A/N:Thank you so much for the reviews! This chapter will introduce Hashimoto Asami - please note, she's not an OC, but Yuuri's canon girlfriend from the novels - she only appears in Novel 9 and is really just a minor character who demands to be his girlfriend, but I still like what we see of her. I think you can read novel 9 on Livejournal. Anyways, to the review replies!
Wolfieyuu:It is indeed a bit of a love triangle (or a love quadruple really, because it goes something like Wolfram x Hashimoto x Yuuri x Saralegui LOL! But fear not, this is Wolfyuu first and foremost! Also, I'm really glad you're enjoying the history bits. I study history and love reading up on Pompeii, so I couldn't resist writing this fic. A quarter of each chapter will be dedicated to a scene of Yuuri and Wolfram's life in Pompeii.
rinoakim:Call it divine justice for all the crap he puts Wolfram through in KKM, haha! Thank you so much for the kind review. :D
Chibi Chiisu:Of course I am, you know I'm a gigantic nerd of epic porportions =p Yes, I'm not a fan of Conyuu either. Just seems like another cliche seme x uke pairing to keep the yaoi fangirls happy. Hope you like this chappy mate and thank you for the review!
Elle:Hurr hurr, fear not - there will be plenty more awkward fondling moments between Wolf and Yuuri like that. XD I'm hoping to finish this fic off in 15 chapters and I'll be updating weekly. Definitely won't leave it unfinished. :D
Reader-Reviewer: Thank you so much for such a kind review! I'm glad you like the way I write Murata. I didn't expect to enjoy writing him so much, but I do. I really, REALLY do. In fact there is far too much Murata in this story now as a result (I've planned all the plot out XD). Plus there will be a Murata x Shinou pairing for any fans out there ;)
Present life: Shibuya Yuuri
Past life: Julius Nero (meaning: July). Male / 16 / slave and aspiring gladiator
Present life: Murata Ken
Past life: Saggio (meaning: wise). Male / 21 / City planner, tutor and Julius' owner
Present life: Wolfram von Bielefeld
Past life: Auralia Lupus (meaning: golden wolf). Female / 16 / noble woman
Present life: Saralegui
Past Life: Lucius (meaning: light). Male / 21 / aedile of Pompeii
April 1st, 77 AD
2 Years before the eruption
Luxury and decadence, thought Julius. The sapphire bay of Naples, from Cumae along the curving coast through Misenum, Neapolis, Herculaneum, and finally Pompeii, was a magnet for the rich and wealthy. And wherever the rich and wealthy were, the hustlers and dealers would come crawling soon after, like hungry dogs on the heels of their masters. Julius had been glad when his master Saggio had announced they were leaving Rome for the coast. He had thought they were leaving the greed and treachery of city life behind for good, but five minutes in Pompeii and he could see it was no different here than anywhere else.
"Ah, Julius!" Saggio suddenly exclaimed. "Isn't this the most romantic city you've ever visited in your life? Look at all the pretty girls! They told me beauty was as common as olive trees in Pompeii, but I never believed them. Ahhh, the Gods are merciful!"
Julius followed his master's gaze to the opposite side of the street and laughed despite himself. A large cock and balls had been carefully crafted into the wall, evidently pointing towards a series of brothels lining an adjoining alleyway. At the mouth of the alleyway, a group of exotically dressed young men and women were selling their 'wares'. Beside them dealers lined the harbour walls, selling exotic silks, Oriental spices, monkeys, parrots, horses, slaves – the list was endless. Julius ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. It seemed a man could buy anything in the harbour of Pompeii. Saggio on the other hand drank it all in like a child, with hungry, glittering eyes. It always amazed Julius how a man famed for his incredible intellect and wisdom could be so utterly naïve.
"And you know Julius," Saggio continued importantly, "when I am elected aedile of the city, I will make Pompeii shine brighter than Venus."
"When you become…?" Julius repeated with surprise, all the while keeping a careful pace behind his master. Then he grinned broadly. "I see. Saggio is the type of person who thinks positively to the extent of being stupid."
