And Then, They Fell in Love

The tabloids were ruthless. In the following days of their trip to the hospital and the encounter with the photographer, the paparazzi had gone on a field day. The most popular picture was one of the two, taken in a park. Osamu had stopped to briefly lean against a tree, before bending down and placing a small kiss against Sara’s lips. Unbeknownst to the two, photographers had capture the kiss from every angle, and were writing their “love story.” It ranged from something very close to the truth, to Sara conning Osamu into dating her.

It wasn’t exclusive to Japan, either. Kara had sent her a tabloid she found at Wal-Mart, the World Weekly News, proclaiming that Osamu was an a prince alien from another planet, and Sara was his long lost wife he left millions of years ago. Osamu had found this one extremely amusing, stealing it from Sara and stashing it away in a shoebox he kept in his closet. “It’s where I keep the things worthwhile,” he explained.

“World Weekly News is worthwhile?”

“Sure,” he said, grinning. “That’s the first time I’ve been accused of being an alien. Usually I’m a mutant or some escapee from either a mental institution or a lab. I say it’s both.” He rolled his eyes and stuffed the box back into the closet. “I mean, with all the crap that Maka and the press put me through, it’s amazing that----” He stopped dead in his sentence, his entire body freezing with his words. Slowly, he shut the closet door and rubbed his temples, muttering something under his breath. “Anyway, it’s amazing they aren’t true.”

Sara gave him a confused look, and settled in a chair. “Maka? Who is he?”

His hands froze at his temples again, and he let out a deep breath. “He is . . Was . . . A very, very bad memory. One which I really do not want to explain. Are you hungry?”

“Am I what?” Sara’s mind was reeling at his thought process.

“Are you hungry? It’s almost seven.”

She blinked. “You have the oddest thought process I have ever known. The way you said that, it made it sound like your bad memory should make me hungry.”

“Mm, maybe it should.” Osamu gave her a wink and bounded off toward the kitchen, leaving Sara still in the chair. Her eyes flashed toward to box in his closet, and her curiosity sparked. Pushing it down, padded her way to the kitchen, finding him already making a sandwich. For someone as skinny as Osamu, he could certainly out eat anyone she knew. And that included the garbage disposal she called her sister.

“I heard you’re staying at Itaria’s tonight,” Osamu mentioned conversationally, staring at her over the top of his cup. “That should be fun. It’s been a while since Itaria had a friend like that.”

“She usually doesn’t?”

“Her parents frown on having too close of friends. They think it takes her away from her studies.” Osamu rolled his eyes. “Her parents are literally study obsessed. Itaria is the youngest of five daughters. Asia, the first daughter is a surgeon, two others are writers, the third is in training to be a lawyer, and . . Itaria is. . Itaria.”

Sara nodded. “She’s a disappointment.”

“In a way, yes.” Osamu was quiet for a moment, staring at his sandwich. “Sometimes. . .” he hesitated. “Sometimes I wonder if that isn’t what Ken is going to go through. Everyone is going to expect him to be like me. Teachers, my parents, the press . . . I don’t want my little brother going through what I have to. I’d gladly give it all up, I assure you.”

“I don’t think you could.

“What do you mean?”

“Look around you, Osamu.“ Sara waved her hand around the room for emphasis. “You live in a very nice apartment building, you will never have to worry about money. I don’t even know how much you have, but I have a clue that your grandchildren won’t have to worry about college. I honestly do not think you would know how to function without the press, Osamu. They are so much a part of your life now, it wouldn’t seem normal not to have them.”

He opened his mouth as though to argue with her, then slowly closed it, and started at her as if she had grown a third head. Slowly, he nodded and stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. “I had never thought about it that way. But. . It would be a nice change, sometimes.”

Osamu’s cell phone chirped, and Sara took the moment to excuse herself to his bedroom. Itaria would be expecting her over soon, and she had to find the pillow Osamu had ransomed from her earlier in the day. “Osamu!” she called, “Where did you put my pillow?”

