disclaimer: I do not own Skip Beat!

In which there is cute couple's banter and touch-y feel-y good times (nothing steamy, the good stuff is on the way) ... and intrigue! Consider this chapter the beginnings of a slow simmer as the heat turns up.

Chapter Two

Kyoko Mogami was a very perceptive young woman.

It was a quality often impaired when it came to her own blind spots, and she could never lay claim to it as a virtue without feeling as though she were boasting, but the fact remained. Wherever she looked, there was something to see and to understand. And if it wasn't immediately understandable, she simply kept her eye on it until it was. Most, if not all quandaries, were eventually resolved in this way.

Then Kuon Hizuri happened.

It was a strange thing, being in love. The two of them could sometimes share a wordless look, a kind of thought and emotion transference occurring in their met gazes, manifesting that strange sort of telepathy that couples get. They could have conversations wherein most of the sentences weren't even complete because, really, the subject was just too fascinating and they so quickly understood one another.

It was an even stranger thing, being that close to the man not a foot and a half away from her ... and yet still being so utterly baffled by him as well. Right at this moment, for instance, he seemed about as comprehensible as the outer reaches of space. An exaggeration, sure, but not by much!

He had been ... not really distant, not really odd, not really anything at all, just a bit ... off since she had come over this evening. He had opened the door to her, kissed her hello and chatted with her as she cooked as he usually did, but ... something didn't feel right. He seemed watch her more than he was talking to her. True, he didn't speak less than he normally did, but he was definitely keeping an uncomfortably close, almost intense eye on her. Several times she asked him:

"Is something the matter, Kuon?"

And several times, he snapped out of his peculiar revery to reply:

"No, nothing. Why do you ask?"

And, of course, she couldn't really say why she asked. Because she didn't know. She had no idea what was going on with him, no idea what in particular to pinpoint as a problem. He was hitting all the right notes (asking how her day was, if she had seen what the President and his entourage were cosplaying as today, what new projects Sawara had floated her way, etc.), but the way he was watching her made every one of these innocent questions seem like an interrogation. Kyoko didn't mind him looking at her, not in the least. But ... it seemed rather like he was looking for something.

I'm imagining things, she thought resolutely as she put her hands together in gratitude for her food. Unless he's noticed I've put on weight ...

But even that wouldn't justify this blasted intensity! What on earth was his problem?

Kuon had been staring at her for what amounted to about a full twenty minutes by the time they finished eating dinner. He would glance at the television from time to time, or down to his food, but other than that, his gaze kept finding its way back to her. She asked him once more what was wrong, but he had only shaken his head.

I can't keep looking over at him. We'll be in a staring contest then! And who knows what will happen ... ?

A familiar heat unfurled inside her at the thought. They had stared each other into some ... interesting predicaments before. Nothing she wouldn't feel too uncomfortable daydreaming about sometimes or, if pressed, sharing with Moko-san or Amamiya, but ... interesting nonetheless. She was never afraid to look him in the eye, of course, but she knew better than to start something she couldn't finish.

And long, long looks into one another's eyes were always the start of something.

She mentally doused the heat with cold water and drank down the last of her soup. "Did you enjoy it?"

He flinched ever so slightly at her words, then blinked and finally seemed to see her. Never mind that he had been blatantly staring at her all this time. "Enjoy what?" he asked blankly.

She set her chopsticks down across her empty bowl and exhaled patiently. "The food ... Was it alright?"

He smiled vaguely. "It was wonderful."

"I'm glad," she said, hardly reassured and reached over to pick up his bowl. His hand fell over hers, and she froze.

"Kyoko-cha - " he began.

"Oh, no, you don't!" she said vehemently, snatching up his bowl and fitting it under her own. "We're not having this discussion again."

He blinked. "Eh?"

"You were about to tell me not to do the dishes because I always cook. Like you always do."

Kuon blinked again, but didn't speak.

"Weren't you ... ?" she asked, confused about why this familiar exchange hadn't yet commenced.

The slightest hint of a smile quirked the right side of his mouth. "... Ah, no, actually."

Chagrin warmed Kyoko's face. "Oh."

A few moments of awkward silence passed.

"But now that you've mentioned it -" he began, falling into the routine with ease.

"Now that I've mentioned it, it needn't be mentioned again," she said as she marched off to the kitchen, dishes in tow. "Now, please, just watch TV and relax. It won't take me but a few minutes."

