.”

“Saehara, I didn’t approve of this yet. Did you even ask your parents if you could date another boy?”

Smiling nervously, I reply, “Well… I’m sure my dad will understand… if I say it’s for… school purposes.”

He crosses his arms.

“Of course, because it’s perfectly normal for a boy to ‘go gay’ for ten weeks if it’s for school.”

“Well, I’m sorry I wasn’t born a girl, Sensei, but I’m not going to let some bitch take my idea just because it’s more publicly acceptable. We’re mature. We can handle the homosexuality, and damn it, I’m doing this article.”

Just then, Kanagawa-sensei points back at the Code of Laws, but this time at No. 2, which states, “No one shall use profanity. Profanity is the definite evidence of lack of vocabulary. Bad vocabulary results in bad articles.”

“…Sorry, Sensei, but… My dad isn’t important. My sexuality isn’t important. What’s important is that I write this article. I will change the lives of all of Azumano Middle school girls!”

“—and boys.” Sensei adds.

Hadae grows excited, “Wait, Hiwatari’s gay then?”

“Um… I don’t know.”

“Well, if you’re going to be his boyfriend, you have to do all the boyfriend stuff! You can’t just date him, Saehara. You have to be his boyfriend. Kisses and hugs and all the intimacy. Oh, awesome! Our newspaper will be killer!”

My eyes widened.

“Kissing…?”

Turning to Kanagawa-sensei for assistance, I was shot down with, “It’s your article.”

“Oh! And you’ll have to be real descriptive too!”

Oh dear Lord… What did I just get myself into?

Satoshi

Today I’m sitting at a table next to Daisuke. Takeshi is a bit late, which is slightly odd for him. He’s usually out here earlier than us in hopes of finding a story. Yet, as I sip my carton of milk, I see from the corner of my eye that Takeshi is insecurely walking over to us, mumbling to himself.

Something’s up.

/Feeling nervous, my love?./

Not now, Krad.

He stops walking suddenly and whispers violently to himself as if he were scolding himself, then stands straight and nods. Now he’s confident. Of what? I’ve yet to know.

“Saehara looks strange,” I put my carton down. “Something happen today, Niwa?”

“Um… I don’t know. I didn’t see Takeshi this morning and after second period, he rushed right to his journalism class. He must have had a good idea for his column.”

Niwa smiles.

“That’s good, right?”

“I suppose…”

Takeshi approaches us, sitting down across from me at the table with his lunchbox and notepad. He pulls out a pencil, getting ready to jot something down, when he abruptly stares at me. Taking my milk up to my mouth in hopes of avoiding answering a question, I wait for Takeshi to greet himself.

“Hiwatari,” He says instead. “Want to go out on a date?”

Takeshi

As my habit is strong, I read out loud what I write, “Don’t ask… when Satoshi… drinks… Might… get… milk… spit on… face.”

Wiping my face with a napkin, I wait for Satoshi to calm down.

“Ex—Excuse me?”

“Uh, yeah,” I laugh. “You wanna go out?”

Daisuke’s eyes are wider than watermelons right now, that I almost feel sorry I didn’t explain my plan to him earlier.

“What’s the catch?”

“Holy shit! That’s almost a yes!” I beam. “You mean you have a possible chance of going out with me?”

Okay. That sounded a lot more obsessed than I wanted it to…

“No, the answer is no.” Damn. “I just would like to know what is the sudden… well, sudden liking.”

“Oh, it’s not that.” I smirk, “Trying to get cocky there, huh? It’s my column idea. I got it approved and everything.”

“Excuse me?”

“TEN WEEKS WITH SATOSHI HIWATARI!” Silence. “Okay, so I’m still working on the title, but you get the idea. Satoshi, my darling, I would like you to be the main topic of my column.”

Hold on…

Almost there…

I think I got him…

“You’re fucking nuts.”

…And I lost him.

“Oh come on, Hiwatari!” I hold up my lunchbox full of Satoshi’s favorite rice balls (I’ve taken notice that he loves the one with teriyaki beef). “I got riiiiiiiice baaaaaalls!”

“Rice balls will not convince me for ten weeks.”

“They have teriyaki beef.”

“That doesn’t make a difference.”

“I could’ve sworn it would convince you for at least one week…”

Satoshi

12:39 PM

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

1:23 PM

“I’ll pay you!”

“I don’t need money.”

“Ten thousand yen a week!”

“Do you even have that much money?”

“…Uh… A thousand yen a week!”

“No.”

2:42 PM

“Let go of me, Saehara.”

“You have to date me. I know I look, sound, and am acting obsessed, but I’m serious, Hiwatari. You and I: Made to be boyfriends for this article’s success.”

/Insistent one, isn’t he?./

Shut up.

3:32 PM

“Pleeeeeeeeeease!”

“No! Saehara! Go home!”

“Hiwatari,” Saehara slams the door behind him, entering my apartment. “I don’t think you are seeing the seriousness in my passion for reporting. If my column is about me dating the hottest boy in our school, then damn it, I’m going to date the hottest boy in school. Now, what do you want? You want to have sex?”

…Where the hell did that come from?

Even I could tell that Takeshi had no idea what he was doing when he propped himself on my computer desk and spread his legs. He sounded slightly uncomfortable, definitely afraid, but desperate all at once when he said, “Come on, Hiwatari. I’m serious.”

“You’re willing… to have sex… for a school article?”

“Well, at least it’s with someone I trust—somewhat.”

“Have you done this before?”

“No! I’m…” He blushes. “I’m a virgin.”

“Good grief,” I close his legs. “You’re willing to lose your virginity over a school article?”

/My, my, Satoshi-sama. You capture the hearts of every being, don’t you?./

Must I repeatedly ask you to be quiet?

“Well…” Takeshi finally gives up. “What do you want from me, Hiwatari? I need to pass my class! All I’m asking is to be your boyfriend for ten weeks. I just have to make a weekly report of what it’s like and then I change the lives of girls and boys and then I finally get respected by Kanagawa-sensei, maybe even get to promote myself from newspaper reporter to televised reporter and… and…” Takeshi mewls, “I’m a failure.”

He gets up from the computer desk, heading for the door.

“I don’t know what I was thinking… Sorry for wasting your time, Hiwatari…”

Damn him.

Sighing, I call out to him.

“Wait.”

Takeshi

Smirking, I still have my back facing him. Yes! You can always rely on the good “pity me” to get what you want.

“Y-Yes…?” I sniff, preparing the tears to bawl out on cue.

“Saehara,” He sounds reluctant. “You have no idea how insane you are.”

“Desperate,” I weakly correct. “Just ten weeks…”

“What do I get out of this?”

“Whatever…” I try not to smile as I look at him over my shoulder. “Whatever you want.”

“And I can change my mind about what I want whenever?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Looking away, he thinks to himself.

“I swear I’m going to hate myself for this.”

Fall for the guilt…

Fall for the guilt…

“I’m not sure what I want right now.”

“That’s okay,” I assure. “Take your time.”

Hold on…

Almost there…

I think I…

“Fine,” He holds out his hand for me to shake, which I do. “I’ll do it.”

Got him.

Schizo: I'm trying to get back into fanfiction(dot)net again a lot more frequently since I'm noticing that what fanfiction(dot)net was two years ago... isn't what it is today. I kind of miss it. Oh well. I'll stay strong with my passion for writing instead of hunger for reviews.

But that doesn't mean you shouldn't review. -eyes you all- I see the hits charts... Thousands, bitches. I see you all.

So do a girl a favor, please? Review.

Cheers -Steph