“Closet!” he called back.

Nice to know he was so specific. His closet was huge. She pulled the doors open and spied her pillow, standing on her toes to pull the thing off her shelf. As she tugged it free, the box Osamu had stuffed into his closet fell to the floor, spilling it’s contents. Sara panicked and quickly began to throw the items back in the box - until one particular one caught her eye.

The picture was a tearful Osamu, who was standing close to his parents. Her eye caught the name “Ichijouji Maka” before she heard Osamu’s voice calling her from the kitchen. She stuffed the article into the pocket of her hoodie, replaced all the other items and headed back toward the kitchen. “Who was it?”

“Mom. Ken apparently sprained his wrist earlier today jumping off something.” Osamu rolled his eyes, but a grin was apparent on his face. “The kid’s a daredevil.”

Sara cocked her head. “I see you more as the daredevil type.”

He flashed a grin. “Oh, I can be. But when I get injured, it’s usually much larger than a sprained wrist. And I almost always get into trouble.” He took a glance at his watch and shooed her toward the door. “Itaria will be expecting you soon, and trust me when I say that you don’t want to be late.”


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If the Ichijouji’s apartment was large, Itaria’s had to be a mansion size. It was obvious by looking around that her parents made some type of money, although Itaria had never mentioned it. She seemed genuinely embarrassed when Sara mentioned how beautiful the décor was in the room, and quickly pulled her down the hall and into her bedroom.
“My youngest sister and I were the only ones who had to room together,” Itaria explained, waving a hand toward the bunk beds. “The other three got their own rooms. To be very honest, I think my father tired of having daughters, and my sister and I always get packaged into one.” She shrugged. “DO you like movies? I have a few that you might like on DVD . . . Except, I’ll have to put the subtitles on.”

“Yes, I would appreciate the movie more if I understood it.”

Itaria grinned and began rummaging around her messy room for the right movie. Sara took a seat on her bed, feeling the piece of paper in her pocket crumble. That reminded her. . .

“Who is Maka?”

Itaria stopped her rummaging, and slowly turned to face Sara. “Where did you hear that name?”

“From Osamu. I’m guessing it’s a bad name? Every time it’s mentioned, it’s like Harry Potter and the name Voldemort.”

Itaria chuckled. “In a way, the name Maka is Voldemort for the Ichijouji’s. He doesn’t talk about him. I only know very little, and that’s all that’s been given to me in the . . Six years that I’ve known him?” Itaria settled on the bed next to Sara, and grabbed a pillow to lean against. “Let’s see. . I know that Maka was his uncle. The youngest on Osamu’s father’s side. . . Kind of the black sheep of the family. The rebel child. Tattoos, earrings, the whole works.” She grinned. “There’s some majorly bad blood between Osamu and the Ichijouji family, and I have always had the feeling Maka was the cause. . . Anyway, he’s dead. He died when Osamu was about eight.”

“That’s all?” Sara asked, dumbfounded. “Some rebellious years and his name becomes like that of a serial killer?”

The Japanese girl shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t know the entire story. Something happened, but I am not sure what. All I know is - do not bring it up with Osamu.”

Sara nodded and dropped the subject. Itaria had given her more information than she had expected, and should have been grateful for that. But the look on Osamu’s face when he mentioned that name. . it sent chills down her spine. It wasn’t until Itaria was asleep that Sara snuck into the bathroom and pulled the article from her hoodie.

It was a newspaper clipping, and in English. The caption beneath the picture read “A distraught Ichijouji Osamu is comforted by his mother at his uncle’s funeral.” Yet, when Sara’s eyes scanned a few inches below, her stomach felt like it dropped to her feet.

Eight year old boy genius murders uncle.


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“You look beyond drowsy.” Osamu commented as Sara stumbled into his apartment the next afternoon. He raised an eyebrow as she glared at him. “Good morning to you, too.”
“She kept me up past four in the morning,” Sara grumbled, curling into a small ball on his couch. “I had fun, but Itaria can talk. A lot. It doesn’t seem to matter what the topic is.”

