1. Amu's Guest

Sshk…sshk…sshk. A pause. And then – sshk…sshk…shk…!

The sound – a continuous wet scratching that seemed persistent and angry – bounced along the deserted halls in an endless melody, filling the Hinamori house that lay empty and devoid of human existence with momentary life. The entire Hinamori family was currently absent of their pleasant shelter, having abandoned it to preoccupy themselves with the excitement of the annual festival that arrived every spring in town.

Everyone was gone - save the young girl who lay hunched over the kitchen sink, her body curled inward so that she represented a fuming pink ball that appeared ready to explode at any given second.

With an exasperated sigh, Amu knotted her eyebrows together and bent her head further into her task, grinding the sponge against the porcelain plate as she worked to scrub away the grime caked on the rim. The 'sshk'ing sound had been steadily increasing as time passed, reflecting Amu's blackened mood. "Mama really shouldn't let Ami mix her food anymore," she mumbled between pursed lips, increasing her efforts against the demonic stain. "Look what she's done!" She waved a hand wildly in the air as if to show the destruction to someone, and then Amu thrust her abused sponge which was on the brink of tatters into the pool of soapy water, slapping it back unmercifully to the filth.

This...abomination, which had appeared to glue itself permanently to the porcelain surface, had been formulated by Ami's hands during last night's dinner, and as the memory began to surface Amu felt the vein in her forehead throb impatiently.

They'd had Mama's homemade curry last night and were in the midst of enjoying the delectable family favorite – trading smiles, light conversation, Papa's occasional inspiring speeches that had included a headlight and overwhelming bravado which had caused everyone at the table to listen in fascination expect Amu, who had merely sat poking her food in disinterest – when Ami, grown bored with herself, had scrambled on top of the table and suddenly plunged her hands into the food. In a chortle of delighted laughter she had mashed up the remaining pieces, swirled it around, and then with confidence that would have fooled even the most skilled detectives, declared the design on her plate to be a butterfly.

Dropping their forks, Amu and her parents had leaned over the table and examined Ami's work with great interest, eyes wide. Shockingly, Amu had not known whether to look at her sister in disbelief or applaud her for her efforts because in a way –crooked antennae, lopsided body, a horrendous collection of color – the abused plate of curry had resemble the winged insect. Her jaw dropping, Amu managed only to cock her head and stare, too flabbergasted beyond words to speak.

Her parents on the other hand had taken a completely different reaction. Delighted by the sudden arrival of their very own Picasso, Papa and Mama had shoved away from the table in unison, Papa dashing away to find his camera, and upon return, begun taking countless pictures that had left the house radiating with flashes. Ami, absorbing the attention like a sponge, had proceeded to pose with her art in hand, reenacting the latest poses made by Utau, winking, smiling, and jumping with the utmost enthusiasm.

After that, encouraged by her parents' support, Ami had then run wildly about the house and begun to add to the butterfly, proclaiming it had shifted into an elephant. The next second a flower. She had carried out her duty with such liveliness and ardor it was as if this had been her soul purpose in life all along. It was not to dance and to sing, but to collect and paste! Grab the piece of string hanging off the couch and stick it on the ceramic; collect the crumbling pieces of dirt from Papa's shoe and throw it on; find one of Onee-chan's hair clips beneath the coffee table (Amu protesting wildly at this point) and add it to her creation! This! This is what Ami had been born for! And she'd taken it with great pride, whisking from one corner of the house to the other -collecting, adding, pasting.

It was a continual, never ending cycle that by the time Ami had finished, her creation had warped into something so twisted and gnarled – half of the items leaving Amu baffled as to where Ami retrieved them – that it had transformed into something completely beyond human comprehension. Aghast, Amu had thought no human would have ever find love in their heart to accept this…this thing!

But their parents had only beamed with pride at their youngest daughter's accomplishment, their enthusiasm seeming to blossom tenfold with every new creation that was set proudly before their eyes. Amu, unable to keep with her parents' overbearing level of enthusiasm, had soon retreated to her room to finish the homework she'd been assigned earlier.

And while Amu had sat chewing the end of her pencil during her studies, her parent's infatuation with Ami's artwork soon settled to simply Ami herself, turning a blind eye on the plate and focusing all their attention on their daughter, who, distracted by her parents' enthusiasm, had set aside her work and begun to recite the new song she'd been practicing, all thoughts of her previous artful endeavor forgotten.

In that expanse of time, Ami's artwork had been allowed to dry, corrode and piece together during the long onset of night…

Which was now the nightmarish mess Amu was currently scrubbing off.

Her brow furrowed, amber eyes glistening brightly in the light. Amu was growing impatient with the stain that had already eaten up 15 minutes of her life and she almost wondered if it had grown arms and legs during Ami's excavation, sinking its little nubs deep into the ceramic. "Ami...!" she growled, grinding the name between her teeth. She grunted, small sounds of struggle escaping her as Amu suddenly forced her entire weight onto the plate. A fractional budge went beneath her fingers and then suddenly the entire mess gave away, exhausted from the torrent of bubbles and soap that had barraged its surface.

Amu blinked, momentarily overcome with disbelief at her accomplishment, then chuckling triumphantly she dumped the debris into a trashcan, dusting her hands off. For a moment Amu allowed her mind to drift to Ami, wondering what her sister might have accomplished by now at the festival. Maybe she'd won a goldfish. Her eyes slipped to the plate that had caused her so much fuss and sighed sadly.