Saggio turned with a pout, puffing his cheeks out like a petulant child. "Oi oi, is that any way to talk to your master and future aedile of Pompeii?" he tutted, wagging a finger.
But Julius only responded with a withering stare. "If you start to act like a proper master then I'll treat you like one."
"But I could never do that!" the older man whimpered and flung his arms around Julius' head, nuzzling his hair with animated affection. "Julius is my oldest, dearest friend! Besides that, you're too adorable."
"O-Oi, get off me! People are looking!" Julius grunted, shoving him off with a red face. "You can't act like that here," he whispered harshly. "If you want to win the elections in two years you have to gain respect. For example, you shouldn't be walking the streets with one slave. You shouldn't be walking the streets at all. You should have taken a litter or at least a carriage."
Saggio's eyes softened. "But how can a politician or architect work without knowing the lay of the land? I need to know the city and its people intimately, if I am to fully repair the damage the earthquake did. Besides," he pointed across the street, eagerly. "I want to buy a monkey!"
Julius faltered then muttered with half-hearted laugh, "Actually, if you want to win elections you might have to change your entire personality."
Saggio examined him carefully with wide, curious eyes that looked all too deceptively innocent, cocking his head to one side like a bird. "Oh? Hmm… Ok then. I'll start by throwing you to the eels!"
"Ah, no-no! You don't have to go that far," he muttered hastily, backing up when a scream caught his attention.
A grubby child who had hopped onto the road with a small dog close on her heels had just stumbled in front of a moving carriage. Moments before the child was trampled, the pair of horses pulling the carriage reared and whinnied in fright when the small dog began viciously snapping at their legs.
Julius and Saggio stopped to watch with a small crowd as the driver of the carriage, too heavily armed to function as driver alone, climbed down from his seat and kicked the dog away.
"Yuuram!" the child cried, clutching the small dog to her chest. She glared fiercely at the armed driver, lashing out at him with a kick. "Don't you ever touch him again!"
The driver stared at the street urchin impassively, then reached down to fist his hand in her short hair, dragging her out of the street.
Julius grit his teeth as anger bubbled through him. It was no good in situations like these; he could never just turn his back on something like this.
"No. Stop. Don't go. You'll only ask for more trouble," Saggio hummed to himself, rocking on the heels of his sandals with the bored tone of someone who had repeated this line a thousand times before.
"That person can't just get away with throwing some poor kid around. OI! You!" he hollered, leaping down from the high pavement onto the road and began storming towards the carriage. Julius realised with a small gulp that the driver in question was much taller and broader in the shoulder up close. Hardening his resolve, he drew himself up in a desperate attempt to seem taller, which was hard for a scrawny 14 year old slave. "L-Leave the kid alone, it was only an accident. What you're doing is on the verge of illegality!"
The driver turned his eerily impassive eyes on Julius without letting go of the squirming child's hair. Now face to face with this man, Julius was sure he was going to die. The man was a giant – a titan. His long black hair was as straight as a blade and his bronze skin barely stretched over the thick muscles of his forearms and legs. Two swords hung from his belt, but Julius had the sick feeling the man was concealing any number of weapons on his person. Heck, he looked like a weapon himself!
A delicate red silk curtain drew back from the carriage and a pale face peered outwards, long strands of blonde hair spilling out of the door like liquid gold. Hazel eyes rested on Julius and the latter swallowed thickly at their intense gaze. He had never seen such a beautiful person before.
"This child ran in front of your carriage, my lord," the driver, Berias, answered obediently.
"I don't see why that is any reason to treat her so unkindly, Berias. Let her go."
Berias immediately did as instructed and the girl fell to the ground with a thump. She didn't wait around, scrambling away with her dog still clutched to her chest. Julius watched her go with pitying eyes and vaguely wondered where she was running to – if she had anywhere to run to…
A young man, who could not have been much older than Julius himself, delicately stepped out of the carriage, a simple but expensive ivory toga flowing after him. He smiled kindly, but somehow it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"That was quite a brave thing you did," said the man, eyeing him thoughtfully. "There aren't many who would stand up to my guard, here. What is your name?"