She ran the hot water in the sink, adding dish soap. She found herself thinking of Pavlov and his salivating dogs as she watched the sink fill with fragrant foam. This - the act of washing the dishes - was the stimulus.

Then came the conditioned response: Kuon, like clockwork, looming just behind her as she stood over the sink.

Being the perceptive girl she was (and this really didn't need deep thought), she has picked up on the way he could never resist messing with her while she did the dishes. A fact she had not merely come to expect, but to eagerly await. In a way she felt guilty. Not that they were doing anything wrong - they were just dishes, after all. Still, it seemed almost ... indecent.

His hands settled on the edge of the sink, right around where her elbows were as she washed a stainless steel pot. She tried and failed to ignore the thrill that shot through her.

"I think the TV in the other room, Kuon."

In a voice that made her almost certain that he was reviving "Ni-san's" puppy-dog eyes, he replied "Yes, but you're not."

"I will be," she said imperiously as she scrubbed, "once I finish the dishes."

"You know," he said, dropping the puppy-dog voice in favor of a lofty drawl, "these are my dishes, after all. How do you suppose they got washed before you started cooking here, hmm?"

"If I had to guess, you either threw them into the dishwasher, or you just ordered out and didn't use them at all."

"How rude," he said with mock petulance, propping his chin on the top of her head as he huddled closer to her. The heat of his towering body never failed to release an entire field of butterflies in her stomach, but she managed to stay calm enough. There was no hiding the goosebumps, though. He could hardly fail to notice them, as his skin pressed against hers, but he was still too much of a gentleman to tease her about them.

"You say it's rude, but you don't deny it? Very telling, Kuon."

"I don't have to deny anything," he sniffed. "They're my dishes."

"Well, for the time being, they're my dishes. They'll be yours again once they're clean."

"Keep it up, and I might throw you in the dishwasher, Kyoko-chan," he threatened, placing his hands on her waist.

"So you admit you're used to tossing things in there? Again, very telling."

"Just one dish? Please?"

"No."

"Why not?"

She sighed and patiently explained, "I am the one cooking here. Therefore I am the one using the dishes. If I dirty a dish, it's only fair that I should be the one to wash it. Why should you have to wash them if, for instance, I decide to make something complicated that needs a lot of pots and pans?"

"May I offer a polite rebuttal?" he asked, twining his arms around her waist.

"You may," she allowed, focusing every ounce of her self-control on not melting.

He leaned further down, then unceremoniously put his lips to her neck and blew a very loud raspberry, startling a squeal of mingled annoyance and delight out of her. So much for not melting.

"Neh! Go on with you!" she demanded through her sputtering laughter, tempted to blast him with the hose attachment.

"No. If I can't wash my own dishes, then I'll at least stay for the washing itself."

"What sense does that make!"

"It's the principle of the thing." He wrapped his arms languidly around her neck, putting just enough of his weight on her to bow her forward slightly. "Carry on, woman."

"So stubborn," she grumbled, scrubbing at a small sauce pot.

The two of them continued on this same vein ("At least let me wash this one, it takes more elbow grease than you've got.") for some time ("It's a non-stick skillet, it does not!"), until the dishes were clean. As soon as she pulled the plug from the drain to let the water out, Kuon scooped her up princess-style and began to trot back towards the living room.

"I still have to wipe the counters!" she shrieked, wrapping her arms around his neck to steady herself.

"Nope. You're welcome to my dishes, but my counters are off-limits."

"Why - ?"

"Hush. The show's about to start."

"But the counters - !"

. . .

About fifteen minutes, Kyoko lay stretched out in the living room, reclining on Kuon as he reclined on the sleek leather sofa. She was laughing uproariously, her face flushed and her coppery hair fanned out over Kuon's chest. The counters were long since forgotten.

"Wha ... Wha ... Whatever possessed Kijima to do stand-up comedy, I'm glad it did," Kyoko managed to gasp between guffaws. "This is hysterical!"

"It is, at that," he agreed, more than a little intrigued by how much his girlfriend was enjoying Kijima's gutter humor. That in itself was pretty hilarious, and he found himself watching her more than the show.

He forced his eyes back to the show. He had obviously unsettled her earlier with his staring. He hadn't been able to help it. Some simple-minded impulse had led him to gawk at her, as though that part of her - that part which was capable of those thoughts that were now plaguing him, that hadn't stopped plaguing him this whole time, damn it all - would suddenly make itself known, become clear and discernible and obvious.