Poor goldfish.

Only imagining what her little sister's hands could devastate to the animal, she finished rinsing the remaining debris with considerable ease, scratching her nails against the surface to pick off the pieces that still clung stubbornly to the edge and then placed it in the rack to dry. Amu was in the midst of reaching for another when something shifted in her peripheral vision.

It was too close to discern what kind it was, but Amu was aware it was a dish because 1) she heard it dripping with water, the suds popping faint and wet in her ear and 2) from what Amu could discern, there was enough delicate gold tracings and flower petals scattered across the surface that she recognized it to be one of Mama's fine china dishes.

Amu suddenly frowned, the gears of her brain slowly starting to move. The gentle gold lines and floating leaves along the face of the plate didn't match the pale blue, plastic cup that she held in her hands. It had a tiny lion character printed on the side, its tail curved into the handle – another of Ami's dishware (which thankfully lacked any back breaking demands of labor).

But why was it so near? And why wasn't it in her hands?

As this bit of information sunk in her amber eyes widened in sudden panic, overcome by an idea that sent a cold chill down her spine.

Was this dish, by some super natural talent, floating beside her because it was aided by someone…on the otherside? Had some long lost ancestor been unable to fulfill a goal during his life time and returned from the Afterlife to bear a family curse? An unresisting grudge that would follow her till her death bed? Aided by her wild imagination – that appeared to be blowing the situation completely out of proportion – Amu felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as her eyes slid to the side and strained heavily on the dish that was hovering unsteadily beside her.

If this was punishment for taking a picture of Tadase while he had been asleep during a meeting than she prayed to all eternity for forgiveness! But then again, he'd looked so innocent, softer and more adorable than ever. In such a vulnerable state – how could she resist? And…And it had only been one little picture…

Wait! What was she thinking? She had to get rid of this curse now!

But just as Amu bent her head in repentance, the dish drifted closer, suddenly revealing the polished nails and slim fingers that were keeping it suspended in the air.

"Will you wash dishes like this when we're living together?" a voice asked to the side, and there was a trace of amusement in his question as Ikuto waved the plate slightly before her. "And will you greet me and kiss me after I return from a long day of work?"

A startled gasp escaped her and Amu reared back, nearly throwing her hands into the air as she spotted the boy who was two inches from her. "Ikuto!" she chocked, and like always she began to fret energetically, sputtering exclamations that were too fast and too indiscernible to be understood.

Amu's reactions were usually weak and childish, making her seem like a complete fool most of the time, but as she jumped away, startled at his unexpected appearance, the following response made her look even more ridiculous as her hands, waving at an ungodly speed, smacked the water suddenly.

There was a split second where Ikuto spotted Amu – now on a role in her excited fervor – and then she was gone, taken by a wave of dish soap and water her flailing had sent up.

The kitchen fell into abrupt silence.

A hushed silence.

An eerie silence.

Ikuto, having slipped smoothly to a safe corner of the kitchen seconds before impact, hoped his entertained smile wasn't as bright as he felt. He was perfectly dry, and he placed a hand to his lips to pull in some means of restraint as he watched Amu, who had stilled into an odd silence.

It was the calm before the storm, he realized, and before he could think of anything else Amu's head shot up, both fists clenched to herself in childish outrage. A fleeting trace of what appeared as pure steam seemed to burst from her figure but Ikuto thought it only his imagination.

"Look what you did! Look at the mess you caused –"

"You did that," he interjected softly with a smile.

" – in the kitchen! And now I'm dripping wet. It's getting all over the floor." Unable to help herself, Amu waved her hands in disgust before her as if trying to rid her fingers of something sticky, missing the dark look that suddenly entered his eyes.

"Oh, Amu," Ikuto said, and she was suddenly aware of the slight pleasure that coated his tone. "I never thought to hear you speak like that. And so young…"

Amu paused in her fussing long enough to narrow her eyes at him, her face brindling with with both puzzlement and suspicion. She didn't know which to be upset at more - the fact that she had absolutely no idea what his words entailed or the way he'd pursed his lips at the end of his sentence, as if he'd just enjoyed something quite satisfying.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, the heat in her tone nearly causing her teeth to snap.

Ikuto sighed lightly and then smiled. It was during times like these where Ikuto truly appreciated the delicacies of a naive sixth grader. He glided forward with unmatched grace, placing his footing carefully along the dry parts of the wet tiles lest he get wet socks. "Do you want me to dry you?" he asked casually, leaning in and taking up a dripping hand, which she snatched back immediately.

Her voice was clipped as she responded, dismissing his last comment with a wave of her hand. "No, I just need a towel."

"I can be your towel, all you have to do is come here and – "

All it took was one dangerous slit of gold to be turned on him and Ikuto's arms dropped to his side, though a trace of a smile remained as he watched her retreat from the room. As she disappeared, Amu cursed his ability to make her feel like she did now - was it humiliation that burned her face into an undesired embarrassment? His words? Him...?

Her socks squelched along the floor, interrupting her thoughts, and her fingers bit into the wood as she heard his laughter follow her up the stairway.

If she could wreck this much havoc around Ikuto in just a manner of five minutes, she feared what else she could accomplish. The festival her family was at could take hours, which left Amu ultimately by herself.

Alone…and with Ikuto.

This was going to be a long day.