D/C: I don't own Shugo Chara.
So, this was a little something I wrote after getting a full doze of Amuto moments. Gotta love those two together. Actually, this is the first story I write for Shugo Chara, but I couldn't resist this idea when it first came to mind. Bit short, but I hope you like it, just the same!
He loved to tease her. He loved watching her squirm under his gaze. He loved the way her cheeks turned crimson and her voice stuttered.
When he leaned close to her, he was able to hear the distinct thudding of her heart against her chest. He was able to hear her shallow breathing and see the definite trembling of her bottom lip. When he took her face between his hands, he could feel how warm her skin was beneath his touch. When his forehead pressed against hers, he was able to feel the beads of sweat that had formed there and the closer he leaned in, the warmer her breath became against her skin.
At the same time, he'd get a proper look at her big, honey-colored eyes, her long black lashes. He'd touch his nose to her small, button-like one, and then his eyes would drop to those full, pink lips of hers...slightly parted.
"Ikuto..." she then whispered, when their lips were a couple of millimeters away from each other's.
A small smile would grace his lips then, he'd take one of her hands between his and then he'd lift his head up, brushing his lips against her forehead. He would feel her small hand clench in his grip, and he would have to try not to chuckle. As he pulled away, her eyes would linger on his face...on his lips.
It was a little game of his, making her want what she'd never claim for herself, even though at the same time he'd be forcing himself away from the thing he longed for. He could never let himself kiss her. She deserved better. So even when he wanted to kiss her, he wouldn't. He'd just move in so close to let her get a fleeting taste of what their kiss might be like, before pulling away...before stopping himself just in time.
Letting go of her hand, he'd ruffle her hair despite her cry of protest, and with a short wave he would turn on his heels and walk away.
He was doing the right thing, so why were his feet so heavy? Why did his chest feel so empty?
What's so different about you, Amu Hinamori?
A/N: Well? Did you like it? I intended for this to be a one-shot, but if I get some positive feedback, I may actually turn this into a prologue and make it a full story. Ah, well, please review!
- S. N. B.