"Julius Nero, sir," he answered, bowing quickly.
"Ah, please don't bow. I've never cared for formalities," the boy said, smiling sweetly. "You may call me Lucius-"
"Lucius Orpheus Secundus," Saggio finished for him, crossing the road towards the carriage. "Apologies for the interruption, my lord. I take full responsibility for the actions of my slave. I'm afraid my heart is too soft when it comes to children."
Lucius looked momentarily surprised, but the moment was short lived. He inclined his head towards Saggio, still smiling a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Saggio, my dear friend, it is wonderful to see you again. I judge you are enjoying your first week in Pompeii?"
"It is a fine city, my lord," Saggio replied in measured tone, "and it could be finer still."
Julius shivered – the air felt icy and hostile between his master and this young man, as if a silent, unseen battle of wills was raging between them. He noted with interest how Saggio's entire body language had changed. No longer was he the ridiculous, perverted, fool. He had donned his politician's smile in the face of this Lucius boy and he wore it flawlessly. Still, Julius had known his master long enough to know that something was amiss. He could tell by the tightness of his smile that Saggio did not merely distrust Lucius; he loathed him.
The gentle banter continued for a few minutes longer before Lucius sent them one final saccharin sweet smile and climbed back into his carriage.
"It was very good to see you again, Saggio." The boy's hazel eyes fell on Julius again with unsettling intensity. "And you, Julius. It would be my pleasure to invite you both to dinner in my villa one evening. I shall send word once you are settled."
And with a final smile, Lucius let the silk drape fall, concealing his features. A whip cracked and the carriage began to move.
"Who was that?" Julius asked, surprised at the now evident look of distaste on Saggio's face.
"Lucius Orpheus Secundus. One of the current aediles of Pompeii." His dark eyes narrowed as the carriage trundled away from the harbour and out of sight. "Be careful here, Julius," he murmured. "Not all cockroaches come out at night."
"That Wolfram certainly has a mean right hook," said a blurry figure leaning over him. "Knocked you out cold with one hit! Had all the girls swooning every which way." The blurred figure paused and added musingly, "And some guys too."
"Mu-Murata?" In a rippling display of sheer muscle power, Shibuya Yuuri forced his eyelids open, wincing at the blades of white sunlight creeping between the infirmary's window blinds. His throat was bone dry and he could taste blood in his mouth. "Uhhg, water please."
"Welcome to the world of the living, sleeping beauty," Murata said, beaming, and handed him a glass of water from the bedside table.
Yuuri pushed himself up against the pillows, instantly regretting the movement when a flash of electric pain shot through his skull. He accepted the glass of water and took a thirsty gulp, gasping as the tepid liquid ran down his throat. "Ah! I thought I was dead," he spluttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What did that stuck up prince hit me with? A sack of bricks?"
"You hit your head on the desk when you fell. The school nurse said you probably have a slight concussion," Murata casually explained, as if he were describing the weather.
Yuuri glared. Would it kill him to sound a little more concerned? "Some how I feel all this is your fault, Class President."
Murata feigned a hurt expression. "Shibuya-kun, that hurts. How could you suggest such a thing? I suppose I'll forgive you this time because you have a concussion and clearly don't know what you're saying," he said, giving Yuuri a patronising and non-too-gentle pat on the head.
Yuuri flung his arms over his head in defence. "Ow-ow, Murata!"
"Now say 'Sooorry'."
Yuuri scowled. "Murata...I'm sorry. Sorry I ever let you into my life to rob me of my best years before leaving me a burnt out husk."
Murata clapped his hands together, grinning. "Apology accepted! Come on, we're running late." He tapped his wristwatch for emphasis. "You've been out for a while now, school has just ended. I called your parents at work and promised them I'd see you home safely."
Yuuri pouted, feeling slightly ashamed of himself for fainting and missing an entire day's classes just because some pretty boy decided to slap him around a bit. "You don't need to do that, I can manage just fine by myself."