Kyoko gasped suddenly and began waving her hand at him. "Wait, wait, what time is it? I think -"

"Oh, yeah, it should be coming on any minute," he noted, picking up the remote and flipping to the cooking channel Kyoko was so fond of.

A few minutes into the episode (this one a tutorial on at-home flambé for beginners), Kyoko shifted positions, pressing her cheek to his chest as she settled her hip between his outstretched legs. He stiffened in more ways than one, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Good grief, Kuon!"

Or not. "Eh?"

Fortunately, she wasn't looking at where he was inadvertently prodding her. "What happened to your wrist?"

"What ... ?" His eyes fell to the small purplish bruise on the inside of the wrist she was now clutching close to her face. "Oh. Well. Look at that."

"I am looking at that! What on earth happened?"

I had to divert my thoughts and my blood flow before my erection made me pass out. No big deal.

"No idea," he lied. "I must have knocked into something by accident."

"But it's a pinch mark, I can tell! Why would you pinch yourself? And that hard? Did you pinch yourself that hard? Who's been pinching you?!" she demanded breathlessly, looking so ready to thrash whoever had done the pinching that he couldn't help but laugh. Her concern touched him, really it did, but she was far too adorable for her own good. Or his, for that matter.

"You can kiss it and make it better," he teased, trying not to dwell on the fact that it wasn't his wrist he was thinking of at the moment.

"Or I could just appease you with sweets, you big baby," she grumbled, standing up and heading back to the kitchen. "The dessert's definitely cooled anyhow."

Kuon trailed after her, mumbling, "When did you find time to make dessert?"

She opened the refrigerator and pulled a out glass dish filled with a moist yellow cake topped with curls of shaved chocolate and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

"Butter mochi, right?" he asked, mouth already watering.

"Mmm-hmm," she replied, cutting out a small square and plating it for him. "Here you are. Tell me if the chocolate shavings work, otherwise I'll switch back to coconut flakes next time."

"Thank you." He took the plate. "Wait, where's yours?"

"Where's my what?" she asked.

"Your piece. Aren't you having some?"

"No, I don't want any," she said.

Kuon arched his brow at her. He knew better than to argue with her about her weight directly, so he didn't even try. "Really."

Her lips pressed together stubbornly at his obvious skepticism. "Yes."

He plucked a morsel of the cake up with his chopsticks and held it out to Kyoko. "Not even one bite?"

She shook her head. "Absolutely not. I'm still full from dinner."

"No, you're not," he challenged.

"I really would have prefered the coconut after all," she fibbed, her eyes following the morsel as her wafted it under her nose.

"You love chocolate," he said.

"I, uh ... have a sore tooth," she offered weakly.

And because he couldn't help himself, because he hadn't been able to stop replaying her dream in his head, he said something then that he knew he shouldn't, voice suddenly husky with temptation:

"Say aah, Kyoko-chan."

He watched in a sick kind of fascination as her face turned a particularly lurid shade of pink. I am going straight to hell for this, he thought.

"... Eh?" Her voice was a tiny squeak. Her jaw had slackened somewhat, just enough for him to slip the sweet between her lips. Her mouth closed over it in surprise. Her face mellowed with the bliss of that first bite melting on her tongue the way all her desserts did, and the thought of things melting on her tongue was really unhelpful at this moment, so he tried to leave it alone.

It didn't work, but he tried. Lord, how he tried.

"So you're not going to tell me why you pinched yourself then?" she asked once she'd swallowed.

He plucked off another morsel and held it out. "Nope, not until you have some more. Open up, doctor's orders."

Yes. Straight to hell. Subtlety be damned along with me.

"For goodness sake, it's not cough medicine, I'll be alright without it," she protested with an even deeper blush, laughing as she dodged the piece until he gave up and ate it himself.

"Did I ever tell you I almost went into medicine?" he said without thinking.

She became very, very still. "What?"

"Medicine. I considered being a doctor," he said, barely managing not to grimace at the falsehood, "before I pursued acting. Did I never tell you that?"

"... No. No, you didn't tell me that."

Her eyes narrowed to golden slits that bore straight through him like swords. "I wonder why you're telling me now ..."

I apologize for the dose of feels that this chapter may have given you, dear readers. This is what my fangirl dreams are made of: Kyoko and Kuon bickering over the dishes while playing grab-ass at the sink.

Yes.

Till next time!