“Sounds like somebody else I know.” Osamu laughed and ducked as she threw a pillow at his chair. He grabbed it from the hair and placed it behind his back. “Itaria can talk, I agree. And sometimes she can be a bubblehead, but she’s honestly a great girl. Probably my best friend.”

“You used to date her.”

“Mm,” he nodded. “ She couldn’t handle the stress. Being in the spotlight is something Itaria isn’t comfortable with. She enjoys working in the background, and watching others get the big stuff. She isn’t comfortable with everyone watching her, and when you’re dating me . . . It’s hard not to be in the news.”

Sara nodded. “I have too much stage fright to be in front of people. I’ve been told that I have talent with singing, but I’m too much of a coward to go anywhere with it. I understand where she’s coming fro.”

Osamu raised an eyebrow. “Singing? You’ll have to sing for me sometime. I’m rather good at finding singers.

And uncomfortable knot formed in her stomach. “What aren’t you good at”

He chuckled, but ignored her question. “Are you crashing on my couch for the afternoon?”

“Aoi and Kenji aren’t home.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Let me wash your sweatshirt, though. No offense, but you don’t exactly smell so pretty. What did you girls do all night? Get drunk?

“Oh thanks,” Sara muttered, glaring at him while she slipped the hoodie off her body and threw it at him. He caught it easily. “Wash away, mistress. And when you’re done with the laundry, I would like a murder mystery novel, and a cup of tea.” She heard his laugh as he made his way to the washroom.

Osamu walked slowly back into the room, glancing at a piece of paper in his hand. It was then that Sara remembered she had never taken the news article from the pocket of her hoodie. Osamu’s face was grim, and Sara knew she was in trouble.

“What is this?” he muttered.

“A newspaper article,” Sara replied as calmly as she could. Maybe she could convince him she got it from the library? No. No matter how she got it, this was bound to upset him.

“From my shoebox.” It wasn’t a question. “You went snooping through my box.”

“No.”

“Oh, then it just magically appeared in your pocket?” His tone was sarcasm, bordering on downright fury. Sara had to think quick.

“I didn’t go snooping through anything! I was pulling my pillow from where you hid it and the box fell open. I was trying to put everything back, but then you call me. I panicked and stuffed that one in my shirt. I didn’t do anything on purpose.”

“But you looked at it?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Osamu’s eyes narrowed. “Great. Just wonderful. God only knows what you think of me now.”

Her mind raced. “I don’t think you did anything wrong. I mean. . people, especially kids, make mistakes all the --”

Osamu’s anger broke. “Mistake? You think that was a mistake? I meant to kill the bastard; it’s good that he’s dead. You think me a murderer now? Sure, go ahead. That’s what I am. If you, or even half of the people knew what that many put me through, you would have put a bullet in his gut as well. I didn’t kill him in cold blood - I shot in self-defense. But of course, no one seems to believe that.”

“I did--”

“Save it, Sara.” His tone was sharp. “Just go away.”

“If you would just explain -”

“Why do I have to explain anything?” He roared. “This is my home, and my life. The last thing I need is some girl snooping around where things aren’t good for her. I told you I was dangerous and you didn’t believe me? Do you now? Get out of here. Go away - don’t come back.”

Osamu grabbed her wrist and pushed her toward the door, shoving her out into the hallway before closing the door in her face. Everything had happened so suddenly, it sent Sara’s mind spinning. Osamu had downright admitted he had killed Maka. . But in self-defense? Was that true or just. . .? Sara didn’t allow herself to think about it. Right now, in the hallway of the apartment building, the only thing Sara’s mind could wrap around was how much her heart hurt.


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A/N: As you can see, this is where the story is starting to take it's slightly dark turn. Keep in mind that above all, this story is a romance but there is a definete dark side of Osamu, and it's beginning to emerge. Don't worry, all will soon be explained.