"Oh?" Murata's glasses glinted dangerously as he pushed them further up the bridge of his nose. "In that case you won't mind if the nurse contacts your brother instead. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to hear that his precious little brother was in a fight and needs his urgent assistan-"
"I'm up, I'm up!" Yuuri yelled, scrambling out of the bed and hauling the class president to the door. "Let's just go already. Geez. How low can you get, threatening me with Shori?" He shuddered at how his brother might react if he discovered he had gotten into a fight.
"The end justifies the means, Shibuya-pipi!" Murata replied, brightly.
"That's what you always say when you've done something terrible. And don't call me Shibuya-pipi or people will get the wrong idea!"
Murata only whistled innocently, pretending not to hear him. Yuuri narrowed his eyebrows and glared at the other's back.
'He really is the devil.'
It was the spring of his 16th year and the cherry blossom trees were raining petals around the school campus. The sun was high and the baseball season was in full swing, so to speak. Yuuri clung miserably to the high fence surrounding the pitch and watched his club practising with the look of a kicked puppy. His head still pounded, but the familiar sounds of the court were like a lullaby to Yuuri: the coach's quick orders, the satisfying crack of bat against ball, the thud of running feet kicking up dust.
Murata smiled pityingly. "It's just a few days, Shibuya. Your head will be right as rain by Wednesday and you can get back to playing."
"A few days?" Yuuri gawked then wilted against the fence. How could he miss a few days of practise? Baseball was his life - his passion! He could barely stand missing one day, never mind several.
"Look on the bright side," Murata continued and patted his friend's black-clad shoulder, "this will give us more free time during the afternoon to work on our history project."
Yuuri shot him an incredulous look. "On what planet is that a bright side?" He clung to the fence again, gazing longingly. "That stuck up pretty boy. Why did he have to go and punch me anyway? I just made a little mistake."
Murata tapped his index finger against his chin in thought. "Well you know, if you suddenly fondled me I'd probably hit you too. Unless you were a pretty girl. Or at the very least wearing a dress." He turned to Shibuya, brightly. "Ne? Would you be wearing a dress?"
Yuuri wisely ignored him. "It was an honest mistake. He just looks...so like..."
"Auralia?" Murata finished for him. "Mmh, yes, he does, doesn't he? Uncanny, really." His glasses flashed in the sunlight as he clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head towards the blue sky. "Lucky, you, Shibuya. After all, you always did say if you ever crossed paths with Auralia in this life, you'd definitely marry her."
"What?" Yuuri blinked, surprise momentarily forcing the air of out his lungs. "Ahhhg, Murata - don't tease me in this moment of tragedy! He's a guy – we're both guys. That's not…it's not normal." Suddenly Yuuri sprang to life, puffed out his chest and thumped his fisted right hand into the palm of his left with a steely look of determination. "No. I won't believe it. Absolutely not. Auralia can't be that snotty jerk. It's just a coincidence. So what if he looks exactly like Auralia? There can only be so many faces in the world. Sooner or later someone's going to wind up looking like someone else, right? Yes, it's purely elementary, Murata!" he said, laughing quite manically.
Beside him, Murata was nodding sagely. "That's the spirit, Shibuya. Even though your logic is flawed and you're clearly in denial, I, Murata Ken, will endlessly support you as your most treasured best friend."
Yuuri faltered, his left eyebrow twitching. "Ahh.. Thanks. I think."
"Oh look, and here's the perfect opportunity to put your theory to the test. Good afternoon, von Bielefeld!"
Murata waved cheerfully over Yuuri's shoulder, who instantly froze and let out a small noise that sounded like a cat being strangled. Turning around, his dark eyes rested on the figure of Wolfram von Bielefeld across the path. The blonde boy was dressed in white from head to toe in clothes Yuuri recognised as the protective uniform of a fencer. The boy paused and turned towards them, his brilliant green eyes narrowed. But regardless of what seemed to be a perpetual haughty scowl marring his delicate features, Wolfram was nothing short of beautiful and Yuuri felt that realisation like a kick in the gut. He flushed darkly and shook his head quickly, hoping that Murata wouldn't notice how flustered he was.
'He really is Auralia,' his inner monologue lamented, miserably. 'No doubt. No doubt at all…damnit.'
