ADMIRE ME |Brothers Conflict

02

We were waiting until the plaster dried around my ankle, I on the table and Fuuto on a chair in the far corner of the room. His indifferent demeanour had returned, while he was aimlessly scrolling through a list on his smartphone.

Every few minutes, he lifted his gaze as if on the verge of saying something.

My heart raced every time he would look at me, the fangirl in me working overtime.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, the words leaving his mouth in a jumbled mess. With a jolt, I twisted around to look at him, remembering the cast around my ankle too late. My knee protested against the awkward angle it was under, forcing me to turn back again. But not before I had noticed the uncertainty in Fuuto's posture, the hunched shoulders and the way he held his head, the strawberry-blonde locks hiding his features.

"You're sorry," I echoed dumbly, even forgetting to add a question mark at the end.

"Yeah."

"Ah. Okay. Your apologies are accepted." If he had been someone else, I wouldn't have been so lenient -and even now the edge in my voice was too sharp. However, my admiration for his songs made me soft, something I was likely to regret later on.

"It isn't okay," he huffed, shaking his head wildly. "I'm not sure why you're always like this, but stop it."

Stop what?

Confused, I stared at Fuuto, our communication off for the first time since we had met. I had always understood him until now – until he had tried to remove Yusuke from his sister only to elbow me between my shoulder blades. We both knew that this had been an accident. According to tradition, none of Ema's stepbrothers had even noticed my presence. What was the point of making a huge deal out of this when he couldn't magically heal my ankle?

Silently, I watched Fuuto who glared at me through his hair which still obscured his face. His brown eyes glinted in the shadows that his hair cast, their focus on me, leaving me dizzy and breathless. Fortunately, I was already sitting, because my knees might just have collapsed under me. My idol was looking at me!

In any other universe, my awe wouldn't remove my ability to see the distinction between Asakura and Asahina. However, in this universe, my admiration wasn't solely artistic, despite my dislike of the guy.

The nurse who had placed the cast sailed into the room with a broad grin and a pair of crutches, paying the tense atmosphere no heed.

"Miss [L/N], the doctor told me to give you crutches instead of a wheelchair. Please return them in three months to the shop in the basement. I have got a recipe for you too." The nurse put her hands in her pockets, looking for the recipe.

"Doctor Masume told me that putting you in a wheelchair would probably have the adverse effect, but you'll have to take enough rest. We wouldn't want to see you here again for something more serious, now would we?" The nurse made the question sound like a threat. Once I had nodded obediently, she handed me the recipe.

"There you go."

She continued to check the cast around my ankle after placing the crutches on the bed. When she had finished prodding and tugging, she left us alone, stillness settling in the room.

Without the nurse's cheerful presence, the tense atmosphere returned, more stifling than ever. With a sigh, I looked at Fuuto, who kept his gaze on his smartphone. The realisation that he had only wanted to apology was a bitter pill to swallow. With a sigh, I turned my attention to my ankle, wondering whether I should be depressed over the fact that my idol was ignoring my existence again. Then, I reached for the crutches, wrestling to lift my weight from the bed without toppling over.

Suddenly, two hands encompassed my waist, lifting me in the air.

Fuuto craned his neck to look at me, holding me in the air like I was a puppy.

Breathlessly, I looked at Fuuto, wondering whether he knew that this was the first time he touched me consciously. Even with layers of clothing between our skins, his touch burnt on my skin. Instead of being angry with the guy who had caused me so much pain, I was fawning over him.

I didn't know whether it was his voice or his looks or his fame that I was so attracted to, but the feeling was undeniable.

That made me pretty twisted, probably. But not as twisted as Fuuto, who was in love with his stepsister, who had no qualms about pushing a girl from the stairs, who was so much and so little at the same time. He was fake, a collection of traits that people wanted to see in him, but I knew that the real him was somewhere in there. And perhaps, just perhaps, it was the thrill of finding out what was underneath that mask which made the butterflies in my stomach flutter.

Then, I realised that I had been staring -and worse; I wasn't sure for how long I hadn't been able to tear my gaze away. With a jerk, I averted my gaze, muttering something that wasn't Japanese at all.

"It can't be that difficult," he scoffed, placing me on the ground swiftly.

When he withdrew his hands from my waist, something clattered on the ground. Glad that I could avert my gaze, hoping that he wouldn't notice how hot my cheeks were, I looked at the ground, seeing my mp3-player.

"Ah, that's mine," I remarked, already wondering how I could reach the small device. Fuuto scooped the black mp3-player from the ground, his eyes on the screen.

A grin tipped the corners of his lips upward, pure evil in his eyes as he lifted his gaze from the tiny screen to meet my gaze.

"An interesting choice of music, [Y/N]," he remarked smugly, handing me the mp3-player. Mortified, I put the device in my pocket, although it was too late to hide what Fuuto had already discovered.

Roughly 90% of the music on my mp3-player was by Asakura.

The amusement in his eyes faded, replaced by cold calculation which chilled me to the bone. My cheeks, which had been beet red moment prior, paled.

"Listen, Fuuto..." My voice trailed off as I didn't know what to say.

"I'm sure that you don't want Hinata to know that the only reason you have befriended her is to get closer to me" he commented casually, smirking.

That was true; I didn't want Ema to think that I had used her.

There was nothing I could say in my defence because I wasn't sure whether I would have lasted so long without such an incentive. Although Ema was kind, it was difficult to be a close friend to someone when you envied someone so much that you hated them just that little bit for what they had – and I lacked.

And, naturally, Fuuto knew, because he could be oddly perceptive when he wasn't too self-absorbed or occupied with seducing his stepsister. Although I couldn't always understand Fuuto's actions or expression, this time the message was crystal clear.

Undoubtedly, he would use this bit of information against me at some point, but at this point, he huffed in mockery as he turned away from me. With a derisive smirk, he tossed the mp3-player on the table, making me flinch as the plastic casing landed loudly on the table top. Before I could ask him what he was going to do next, he had disappeared, leaving me behind in the room.

"I'm done for," I whined, letting my head hang. The information in itself was hardly discriminating, but with a little twist on this tale... 

Ever since Fuuto had transferred to our school, people started approaching Ema with bribes and friendly words, hoping to be introduced to Fuuto. In an admirable display of loyalty, Ema had cut ties with all people who hoped to become famous – or whatever nefarious intentions they harboured – through Fuuto. Regardless of the circumstances, if Ema were led to believe that I was a gold digger, I would be down a friend. Moreover, Ema was my only friend, so I would be all alone. If anything, that was a fate I preferred to avoid.

Worst of all was the fact that I couldn't deny these false charges, because they may not be as false as I wanted them to be.