"Class President," Wolfram nodded shortly in greeting, his tone stiff and cold. His gaze shifted to Yuuri, momentarily puzzled. Then he sneered as recognition hit him and tossed his blonde head arrogantly. "Ah. It's the pervert from this morning."
Yuuri's eyebrow twitched in irritation, but he forced a smile regardless. "H-Hello, von Bielefeld. Er, that's an, um, interesting name. Very unusual for around here." That's right, he congratulated himself mentally, you can manage pleasant conversation. "Your name is difficult to pronounce though, so how about I just call you Wolfram? Or Wolf for short-"
But Wolfram cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. "The only reason it's difficult for you to pronounce is because your crude low class tongue couldn't talk its way out of a paper bag."
Yuuri frowned. "Look, just because I ...mistook you for someone else and did something a little awkward doesn't mean you should be so rude."
Wolfram huffed. "I wasn't being rude. I was being honest." He thrust a finger at Yuuri, imperiously. "And you're a pervert, so don't preach to me."
Yuuri's cheeks flushed crimson. "Stop calling me a pervert! People are going to hear you!"
The boy snorted. "Good. People should have fair warning before you roll your greasy groping fingers all over them."
"Greasy...fingers..." Yuuri repeated, barely audible. He could feel the dull flames of anger kindling and spitting in the pit of his stomach in the face of Wolfram's infuriating smirk. 'Who does this brat think he is?'
"Now, now girls, calm down. You're both pretty," Murata said with raised palms, sweating slightly. "How about we all go for a nice refreshing drink, eh? Von Bielefeld is new to the area and I'm sure he'd appreciate a tour-"
"Who is this Auralia anyway?" Wolfram interjected again, looking coolly interested. His upper lip curled into a mocking sneer. "Some dating game character, I'll bet."
"Of course not!" Yuuri protested. "Auralia is ...she's sort've...i-it's none of your busi-"
"Auralia is Shibuya-kun's beloved ex-girlfriend," Murata explained conversationally.
"Ohh?" Wolfram hummed, looking mildly interested. "So you're a homo but you had a girlfriend once?"
Something snapped inside Yuuri at that remark. The injustice of the entire situation! For Auralia, his Auralia, to have been reborn into this guy's body - this stuck up, arrogant, mouthy little pretty boy - was inconceivably unfair. Yuuri was clenching his fists so tight that his nails were cutting into his palms and he could feel his temper beginning to crack, when-
All three boys turned towards the voice. A girl was running across an open sports field towards them, waving a tennis racket in the air to catch their attention. Yuuri felt a wave of relief wash over him - a distraction was definitely what he needed right now, and his childhood friend was always a welcome distraction.
"Hashimoto!" he greeted, grinning through tears of relief. "Ahh thank goodness!"
"Oi, Shibuya-kun, how many times have I told you to call me Asami?" the girl said in a demanding tone, hands on hips.
Yuuri pouted. "I don't give you into trouble when you call me Shibuya, do I?"
"Yes, but I prefer Shibuya. It's a much nicer name than Yuuri. Murata agrees with me. Don't you, Murata?"
The latter grinned wickedly. "Actually I prefer Shibuya Yuuri Harajuku Fuuri."
Yuuri sighed. It was no good arguing with Hashimoto; she was as stubborn as a mule. Normally Yuuri was a nervous wreck around girls. He knew lots about baseball and even more about history, but his expertise didn't extend to talking to girls. Hashimoto, on the other hand, had never been one to sit around waiting for someone else to make conversation. Upbeat and positive to a fault, she had demanded that Yuuri become her friend the day she and her family had moved next door to the Shibuya household five years previously. In all honesty, Yuuri had a hard time imagining her as a girl at all. She was pretty enough, especially clad as she was now in the cute blue and yellow trimmed white uniform of the tennis club. Her light brown hair was cut short just below her ears and her large eyes were always friendly. She wasn't the sort of girl who made your palms sweat and your heart jump into your mouth; rather, Yuuri had always thought of her as one of the guys.
"Oh? Who's this?" Hashimoto interrupted his train of thought. "Ahhh, is this the new boy?" she said excitedly and began walking boldly towards Wolfram on the other side of the path, who seemed to be regarding her with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. Hashimoto held her hand out towards him, smiling kindly. "Hello, I'm Hashimoto Asami from class 2C, Shibuya-kun's neighbour."
"Pleased to meet you," the blonde replied, his voice distinctly softer now and for some reason that irked Yuuri far more than the boy's arrogant attitude.
"So you're new here, right?" Hashimoto continued. "I haven't seen you before on campus, so I suppose you're the one everyone has been talking about."
"Oh? I would have expected you to recognise him, Asami-chan," Murata piped in. "This is Wolfram von Bielefeld, our school's first celebrity, famed for having won Tokyo La La's prestigious teen idol award last year."
Yuuri was a little shocked to see Wolfram shift uncomfortably and avert his suddenly reddening face to the ground at Murata's flattery. He had expected the boy to take every opportunity to boast about his fame and celebrity status, but on the contrary – he seemed embarrassed by it.
"Ohh? That's so cool!" Hashimoto marvelled, gazing at Wolfram reverently. "I don't know much about fame or celebrities or anything like that, but to have achieved your dream at such a young age is really amazing." She smiled honestly. "You must have really worked hard to get where you are."
And then something curious happened. Wolfram's face turned scarlet red and he staggered frantically away from Hashimoto as if he'd just been told she was carrying the plague. Then, quivering and losing all semblance of composure, he turned on his heel and fled as if the hounds of hell were after him.
Yuuri stood with his two friends and watched Wolfram disappear into the indoor sport's building, varying degrees of surprise etched into their expressions.
"Ah." Murata sweated. "Perhaps he's been in the sun too long?"
The Von Spitzweg residence wasn't so much a house but a stately mansion, surrounded by large gardens that could almost contain his entire school campus. Why he had to attend such a low class school was beyond Wolfram, but his eldest brother and head of the family had demanded that Wolfram have something akin to normality in his life.
He exited the private car without waiting for the chauffeur to open the door, stormed up the stone steps and thrust open the front door.
"It's an outrage!" he bellowed to no one in particular, though instinct told him his little-big brother turned manager would be waiting to collect his coat and shoes in the grand hallway, as he did every day. He tore his jacket off and dumped it on the floor, fuming. "To think that I have to attend that filthy school – stomach it for another two years. The moment I stepped through the doors I was harassed and prodded by commoners and their sticky fingers. What on earth was Gwendal thinking, enrolling me in a vulgar school like that?"
The older man smiled patiently and closed the front door behind his little brother. "You shouldn't judge people or establishments by their wealth and social status, Wolfram," he chided gently. "Besides, your new school has an excellent grade average, ranks high on the league table and the faculty of arts is second to none. Surely that pleases you?"
Wolfram sniffed and ignored him, turning briskly towards the grand staircase in the centre of the hallway. "I'm going for a nap. Don't disturb me."
"Wolfram," Conrad began gently, reaching out a hand to rest on his little brother's shoulder, "if there's something upsetting you, we can talk-"
"I'm not upset," the younger boy snapped, pulling away. "I'm just tired. Dealing with constant stupidity is exhausting." He paused briefly on the first step, then asked, "Have you heard from Mother today?"
Conrad shook his head, smiling a little sadly. "Not yet. I'm sure she'll call later."
Wolfram nodded silently and without another word, climbed the remaining stairs and disappeared onto the second landing, leaving Conrad to collect his crumpled coat and shoes.
Conrad knew he was too soft on his little brother, but with their free-spirited mother continuously away on her cruise holidays and exotic globe-trotting jaunts for free love, Wolfram didn't exactly have a stable parental figure. Gwendal and Conrad had been lucky enough to have their father around growing up – their family had been small, but tight. Things were never quite the same again after their father passed away, even when their mother remarried and gave birth to Wolfram. Wolfram's father had left after only a year; by that time, Gwendal had become a high flying businessman and moved out of the family home, and their mother had looked abroad to distract her heartbreak. Wolfram had never really tasted the family life he and Gwendal had been lucky enough to sample, and so Conrad was the first to admit that he spoiled the boy. He was Wolfram's father, brother and manager; all roles he would cherish until the day his precious little brother no longer needed him, and if that meant dealing with his sullen spells and temper tantrums from time to time (slash, every day) then so be it.
Conrad Weller had been putting up with Wolfram's temper for two lifetimes, after all.
Wolfram lay on his bed with his pillow pressed to his heated face. He hated this place. The town was so quiet – too quiet compared to bustling Tokyo. He missed the distant sound of cars and the roar of bus engines; the continual nightly hum of clubs, karaoke bars and the buzz of street chatter wafting up to his penthouse apartment – the city lullaby that had soothed and lulled him to sleep every night for as long as he could remember. Aside from Conrad, his family had always been scattered, but at least when he lived in Tokyo, Gwendal was in the same general geographical location. If he had wanted to see his elder brother then, it would have only taken a half hour's drive through the city. But out here in this backwater town, it would take 3 hours at least to reach him.
Change, thought Wolfram, was definitely overrated, but his fierce pride wouldn't dare let his elder brother hear his complaints. He would grin and bear it, despite the shame. After all, it was only two years. Two years and he would be an adult, free to do as he pleased without Conrad looking over his shoulder all the time or Gwendal ordering him to attend poorly constructed commoner schools. At the thought of his new school his mind wandered to the irritating encounter that morning with… what was his name again? Ah yes, Shibuya Yuuri the wimpy pervert.
Wolfram fumed, clutching the pillow tightly to his chest. People were always mistaking him for a girl. No matter how passionate he was about singing, how much a part of his very soul performing was, deep down Wolfram knew with a bitter clarity that his pretty looks were responsible for propelling him to his high ranking place in the music industry. Wolfram hated that fact more than anything else in the world. Shibuya Yuuri would pay for reminding him.
"You must have really worked hard to get where you are."
Wolfram blushed a brilliant shade of red. The words had sprung into his mind without prompting and caused his heart to thump against his chest with surprising vigour. That girl… At first nothing had seemed particularly special about Hashimoto Asami, but the moment she had spoken to him, her words had touched a nerve. No one had ever taken an interest or sounded so genuinely impressed by the work Wolfram had put into his music career before. The girls he normally encountered only ever wanted to hear about the glamorous life he led and the myriad celebrities he partied with, but those kinds of things rarely took Wolfram's interest. Music was his love, not the shallow pool of fame.
"Hashimoto Asami…" he whispered, testing the name on his lips. It was a good name; a pleasant name to the ear. Saying it out loud somehow made his heart beat faster. He frowned and squeezed the pillow tightly. His head felt a bit dizzy when he thought of her; not exactly an unpleasant sensation, but even so…
Vaguely, he wondered what Yuuri the wimp was doing at that moment. Hashimoto had said she lived next door to him. Perhaps she was over there now. Perhaps she was having dinner with him. Maybe she went there every night – maybe she and Yuuri walked to school together – maybe that perverted stupid wimp waited at the gates for her after school – perhaps they'd pause by the riverbank on their way home to watch the sun go down, just like Wolfram had seen couples do in films before, hand in hand, gazing shyly into each other's eyes-
Something in Wolfram snapped at that and a wave of intense jealousy poured through his veins. "That no good lecherous perverted wimp!" he fumed, tearing his goose-feather pillow in two, looking slightly deranged as a thousand or more tiny feathers flew around him. He sat bolt upright in bed, panting with rage. "Shibuya Yuuri…I swear I'm going to make your life a living hell. I won't lose Hashimoto Asami to the likes of you!"
On the other side of town, in a quaint two floored family home, Shibuya Yuuri shivered and sneezed violently.
"Gahh," he sniffed, "who's talking about me?"
A/N: Btw, I meant to add at the beginning that Urusei Pompeii fanart is up on my Deviantart if you fancy checking it out. Thank you for reading, new chapter soon! Reviews are always welcome and very much appreciated. :D